by Karina Sharp
“But, she’s doing well?”
“Yes, her vitals are strong and she’s making excellent progress. Jenny is doing really well too.”
I watch Jenny’s miracle baby raise and lower her chest, making few movements beyond that. I lose track of time watching a wonderful baby fight for her place in this mortal world, but eventually Journey is informed that Jenny is awake and asking for her.
“Has anyone gotten ahold of John or George or any of her family?”
“The hospital is in charge of contacting the next-of-kin, and I’m sure they won’t stop until they reach someone.”
“I’m going to go outside and try to reach someone. What room is Jenny in?”
“She’s in the ICU in room twenty-two.”
“Okay, I’ll be up there in a few minutes.” I pull Journey into me, breathing in the scent of her coconut shampoo, and kiss the top of her crimson covered head. “I love you so much. You’re amazing.”
“So are you. See you up there.”
“Hello, you’ve reached George Foster. Please clearly state your name, the nature of your call, and a phone number where you can be reached, and I will return your call at my earliest convenience.”
“George, it’s me, Jack. Listen, I know that we haven’t been on the best terms lately, but Jenny’s had an accident and she’s in the hospital. I’ve tried calling other family members with no luck. I would appreciate it if you would at least return my call so I know you got the message. Thanks.”
Entering room twenty-two and seeing Jenny lying in bed surrounded by tubes and monitors is scarier than the NICU. She has on a clear mask that covers only the bottom half of her face, and the oxygen coming out of it is visible. For once, Jenny’s hardened exterior has cracked and I see a young lady with tears in her eyes, scared of what lies ahead.
“You can do this, Jenny. We love you,” Journey assures Jenny as she hugs her.
“Hey rock star. If you wanted VIP treatment with your very own ambulance ride and luxurious personal suite like this one, you should’ve just asked. I know people. I could’ve pulled a few strings.”
The wetness in Jenny’s eyes glistens as she smiles. “I know, I know. But, then I wouldn’t have this sweet suite.” Her voice is a rocky half-whisper.
A lump forms in my throat that I force back down. Even in the worst of circumstances, Jenny always has some snark to give. I long ago recognized that as a coping skill of hers, because it’s always been one of mine.”
“Even drained of blood, doped up, and half-conscious, you’re still as sharp as ever. Nice homophone.”
“Have you seen her?” Jenny asks.
“I have.” I walk to the side of the bed alongside Journey who is still holding Jenny’s hand. I don’t think anything short of the Earth moving below her feet and swallowing her whole could get her to let go of that hand. Jenny’s eyes blink a few tears down her cheeks. “She’s beautiful, Jenny. You’re both doing well and will be out of here before you know it.”
Jenny’s focus drops to her lap, and I follow it as it moves over to her hand connected with Journey’s, up Journey’s arm, and to my hand that rests on her shoulder. She smiles meekly, then tears flow freely. I squeeze Journey’s small shoulder in a reassuring gesture, for all of us. Journey wipes tears from her cheeks with her fingers and sniffles. She’s unusually quiet, but I suspect it’s because she’s battling to keep her emotions contained.
“Leave it to you to bring out the sap in everyone.”
Jenny chuckles. “It’s just what I do.”
“Have you given any thought to a name?” Just as I speak, my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
I step outside to pull it out. I have a new text from George that reads:
Message received. Let Jenny know we will be by shortly to visit with her. Thank you.
Some weight is lifted from my chest. I knew the Fosters could be self-absorbed people, but they’re not made of stone, nor are they evil. I’m glad Jenny will actually have some family doing something just for her and spending time with her.
Heading back into the room, the spirit and energy has lifted. Jenny and Journey are both smiling and laughing, just as they always do.
“What’s so funny?” I inquire.
“Watch,” Jenny responds. She pulls her bottom lip out and begins blowing out air, causing the oxygen flowing out of her mask to come out in broken spurts. “I’m blowing smoke signals.”
I join in their laughter and the three of us, it seems, have experienced every emotion possible in this small space in the span of fifteen minutes. So many questions fill my mind about how she fell and what she plans to do after she’s discharged. I know she and Journey have talked about options for after the baby was born, but no one expected her to come quite so early. Nevertheless, Jenny seems to be in good spirits and even winding down.
“I think maybe we should let Jenny get some rest,” Journey states, still looking at Jenny.
“I’m really not that tired,” Jenny argues.
“I know you don’t think so, but your body is far more exhausted than you know. Don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere. I’m going to go check on your daughter, grab a bite to eat, maybe brush my teeth, and we will be back to bug you before you know it.”
“Yeah, my teeth will be so shiny and clean, you’ll hardly recognize me,” I jest.
“Plus you’re not standing next to him, Jenny. He’ll be doing the world a favor, trust me.”
I playfully turn to Journey. “Hey, you’re not exactly sunshine and roses yourself at this moment.”
“Case in point.”
Journey finally releases Jenny’s hand and checks all of her monitors one last time.
“Let the nurses know if you’re thirsty, also if you feel like you’re urinating a lot, okay? You just got a dose of morphine, but if you’re still in pain, let them know; you have Lortabs that can be administered as you need them.”
I lean in to hug Jenny. She whispers not so subtly, “She never stops caring for people, does she?”
“I can hear you,” Journey jests.
“Never,” I whisper quietly.
“Anyone who has her in their life is a very lucky person.”
“Very.”
Pulling away from Jenny, I see pain and confliction in her eyes. “It’s going to be alright, you know. Everything will work itself out. Besides, you have the two of us. What more could you ask for? We’re like barnacles- once we attach ourselves, you can’t rid yourself of us easily.” Jenny chortles. “In all seriousness, you know we care about you and will do anything in our power to help you and the baby. I love you, little sister from another mister.”
“I love you, big brother from another mother.”
“You know I love you.” Journey squeezes Jenny into one last embrace. “We’ll see you soon, okay?”
Jenny nods with a slight smile. “I love you both. See you on the flip side.”
Chapter 29
Journey
Science shows that the olfactory sense is the one most closely related to memories, particularly vivid ones. Generally, music conjures clear and detailed memories for me, but every now and then, there are events that happen in life that are forever branded in a person’s brain. Events that so fully consume all five senses that even just a hint of familiarity to one sense brings back every minute detail of those split seconds of time. Today is that day and this moment is exactly one of those moments where not only is your life irrevocably changed, but your very nature- the very foundation of everything upon which you based your own personal values -shatters all around you, and it feels as though there are no pieces to even attempt to pick up.
I will always remember walking into Jenny’s hospital room, smiling as I talk to her before I even lay eyes on her. Then, I see her. My heart freezes. I drop the flowers. I quit breathing. My brain attempts to register what exactly I see. Without thought, I begin screaming things like “Oh my god,” “Help,” and her name
. Repeatedly. To me, my shrills sound like whispers.
I rush over to Jenny while many others converge upon the horror. “No” and “Please” are the only words my body can produce. Not a coherent thought passes through my head, yet I am quite lucid and aware of everything.
Jack puts his arms around me, attempting to usher me outside, but I refuse to move. I remain stiff. Staring. Shocked. Hospital staff yell things to one another and even command Jack to “get her out of here,” but I don’t dare move. I don’t move my eyes. They are transfixed upon the pale, lifeless face of a young lady who just fifteen minutes prior was laughing, smiling, and seemingly at peace. No more will I coach her. No more will we make jokes. No more will I make her smile. No more will she fill my life with joy.
They quickly remove her from the position that is the last place in which her body breathed. Laying her in the bed, removing the knotted fabric from her person, her body remains limp. This is not Jenny. This is not the beautiful soul I know. This is a hollow vessel that once housed a pure spirit. Her eyes are empty, yet I continue to stare into them, willing them to show me something- some hint of the life they once were.
“Journey... We should leave them to do what they need to do.”
Jack’s voice brings awareness to me. I feel his body heat, the weight of his arms around me, the fear in his body, and his light breath on my head. Then, I move my eyes, desperately looking around the room. I’m surrounded by nurses and a doctor, moving hastily and frantically. The room feels empty. I feel empty.
I spot a piece of paper folded over, placed gently and precisely on her meal table that reads Journey written in large, dark letters. I look up to Jack, who is staring at me with a look I don’t think I ever want to see again- it’s a look of fear, panic, trauma, and stoicism. I silently motion toward the table with my head, and he guides me over to it. I stretch my arm and fingers toward it, but hesitate. I don’t know if I truly want to read what has been scribed onto that page, but I know I need to. My shaky hand grasps the paper, then we exit the room, the note between my fingers as Jack walks me out. The door barely closes behind us when I open the dreaded message and silently read each word.
To my friends, family, loved ones, and most importantly my daughter:
If you are reading this, then I have left this earth of my own free will. I realize that you all must have a million questions and even more opinions. I don’t expect anyone to understand why I made the decision I did, but I want to explain myself anyway.
From the outside looking in, I appeared to have it all. I had friends, I was a cheerleader, I was pretty, and I was smart. As we all know, appearances mean nothing. Truthfully, I was a scared, immature, hurt, little girl who hated herself with every fiber of her being and lived every day of her life in shame and guilt. I seemed so busy and active, because I was, but that too was a rouse. I busied myself to keep from dealing with the many secrets I kept locked away.
You see, I was molested. I had been for as long as I could remember. I never liked it, nor did I think it’s what normal families do, but when I questioned it, I was told to be quiet and not speak about it. I was told that it happens, and it was just accepted that females in my family endured this trauma. Because of this, I had no sense of self or direction.
All of that changed when I met Journey. She cared about me. She listened to me. She didn’t judge me. For once, I felt as though an adult in my life actually cared about me and was not out to either hurt me or remind me that if I share my secrets, my entire family would be implicated.
I refused to tell anyone who the father of my child was, although many people made several guesses. They were all wrong. My child’s father is a distant family member who raped me. I bore all of this shame on my own and in private. I was too embarrassed to reveal my child’s true paternity.
After mustering the needed courage, I decided to confide in my father, as every daughter should be able to do. Instead of comforting me and trying to understand my plight, my father became angry. He blamed me. He accused me of lying. He told me I’m old enough to say, “No.” I reminded him that family members have been abusing and taking advantage of me since I was barely walking, to which he had no response.
That fateful night, when I was sure my life as well as the life of my unborn child was going to end, my father pushed me down the stairs, hoping that I would lose the baby and save the potential for our family’s “good name” to be tarnished. That’s all he worried about; that’s all anyone in my family has been worried about for generations: appearances.
I couldn’t keep up appearances anymore. I considered it a blessing that my child was born healthy, but I so wished I had not been spared. The truth is, I began writing this very letter years ago. Only until I met Journey and Jack, and after my baby entered this world, did everything fall into place. I began drafting paperwork to relinquish my custodial rights to Journey and Jack long ago. I knew they are the people my child deserves. My daughter deserves to be nurtured and loved without malice. She should not have secrets that hover over her at all times. More importantly, I had to break the cycle of abuse that’s been happening in my family for generations.
I sit here in the hospital bed, writing my last message I will share with the world, yet I have nothing great to say. I’m at a loss for words. No more can I bear the shame and scars. No more will I let the men in my family take advantage of innocent young girls. My daughter’s biological father has signed paperwork to terminate rights as long as there is a confidentiality clause. He cares less about a child than he does his own reputation. He cares even less about the girl he victimized.
I don’t know what else to say other than that I am sorry if I have caused anyone any pain, but I am not sorry for taking my own life. I’m desperate now, and what once was a glimmer of hope in my life has been so tarnished and blackened that I haven’t been able to see it in quite some time. Anything has to be better than living in misery, feeling dirty, unloved, and unworthy. I have been fighting the overwhelming loneliness and sadness all of my life. I have fought and fought to keep myself alive. But, I’m so tired. I’m tired of fighting. I cannot do it anymore.
Please take care of my child, Journey. You are the best thing to ever happen to her life. I realize it will be difficult to do, but please accept this as the writing of my happily ever after. Know that I didn’t give up, I simply gave in.
Fin.
Just Jenny
Chapter 30
Journey
It is a blustery day in February, which mirrors the mood of today. Loss and grief cast their cold, unrelenting shadow on the day. People came out in droves for Jenny’s memorial. From far and wide, those who have been touched or inspired by the life and legacy of Jenny fill the large church pews to pay their respects to the short but powerful life she lived.
Flowers fill the vast room, overflowing outside of the large front doors. Somber music plays through the speakers to the accompaniment of weeping and whispers. I stand at the podium, facing everyone, as I prepare to speak. Looking to the crowd, I see my beautiful Jack seated in the front row, where Jenny’s biological family should be, but they do not dare show themselves. Most of them have gone on vacation, with the exception of a few distant relatives who are in deep sorrow. Charges have been pressed against her father, John Foster.
In his arms, Jack holds our equally as beautiful daughter, Halia. We named her Halia, which in Hawaiian means “in remembrance of a loved one.” While I do not want Halia to constantly live in the shadow of the trauma surrounding her mother’s death, nor do I want her to grow up as a symbol of her mother’s life, I do want her to blossom and age knowing that she is the lone flower that blooms and remains beautiful, even after the most treacherous of storms. For that, I want her to always know that she is a special gift, shining her light in the midst of tragedy. Dressed in white, she sleeps with her head of blonde hair nestled against her father’s chest. She was released from the hospital yesterday after several months in the hospital, and
seeing her resting peacefully in Jack’s arms is the most joyous sight my two eyes can ever behold. Jack beams as she wraps her tiny fingers around one of his, then looks up to me flashing a slight smile. I return the same muted response, and Jack mouths “I love you” just before I begin to speak.
“When lives are cut short, inevitably differing opinions form as to whether or not the outcome is just. Some will question whether Jenny’s actions were the right answer. In spite of these questions, there is one thing that surely should be clear to everyone: Jenny was a young woman in an incredible amount of undeserved pain. No one else will ever understand nor will they ever possess the right to judge. It seems as though everyone around her, including, myself, failed her.
“As news of Jenny taking her life swept across the town, state, and country, individuals responded with anger, guilt, sadness, and confusion. Questions were asked such as, ‘How could no one have known?’ ‘How could we have missed warning signs?’ ‘Could it have been prevented?’ No one will ever know the answers to those questions, and we must accept that. Some questions simply don’t have answers.
“Some people choose to find meaning or a purpose in the senselessness of Jenny’s traumas as well as the tragedy of her death. Not everything in life happens for a reason. Sometimes, things just are. Terrible things happen to good people all of the time as do good things happen to terrible people. Instead of there being some sort of predetermined reason to everything that happens in life, I believe that we must find purpose in order to find meaning to those events and make them relative to our lives.
“Some of us may be inspired to hug our loved ones a little tighter. Some of us may choose to renew our relationship with God. Some of us may use this as a stark reminder of how we can never judge another’s pain and lot in life. And some of us, like me, may use it as a catalyst to fight back against abuse and trauma. I’m choosing to remember and love the lasting impact that Jenny left on my life, using that memory to help others who may feel as lost, alone, and hurt as she did.
