by Tawni Waters
As I push you from my body, the lights swirl, the way they must have swirled for my mom as she passed from this world into the next. I tell myself I won’t scream, but I do, and then, the doctor holds you, naked and bloody and white. Your tiny mouth forms a perfect “o,” and you gasp your very first breath. As you start to wail, all the agony becomes worth it because I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.
“It’s a healthy baby girl,” says the doctor. Standing on the left side of my bed, Dean and Mercy start to laugh, just the way my old friend Amy said you do when your world is coming to an end. My world is ending and beginning all at the same time so I laugh too. The doctor places you on my belly.
“‘But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?’” I whisper, and your crying slows, stops altogether. I look into your eyes, pale blue, and I see forever in them, the way I see forever when I look into the sea. Tentatively, I touch the miracle of your perfect ear. “It is the east, and Mary is the moon.”
Your parents are standing on the right side of the bed crying. Crying for the joy of your existence. Crying for the miracle of you. They all are, everyone but me. Your dad is tall and strong, the kind of dad I always wished I’d had. Your mom is pretty and blond. You won’t believe this, but she looks a lot like my mom.
“Hi, Mary,” says your dad. His voice when he says your name sounds the way my mom’s sounded when I met her after my wreck. It sounds like love incarnated as sound waves. I start to cry too, because I’ve been crying for months now. Why break tradition? You gaze at me, and I see that light in your eyes, the liquid kind I saw when Mom came to me. I know she’s here with us, somehow, just like Jean said she would be. And I know I will love you forever, even if I never see you again in this world. But still, I pray I will.
My baby, I don’t know if god has a name. I don’t know what happens when we die. But I do know for sure there is a heaven because I see it in your eyes. And looking into your face, I know that this love flowing from me to you and back again, is the same love my mom passed on to me when she first held me. It’s too powerful to die. It’s just like she said. I find my home when your tiny hand wraps around my finger.
I pull you to me and kiss the top of your head, crying because my heart’s breaking, because I know this is the last time I will kiss you, maybe in forever, unless you read this letter when you are eighteen and decide you want to find me. If you don’t, I understand, but I never wanted you to question if you were loved by your birth parents. Because you were. You are. I can promise you that every day between now and the day I see you again, whether it is in this world or the next, I will be whispering your name, a prayer, a mantra, a hymn.
Your parents lean over me, touching your face, still crying at the wonder of you, ready to take you to the place that you will call home, and even though I want more than anything to hold you always, I let you go because I know this is what love does. It does the thing that is best for the other, not the thing that is best for the self.
I will carry the home I found in your eyes close to my heart forever.
When I press this letter into your mom’s hands, I will ask her to give it to you when you are eighteen. I told you the whole truth. Lies don’t serve anyone. I learned that when I met my dad. I called him again right before you were born. He flew to California to see me, carrying his painting of Mom. It hangs in my bedroom now. I imagine it will hang in the house me and Dean will be renting in Flagstaff when we move there to start college next month. The painting is weird, but so is my dad. I like it. I like him. He’ll never be what Mom was to me, but he’s something.
I didn’t leave the “fucks” out of my story because my mom never left them out for me, and it only made me love her more. There is something beautiful in our humanity, even the fucked-up pieces of it. Especially the fucked-up pieces of it. You will find a necklace inside this envelope. It belonged to my mother, the most beautiful woman I have ever known, and then it belonged to me. Now it belongs to you, Mary. Your parents promised to use the name I chose for you. So these are my gifts to you: this letter, my necklace, and your name, a name that belonged to my mother, the most amazing woman I have ever known. A name that belongs to that stone goddess that spoke to me from her sacred cove in Omaha. A name that now belongs to you, the greatest love of my life.
My baby, think of me when you look at the sea. Think of the way life is like the waves, crashing and changing form always, but never stopping. Think of the miracles swimming under the water, manta rays and whales and schools of fish scattering light like disco balls. Nothing lasts forever, but everything never ends.
My baby, my love, my home, my sun—go into this world and live.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to:
My Creator, in each of your many guises, you take my breath away. May my words give voice to your light.
The great love of my life, my Shining One, I said I’d love you forever, and I meant it. There is a piece of you in every word I write.
My best friends and precious children, Desi and Tim, this book was inspired by my love for you. You astonish me every day with your brilliance, kindness, and beauty. Also, you make me laugh hella hard. And both of you have fat eyes.
My incredible parents, Christine and Tim, you set the bar high by being two of the most magnificent people I’ve ever known. I’m honored to carry your blood in my veins and your love in my heart. (Daddy, it wasn’t until I was three-quarters through this book I realized I was writing about my grief at your passing. It took me twenty-two years to find the words to say goodbye. I’m a little slow on the uptake. Thank you for teaching me that love is stronger than death.)
My big brother Bryan, you think you’ve lost your light, but you’re blazing more brilliantly than ever before, inspiring everyone you touch, especially me. Blaze on.
My soul sister Polyxeni, I didn’t have an army of angels. I had just a handful, and you were one of the bravest. Our ragtag band of misfits was more than enough. Thank you for saving my life a bazillion times.
My dear friend, greatest champion, and wonderful agent, Andy Ross, who guided the creation of this book from word one to publication (and who also does a mean Hamlet impression).
My fearless partner-in-San-Miguelian-crime, co-drive-by-carroter, and infinitely patient salsa dance teacher, Ashlynne Dumbledore Presley, who made my life a whole lot less lonely during one of its darkest nights. I love you, Ash.
My amazing editor Annette Pollert-Morgan, who makes my books a billion times more beautiful than they would be without her brilliance. I am so grateful for the privilege of working with you again.
Cassie Gutman, whose careful line edits contributed so much to this work.
Kerri Resnick and Nicole Hower, for embodying Harley’s spirit in your masterful cover design. I couldn’t love it any more than I do.
And the entire creative team at Sourcebooks Fire. I’m honored to be a part of your breathtaking artistic vision.
About the Author
Tawni Waters is the author of the novel Beauty of the Broken, which won multiple awards including an International Literary Association (ILA) award, and a collection of poems, Siren Song. Her work has been widely published in journals, anthologies, and magazines. She teaches creative writing at various universities, conferences, and retreats throughout the United States, Europe, and Mexico. Visit her at tawniwaters.com or follow her on Facebook at facebook.com/tawniveewaters/.
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