Baby Girl

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Do you need anything?” she’d ask. Lawton was more than an hour’s drive away, but she never once hesitated about coming to check on me or bring something I needed.

  Ophelia, bless her heart, came every day. She brought small gifts: homemade soup with fresh vegetables, zucchini bread, teas of a dozen different flavors, a book of poetry, scented candles and my favorite: a small dish of potpourri with the scent of baby powder.

  “It won’t always smell like baby powder,” she warned. “Once you’ve moved on to thinking of other things, that fragrance will be gone.”

  I remember how I laughed and laughed at such a thought.

  January 4, 1998

  The alarm rang at 5AM. I reached over, turned it off and then gave Ryan’s shoulder a gentle shake.

  “We’d better get started,” I said.

  He gave a weary nod, brushed the sleep from his eyes, then came around to my side of the bed and helped me to stand. My legs were wobbly from all those weeks of being in bed.

  This was going to be Baby Girl’s birthday.

  As Ryan showered and dressed, I washed my face and pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants with an oversized sweatshirt. By six o’clock we were on our way out the door.

  “Don’t forget my bag,” I said.

  Ryan helped me into the car then ran back inside and grabbed the tote bag I’d left sitting in the hall. There were no baby clothes in it, just an outfit I could wear home, two nightgowns, a jar of face cream, a hairbrush and a pale pink lip-gloss.

  He plopped it into the back seat then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  I nodded. Physically I was ready, but emotionally I was tied down by the feelings tugging at my heart. There was the joy of having kept Baby Girl safe all these months, the fear of knowing that before the day was out she’d be under a surgeon’s knife and the brokenhearted realization that our time together was rapidly coming to an end.

  When we arrived at the Angel of Mercy Hospital, LeAnn and Dean were waiting in the lobby. Leaning heavily on Ryan’s arm, I looked over and gave them a smile.

  LeAnn came to my side and kissed my cheek. “I’ve been praying for you and the baby all night,” she whispered. She squeezed my hand then stepped back.

  All of the paperwork had been done days earlier. They were ready and waiting. The nurse at the admissions desk snapped a plastic band on my wrist and the aide wheeled me off.

  Much to my surprise, Ryan came along. He walked beside the wheelchair and when we moved into the elevator, he reached down and took my hand in his. He remained by my side as the nurse helped me into bed and inserted the IV of oxytocin that would induce labor.

  It was late in the day before I actually began labor, but once it started everything seemed to happen at warp speed. Ryan was still sitting beside me, and I asked him to get the nurse.

  “The baby’s coming.”

  “Hopefully soon,” he replied.

  “No!” I shouted. “I mean right now!”

  In the blink of an eye I was in the delivery room. Ryan was still with me. He held my hand and whispered, “Hang in there, honey, it’ll all be over soon.”

  The truth was there, hidden behind his words of encouragement perhaps, but still there. For Ryan this was the bridge to be crossed. This was the step that would take us back to the life we’d lived before. Before there was a baby to think about.

  Moments after Baby Girl was born she was scooped up, washed and wrapped in a warm saline-soaked cloth to cover her exposed intestines. The nurse handed her to me. I held her in my arms for less than a minute; then she was gone.

  It felt as if I’d lost an arm or leg. For almost nine months, she’d been part of me. She ate what I ate, she drank what I drank, she’d been mine to love. And now I had only the emptiness she left behind. A thousand times I’d reminded myself of all the reasons why giving the baby up was better for her, but I’d turned a blind eye to the heartache it would cause me—until now. A warm flow of tears rolled down the side of my face.

  With the tip of his fingers Ryan brushed them back, then leaned over and kissed me.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s all over now.”

  I turned my face to the wall without answering, but I knew it wasn’t over. The weight of her loss was only beginning to settle in my heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  Baby Girl went from my arms straight to the pediatric operating room. Before I was back in my bed, she was in surgery.

  I knew that’s how it would be, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. Surgery was difficult enough for an adult, so I couldn’t imagine how a tiny little thing like her could withstand such an ordeal. All these months I had fed her, cared for her and kept her safe. Now there was nothing more I could do. That thought broke my heart.

  A dozen different times Ryan asked how I was doing, but he never once asked about that poor little baby and I hated him for it.

  During the five hours Baby Girl was in the operating room, the nurses darted in and out of my room with updates. Looking back on that time it’s somewhat of a blur, but I remember a nurse with hair the color of a firecracker. She was the one who came into my room and said Baby Girl was out of surgery and doing well.

  “She’s a real little trooper,” the firecracker said. “A lot like you.”

  I liked the thought that Baby Girl was like me and I wanted to ask why, but before I could the firecracker was gone from the room.

  Once I knew my sweet baby had made it through the operation, I closed my eyes and let myself sleep. When I opened them again Ryan was gone.

  The next morning a man with dark hair and a graying beard poked his head into my room.

  “Got a minute?” he said and strolled in without waiting for an answer.

  “I’m Doctor Arnold,” he said and handed me a card that read, “Frank S. Arnold, M.D., Psychiatry.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Okay, I guess.” I asked why he was here.

  “Just checking up on you,” he said. He gave me an easy smile and continued. “I understand your baby is being given up for adoption. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. Actually I wasn’t okay with it. I was miserable, but I had no alternative. Ryan had forced me to choose between him and the baby.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Again I nodded. This was all part of the system. A system that didn’t actually care if your heart was breaking but needed to ask these questions before it could move ahead.

  We chatted for another few minutes. Then Doctor Arnold said for me to call if I needed to talk and he left. As I listened to his footsteps disappear down the hallway, I realized that what Ophelia said was true. This was the most unselfish thing I could ever do. I chose Baby Girl’s happiness over my own.

  Ryan called that evening, but he didn’t come back to the hospital until the next morning when I was due to be released. I was dressed and sitting in a chair when he arrived.

  “You look great, babe,” he said and flashed the grin I’d fallen in love with.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” I replied solemnly.

  He gave a strange little laugh. “What you need is to get back to having fun again. And I know just the thing…”

  He said he had tickets to the boat show that afternoon. Afterward we’d meet his buddies and go for pizza.

  I didn’t feel like seeing Ryan, never mind his loud-mouthed buddies. My heart was heavy, my breasts were starting to dry up and hurt like hell, plus I was wrapped in a longing for Baby Girl that was as dark as a shroud. All these angry thoughts were churning through my heart, and yet I didn’t say a word about them. It was almost as if I could hear Mama’s sarcastic voice saying, “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it!”

  As we started toward the elevator, I asked Ryan if he’d been to the nursery to see the baby.

  “Unh-uh,” he said and shook his head. “It’s better this way.”

  “B
ut don’t you want—”

  He turned away before I could finish my question.

  ~ ~ ~

  There are things in life you never forgive. You say you’ve forgotten about it, that what’s done is done and there’s no use crying over spilled milk. You even lie to yourself and say all is forgiven, but some wounds are too deep to ever heal. I know that if I live to be a hundred, I will still remember the hurt I felt that day when we left the hospital.

  We did go to the boat show. Ryan walked through the exhibits oohing and aahing over things he hoped to own one day. I trailed behind him with hatred in my heart and sorrow weighing me down like a sack of stones. Throughout the entire day neither Ryan nor either of his friends mentioned the baby or even the fact that I’d just given birth. It was as if we’d simply stepped back in time and picked up exactly where we left off.

  Letting Go

  They named her Morgan. LeAnn said it was a family name on her grandmother’s side. Baby Girl was going to be an integral part of their family. She’d have a grandmother she was named after and two parents who loved her. That was what I wanted. It was the choice I’d made. But letting go was like ripping away an adhesive patch stuck to my heart.

  There is a state law that says if a baby is to be adopted, for the six weeks following birth the baby cannot live with either the birth mother or the adoptive family. This is the final fail-safe period. The time when either party can change their mind. In most cases the baby goes to a foster home, to a family who knows they have her for only this short window of time, a family who knows not to become attached.

  In Baby Girl’s case it was different. She remained in the hospital. She still had two smaller surgeries to go through before the hole in her abdomen would be fixed and she would be strong enough to go home.

  She couldn’t live with me, but I could visit her in the nursery and I did. Every day. LeAnn did also. We no longer came together, but our paths crossed often. When we were both there at the same time, LeAnn stepped back and allowed me to be the one who held Morgan.

  Just as I will never forget Ryan’s actions on the day I left the hospital, I will also never forget LeAnn’s small acts of generosity and kindness.

  Throughout those six weeks I came to the hospital every day. I sat in the nursery rocking chair and held Morgan in my arms. Every day I dabbed on a bit of the gardenia perfume I’d used throughout my pregnancy, hoping to implant a memory that would one day come to her mind.

  Someday when she’s older, she’ll catch a whiff of gardenia and remember the mama who loved her.

  At times when LeAnn wasn’t in the room, I would whisper “Baby Girl” and hold her to my chest. I wanted her to know I was still here, that I had not turned my back or forgotten our time together. Physically I was giving Baby Girl to another family, but in my mind and heart she was and always would be my daughter.

  ~ ~ ~

  On the day the six-week period ended I had to appear in court, stand before a judge and swear that I, of my own free will, was giving up any and all rights I would ever have to Baby Girl.

  “Would you come with me?” I asked Ryan.

  “Do I have to be there?” he said.

  Legally he didn’t have to; morally I hoped he would want to.

  “Not really,” I said. “But I thought maybe…”

  “I’ve got a killer day ahead of me,” he said. “How about if I just meet you for lunch afterward?”

  “Don’t bother,” I said and shook my head. “I’ve got a busy afternoon.”

  I turned and walked out the door without another word.

  On the drive to the courthouse I fought back the tears and bit down on my lip so fiercely the taste of blood settled in my mouth.

  You can do this, I told myself and mechanically moved one foot in front of the other as I walked up the steps and into the courtroom.

  The judge rattled off the details of Baby Girl’s adoption then asked if I understood that I was forever giving up all rights to this child. I answered yes, signed the papers and in a few brief seconds she was no longer mine. I could no longer hold her in my arms or whisper my words in her ear.

  She was forever, permanently and irrevocably, gone from my life, but I knew even then she would never be gone from my heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  I lied when I told Ryan I had a busy afternoon. I walked out of the courtroom facing nothing but an empty span of hours, emptiness that I knew would be filled with tears and the heartache of being alone. Yes, I could have stopped in to see some of my favorite customers, perhaps taken a client to lunch. I could have called Nicole or gone shopping and browsed through the department store, but I did none of these things.

  I got in my car and drove straight to Memory House. Ophelia Browne was the one person who understood the impact of loss; with her I could speak the truth of my feelings. That strange little apothecary with its herbal teas and magical potions was the only place I could find solace and if ever I needed it, it was now.

  I parked the car in the driveway, walked to the porch and clanged the cowbell. Without waiting for an answer I pushed the door open and walked in. Ophelia took one look at my face, climbed down from the step stool she was standing on and came to me.

  “This was the day, wasn’t it?” she said and wrapped her arms around me.

  I could no longer hold back the tears. I leaned into her shoulder and let go of all the things I’d been holding back. At the moment I felt like the loneliest woman in the world. I’d given up my baby for Ryan, and now his love seemed like a thin veil of pretense.

  That afternoon Ophelia flipped the sign on the door to “Closed” and led me back to her kitchen where we sat across from one another at an old oak table.

  “Maybe I should have explained my feelings,” I said. “Perhaps if I told Ryan how much I needed him to be with me, he would have come.”

  She gave an understanding nod and took my hand in hers. “It’s not possible to know what another person will do. You can’t force someone to care about the things you care about; all you can do is trust that if he really loves you, he’ll find a way to help you move beyond this sorrow. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but sometime in the foreseeable future.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” I asked.

  “Then maybe he wasn’t the person you were meant to love.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Of course Ryan is the person I’m supposed to love. I’ve loved him since the day I first saw him.”

  She gave a knowing smile. “That’s not love. That’s infatuation.”

  “It might have started with infatuation, but it’s grown into love.”

  “For you maybe, but can you say the same about him?”

  I thought about that for a while and wasn’t sure of the answer.

  “Love is like a flower,” Ophelia said. “To keep it growing you’ve got to nourish it and care for it. If you push it to the back of the kitchen windowsill and stop watering it, it dies.”

  As I listened to her words I thought about my relationship with Ryan. Perhaps I had pushed him to the corner windowsill. I was angry and resentful, yet I’d kept all those feelings to myself. Nothing would change the fact that Baby Girl was gone, so maybe it was time to stop blaming Ryan for what happened and let myself go back to loving him.

  When I left Memory House that evening, Ophelia gave me a tin of tea made with lavender and damiana. It was a mix that supposedly brought about happiness and encouraged passion in a floundering romance.

  A Time of Renewal

  Looking back on the past six months, I could see Ryan wasn’t the only one at fault. Along with the baby I’d carried a huge chip on my shoulder, and all the while I’d been daring him to knock it off. He hadn’t even tried, so in my mind that was proof enough he loved me.

  That night I made his favorite chicken noodle casserole, and after dinner I sat beside him on the sofa and watched a basketball game. I can’t tell you who won or even which teams played, but I remember that halfway throug
h the game Ryan leaned his thigh against mine and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

  That weekend he asked if I’d like to take a drive to the marina.

  “I want to check on the boat, and maybe we could have dinner at the clubhouse,” he said.

  For the past year the boat had been a bone of contention between us. I’d seen it as the reason he didn’t want the baby, and he’d seen it as a measure of our success. Whenever he’d mentioned it, I’d given him a scowl and a snide comment. He’d gone to the boat numerous times the previous summer but either by himself or with one of his friends.

  Those same scissor-sharp words were right there on the tip of my tongue, but this time I stopped myself from saying them.

  “Okay,” I replied, “that sounds nice.”

  Before I could rethink what I’d said I busied myself in the kitchen, and Ryan headed for the garage whistling a happy tune.

  We had fun that weekend, and I think for the first time in almost a year I found myself laughing. Not just pretending to laugh but actually chuckling. Ryan was like he was that first summer when he took me to the Fourth of July fireworks—playful and even a bit naughty.

  We had dinner at the little tavern in town and sat in a back booth where it was dark. Instead of sitting across from one another, he slid in beside me and playfully traced his fingers along the inside of my thigh. We drank wine and danced. It felt good to have him pressing his body against mine, to feel the heat of his breath on my neck and hear him whispering naughty suggestions in my ear.

  That night we didn’t go back to the house. We slept on the boat and made love for the first time in ages. We weren’t where we once were, but perhaps we were moving toward it.

  In many ways that was a really good summer. Our careers were both going great, and in early August Ryan found a second investment property that he was able to buy for next to nothing.