by Unknown
“Can I call you from time to time?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“Sometimes we need someone to just listen to us think out loud, you know?” she continued.
Oh, how I knew.
“Sometimes it’s hard to talk with Dan about how I feel,” I spontaneously confided in her, immediately aware that I had told no one else this. And I had only known Rosemary for a few hours.
“Yes,” she said, like she already knew. “His anguish over this is different from yours.”
“I don’t think he knows how different,” I said quietly.
She was thoughtful for a moment.
“And how about your kids? Especially your daughter. How does she feel?” Rosemary asked.
To be completely honest, I didn’t know exactly what Katie was thinking or feeling. I knew she was disappointed and maybe still a little angry. I didn’t know if she was mad at me or Dan or God or all three of us. I explained this to Rosemary.
“You might want to talk to her about it,” she said gently. “You know what it’s like to feel as if you’re alone in your troubles. Perhaps she feels the same way. Maybe Ed and I should come down again and meet your children.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
“Oh, it certainly isn’t necessary for us to meet them,” Rosemary said. “But it might be necessary for them to meet us. They may have feelings for this baby you’re unaware of.”
I didn’t have time to answer her and wasn’t sure how to anyway. Ed and Dan joined us at the Prentisses’ car.
“Claire and I were wondering if maybe we should come again sometime, Ed. Maybe next month?” Rosemary said.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Dan said. “There might be some paperwork we can take care of by then.”
I tried not to sigh aloud. Oh yes, by all means let’s take care of the paperwork.
Rosemary gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“I’ll call you,” she said more to me than to Dan.
“Great,” Dan said and began shaking Ed’s hand. “Well, I hope you have a safe journey back. We’ll be in touch.”
Goodbyes were said all around. As Rosemary hugged me, she whispered in my ear: “Don’t lose heart.”
As I watched them drive away, I realized I was strangely jealous of them.
Dan was feeling as confident as I had ever seen him as we drove home. I guess he felt like he was back in control of things. I didn’t know it then, but he was making all kinds of other plans for our future, and it was all beginning to gel for him that first part of March. Finding Ed and Rosemary was just one item on his list of things to do, and now he could cross it off. About a month later I would find out what else he had on his list.
We headed straight for Dan’s parents’ house after lunch to pick up the kids. They were out on the sleds with Dan’s dad and Kent when we arrived, giving us a few minutes alone with Nina and her many questions about the Prentisses. I let Dan do all the answering. I knew I would have the same conversation with my mom and again with Becky.
When the kids came back from sledding, we packed up the car with their overnight things, said goodbye, and headed for home. We hadn’t been on the road for ten minutes when Katie asked what Dan and I had done while they were gone.
There was a momentary pause in the front seat as Dan and I silently volleyed who would give the response.
“Well, we met with a couple interested in adopting the baby,” I blurted, suddenly feeling a need to be completely honest with her. Dan glanced my way.
“You did?” Katie sounded unsure, like she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth. But why would I tease her about something like that? She knew instantly that I wouldn’t. “You did that without us?” Now she was irritated.
“We didn’t know what they were going to be like, Katie,” Dan said quickly. “We thought we should see them first so we could see if there’s any point in having you and Spencer meet them.”
“Well, is there?” she said flatly.
“Is there what?” Dan said, trying to look at her in the rearview mirror.
“Is there any point in having me and Spencer meet them?”
This was not going well at all.
“They’re very nice people, Kate,” I said. “They’re wonderful people, actually. They want to meet you and Spencer.”
There was silence in the backseat.
“We’re going to get together with them next month, and you can meet them,” Dan said and then hastily added, “and then you can let us know what you think.”
“What difference does it make what I think,” Katie said under her breath. But I heard it. I was sure Dan did too.
“Well, who are they?” Spence said, his first comment in this conversation.
“Their names are Ed and Rosemary Prentiss,” Dan said. “They’re living in Minnesota for the year, but they usually live in Ecuador. They’re missionaries.”
Dan was trying to make it sound like they were very lively, interesting people, but it occurred to me in a new and painful way that Ecuador was thousands of miles away. And that’s where this child would be taken, if I didn’t miscarry. Katie picked up on this right away. I wish I had.
“Ecuador. You’re letting them take the baby to Ecuador?” Katie said angrily.
Yes. I thought miserably. Yes it’s true. I’m letting them take my baby to the uttermost ends of the earth where I can’t feel it, see it, or even sense it.
I don’t think Dan had given the “where” of this arrangement much thought at all. That aspect wasn’t on his list.
“Well, Katie, that’s where they live,” Dan said. “Ed and Rosemary run a wonderful school in a place called Otavalo. It’s a school where they teach kids of other missionaries as well as Ecuadorian children. They do tremendous work there.”
Katie said nothing.
“Where’s Ecuador?” Spencer asked.
“It’s in South America, Spence,” Dan said.
“So it’s far away?”
Katie said something else under her breath. This time I couldn’t hear her.
“Yeah, it’s far away,” Dan replied.
“So we won’t get to see the baby very much,” Spencer said.
Dan swallowed. I don’t think he had envisioned this conversation taking place like this at all. I’m sure he thought we would all see the situation like he did—like it needed to be dealt with carefully and then forgotten.
“No, we won’t see the baby,” he said, to Spencer conversationally, but in reality, to Katie and me as well. “The baby will have a family of its own, Spence. A really great family, just like ours.”
“Oh yeah, just like ours...” Katie mumbled.
“Kate, you’re going to have to trust us on this one,” Dan said forcefully, trying to make eye contact with our daughter in the rearview mirror. “I am asking you to please trust us on this.”
Katie was quiet for a moment.
“You shouldn’t have sent us away today,” she finally said.
“I’m sorry we did, really I am,” I said as I turned to look at her. “We’ve never had to do anything like this before, Kate. This is all new to us. We’re not always sure we’re making the right decisions.”
“My point exactly,” she said softly, astounding me with the depth of her perception.
I could say nothing in response to this, so I just apologized again. She nodded her head, and we rode the rest of the way home in silence.
The next few days were rather awkward for us as a family. Katie spent most of her time upstairs in her room or in the living room playing her piano recital piece over and over—well past the point of memorization. On the few occasions I tried to talk with her about our situation, she put up a wall of feigned indifference. She was pretending she didn’t care what we did with the baby, but it was so obvious that she did.
One morning late in the week I came downstairs wearing some of the maternity clothes Becky had brought. Katie looked
up at me as I came into the kitchen and stared. She had never seen the clothes before and I could see it was on the tip of her tongue to ask me about them. I suppose since it had to do with the baby, she opted not to.
“Becky brought over some clothes for me,” I said simply, wanting her to know I knew how she felt.
She just put another spoonful of cereal into her mouth without saying a word. I couldn’t tell if she was relieved I had sensed her interest or perturbed.
By the week’s end, Dan was resolved to call Ed and Rosemary and tell them we had made our decision.
“So you’ve prayed about it?” I said, since this was what Ed and Rosemary had expected of us.
“Several times a day,” he said. “This is the right thing to do, Claire. Don’t you agree?”
I didn’t know how to tell him that nothing felt ‘right’ to me. There was nothing ‘right’ about any of this. But since I knew it made the most sense, I nodded.
“Did you pray about it too?” he asked me, and I could tell he was afraid I might announce I had received a different answer to our predicament.
“Yes,” I said softly and then added, “Psalm 20.”
All he heard was “yes.” I don’t think he knew or was concerned I was still psalming my way through my prayer life. Dan had always been private about his prayers. He never prayed out loud and he didn’t expect me to. If I wanted to pray Psalm 20 every day for the rest of my life, I knew Dan believed that was between me and God and no one else.
“So you agree with me?” he asked cautiously.
“We can call them,” I said.
On Saturday I made pancakes for breakfast, and while we ate, Dan told Kate and Spencer we were going to invite Ed and Rosemary down so they could meet them.
“So, they’re going to get the baby,” Spencer said, not so much a question as a plea for confirmation.
“We think they will be wonderful parents. They want this baby very much,” Dan replied.
I expected Katie to say nothing and she did not surprise me.
Dan called the Prentisses later that day, and the three of them made plans for all of us to get together the Saturday before Easter. Dan even asked them to stay overnight and to come with us to Easter services the following day. Ed had apparently said something about getting a hotel room, but I overheard Dan insist they stay with us. It surprised me that Dan was including them in such a traditional family event. It wasn’t that I minded. I just found it odd.
I called my mom that night and told her Dan and I had finalized our decision, that Ed and Rosemary would be adopting the baby. The possibility of my miscarrying was slipping further and further away. It didn’t even seem there was a chance of that anymore. When I thought of the future, I saw Rosemary holding a tiny bundle, not me delivering a tiny, lifeless body.
“So how do you feel about that?” my mother asked.
I shrugged, not caring she could not see it.
“It seems to be the best I can expect,” I said truthfully. “I really like Ed and Rosemary. And I know they will love this baby.”
“Love is everything to a child,” my mom said, and I knew she was not trying to be condescending. She was just reminding me of a truth I had to hold on to.
“I know, Mom,” I said as a tear escaped one eye.
“Don’t forget you’re doing what you must because of love,” she said.
We were both quiet for a few moments. A thought occurred to me that I had never told her what had happened to me on the morning this journey really began. I felt a need to tell her.
“Mom, do you remember the day Daddy died and I came into the kitchen and told you I thought I heard Daddy’s voice?”
She paused. “Yes, Claire. I remember.”
“I think it was really God trying to tell me something. I think He was telling me not to be afraid. He knew that day was going to be terrible.”
I waited for a moment, and she said nothing. I wondered too late what it might be like for her to be called upon to remember that day. I didn’t want to stop to think maybe I should have said nothing.
“On the morning I knew I was pregnant, I heard Him speak to me again, Mom. It was the first time since that other day.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “What did you hear?”
“The same thing. I heard the same thing. ‘Do not be afraid.’”
Again, she was silent.
“Are you?” she said finally, gently. “Are you afraid?”
I hesitated for a moment even though I knew I felt no fear among the mix of emotions rolling around inside me.
“No, I’m not,” I answered. “I’m not afraid. I’m sad, but I’m not afraid. But I honestly thought not being afraid would make it easier to say goodbye. I think it’s going to make it harder, Mom. I really do.”
I was not mistaken.
13
We celebrated Spencer’s seventh birthday the Saturday before Palm Sunday, taking him and six of his friends to a movie and then out for pizza afterward. It was a weird kind of day. I know Spencer had a good time, but I didn’t. I didn’t mind the movie, but it was made for adolescent boys and people who like to think like adolescent boys. The jokes were silly, sometimes crude. I realized I was feeling very much like I was nearing my forties and feeling far too old for immature nonsense.
Then at the pizza restaurant one of Spencer’s little friends looked at my abdomen, which I tried to conceal with a baggy sweater, and said, “So you’re having a baby?”
Dan was involved in pouring glasses of root beer at the other end of the table and hadn’t heard it. I wasn’t sure what to say. If I said “yes,” this kid would no doubt expect to see me at some future event with a baby in my arms.
I was formulating an answer when Spencer said, “Yeah, but we’re not keeping it.” And then he took a bite of his pizza.
The kid whirled around and looked at me like either my son was nuts or I was from another planet.
I felt like I was from another planet. I wanted to look at that wide-eyed kid and say, “Yep, I’m from Mars. We only keep babies born in December and March.”
“How about some more pizza, Kyle?” I said, though his plate was full of pizza. He looked at his plate and then back at me. I guess he decided Spence and I were both nuts.
I was anxious for the day to end and tried hiding my middle from then on anytime I stood up. I insisted on carrying all of Spence’s presents out to the van, even though Dan kept pestering to help. I didn’t want his help. I wanted camouflage.
That night when I tucked Spencer into bed, I asked him if he’d had a fun day, and he was all smiles.
“Yeah, it was great,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I said and brushed a stray hair off his forehead. “Say, Spencer,” I continued, like I had just thought of something when actually I had been rehearsing what I would say next all evening. “People may not understand why we aren’t keeping the baby, so it would be better not to tell them. It’s kind of a private thing that I don’t want to have to explain to people.”
“You want me to tell people we’re keeping it?” he said, incredulous that I would ask him to lie for me.
“No, no,” I said quickly. “You don’t need to say anything, hon. You don’t need to even mention that I’m pregnant or that we aren’t keeping the baby. If someone asks you if I’m having a baby, you can tell them the truth. You can say ‘yes.’ But you don’t need to say anything else. Okay?”
“But what if later they ask where the baby is?” he asked.
It suddenly occurred to me that everybody who knew me and could see that I was pregnant would wonder where the baby was. There seemed to be no end of uncomfortable circumstances looming ahead.
I wanted to say, “Tell them the baby died.” But I couldn’t tell my son to say that. I knew I couldn’t say it. It was a lie. I decided I needed time to think about what we could say to little seven-year-old boys and everyone else.
“Let me think about it and get back to you on
that. Okay?” I said.
“All right.” He cuddled down into his blanket and I left him.
I told Dan that night as we got ready for bed about the little problem I had at the pizza restaurant and what I had told Spencer.
“What are we going to tell people when they ask, Dan?” I said. “Only a handful of family and friends know the truth. What are we supposed to say?”
I could tell Dan had already given this a lot of thought.
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“What?” I said, though I had heard what he said.
“I am working on it.”
He didn’t say anything else. I was tired after the long day with seven little boys, so I let it go.
Katie’s piano recital was held at her school on Palm Sunday afternoon. She played flawlessly. Practicing her piece relentlessly the previous few weeks had definitely paid off, but she had grown to hate the piece, I think. She never played it again.
Two days before Ed and Rosemary came down for the second time, I had another doctor’s visit. I was nearing the end of the seventh month.
An ultrasound revealed the placenta was still in the same place, perhaps a little higher.
“At this point, I would say you could possibly deliver this child naturally, Claire. A lot depends on these last two months,” Dr. Whitestone told me. “The weight of the baby often pushes the placenta upward, where it’s supposed to be. That’s what happened with your first child. Other than that, everything looks fine.”
“I really don’t want another Cesarean,” I told him as I sat up on the table and covered my stomach.
“I know you don’t,” he said gently. It was like he and I both wordlessly agreed I shouldn’t have to bear that burden along with everything else.
The picture of my child was still on the ultrasound screen, frozen in time as Dr. Whitestone printed the image.
“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” I asked him out of the blue, suddenly wanting confirmation of what I already knew in my heart.
He looked up from the printer and studied me for a moment.
“I do,” he said.
