“I can use something to eat,” Jobran admitted, “But I’ll buy my own.”
Etta said with a smile, “Look, I’m not going to let you cheat me out of the good karma that will accrue to me for buying a hero a meal.”
“How about I pay for yours, and you pay for mine?” Jobran suggested.
Etta considered it briefly, then said, “Fair enough; as long as you promise to stuff yourself.” And she motioned him to join her as she walked toward the Diner.
“Wait; what if the Police come, to question me?” Jobran said, stopping suddenly. “I don’t want them to have to wait, or leave.”
“The cops can wait,” Etta said, winking at him. “They’ve been making you wait this long, right?” She then pulled a cell phone from her pocket, and dialed a number as she said, “Still, if it’ll make you feel better…” After listening to the phone, she said, “Hey, Tina? I’m at the Diner with the guy that brought in the baby; so if the cops make it there before we get back, ring my cell, OK?…Cool; thanks,” and she ended the call, and they continued their trek to the Diner.
After they were seated and had ordered breakfast, Jobran said, “I feel so bad for the poor little thing…I mean, the poor little girl. I wonder what her background is, or what happened to her mother?”
Etta mused for a moment, then replied, “The baby’s kind of small, although she isn’t premature, so the mother might be young; maybe even a teenager.” She sipped her coffee, then said, “Actually, she looks kind of like my daughter, when she was born—my daughter’s biracial—so this little girl might be the same, or else mixed. It’s hard to tell when they’re first born, though.” She drank from her coffee cup, then added, “The only difference it makes is that it can be easier to
find adoptive parents when they know the exact ethnicity of the baby.”
“Is that what will happen to her now? Adoption?”
Etta nodded. “Unless the mother shows up to claim her—which doesn’t seem too likely, at this point.”
“You think she’ll get adopted?” Jobran asked, remembering stories he’d heard about kids languishing in orphanages.
“Actually, she’s got a very good chance,” Etta said. “There’s something about the ‘abandoned-baby-in-an-alley’ scenario that really touches some peoples’ hearts, so lots of those kind of babies get adopted without any problem.” She laughed sardonically, and said, “Whereas these same folks wouldn’t even look twice at the same child, if she grew up with her dysfunctional parents in the ghetto or barrio.” Think about it, she said, “This one has a particularly good chance, since there will probably be a lot of publicity about it, what with the New Year and all.” Her eyes turned hard, and she said in a low voice, “But even if she never gets adopted, an orphanage would probably be better than living with a mother that would leave you by a trash can after you were born.”
“What kind of questions are the police going to ask me?” Jobran said in a worried voice. “Am I under suspicion of anything?”
Clapping Jobran on the shoulder, she said, “Hey, don’t worry—you’re the hero, remember?” She thought for a moment, then said, “They’ll want to know where you found her; did you see anyone, was there any evidence of drug use by the mother, such as used hypodermic needles nearby, and so on.”
“I probably won’t be much use to them, then,” Jobran said. “I can show them where I found her, but I wasn’t looking very carefully for anything else; I was kind of freaked out when I found her.”
Etta gave Jobran a “thumbs up,” and said, “You did fine; you got her here quickly, that’s the main thing. The police will look for clues themselves, when they search; that’s their problem.”
Jobran thought for a moment, then said softly, “What are the police going to be looking for, anyway?” He took a long sip of his coffee, then said, “I mean, we’ve got the baby and she’s OK, right? Isn’t that the main thing?”
“It’s still a crime to abandon your baby in a garbage heap,” Etta said, with a distinct sharp edge to her voice. “It’s called, ‘Child Abandonment.’”
“Oh; right,” Jobran said, embarrassed at having sounded so stupid. “But didn’t you say something earlier about mothers being able to give up their babies, without being prosecuted?”
Etta nodded her head, and replied, “Effective 2001, California has a law called the ‘Safely Surrendered Baby Law’; most other states have similar ‘Safe Haven’ laws, but California has given more publicity to our program than others have.”
“How does it work?” Jobran asked, curiously.
“The law was passed,” Etta said, “Because lawmakers got tired of reading about babies being abandoned like this one was. Under the new law, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, a parent or legal guardian unable or unwilling to care for a baby 3 days old or less can bring it to a hospital or other approved facility—such as many fire stations—they don’t even have to leave their names. The baby will be examined, and given medical treatment if needed, and then it will be placed in a foster home, or a pre-adoptive home. The mothers not only face no prosecution—unless they criminally abused or neglected the baby—but they can even change their minds and reclaim their babies within the first 14 days. We give the person who drops them off a bracelet matching one given the baby for identification purposes, since we don’t keep track of their names.” Finishing her coffee and signaling to the waitress for more, she said, “Statewide, since the law went into effect, about one baby a month is safely surrendered.”
Jobran looked interested. “I hadn’t heard that.”
Etta looked flabbergasted. “Don’t you watch the TV news, or read the papers?” she asked, incredulously. “It was given mucho publicity when it was passed.”
“I read the papers, but I guess I missed it,” Jobran said, blushing. Then he added, “I wonder if maybe this little girl’s mother missed it, too.”
“Maybe,” Etta said, but then added immediately, “Or maybe she just didn’t care.”
Jobran said, “It sounds like a great law. That way, if the mother was just scared by the prospect of having a child—and that fear caused her to abandon her baby—she still has a chance to change her mind, after she gives it some thought, and maybe talks it over with her family.”
Etta shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Yeah, but the media have really fictionalized their treatment of such mothers—like in that movie, Losing Isaiah. But in real life, that whole story line of the mother cleaning up her act in order to get her child back—it hardly ever happens. In the real world, the irresponsible mothers just continue on in their lives, going in and out of jail, rehab, and so on, and pretend it never happened to them.” In a cold tone, she added, “In my opinion, it is almost always better for the babies to grow up knowing nothing about their parents.” She shook her head, and added, “Someone who would just abandon her newborn baby in a garbage can….”
“She wasn’t in the garbage can; she was next to it,” Jobran said, meekly. He then took a bite of his eggs, and said, “Actually, abandoning babies is no new thing; in the 18th and 19th centuries, it was well-known for babies to be wrapped up and abandoned on people’s doorsteps; they also had workhouses, and orphanages, that were filled with kids no one wanted. And ancient cultures like Sparta used to smash the heads of babies against a stone to kill them, if they weren’t deemed sufficiently ‘vigorous’ enough. Then there are a few cultures where baby girls are abandoned or killed, because they aren’t boys.”
“That’s disgusting,” Etta said, and Jobran nodded. Etta then said, “Actually, this baby is probably fairly well off, because she didn’t appear abused or anything. You’d be amazed how many parents actually strike out at the baby, as if it were the baby’s fault for being born.” Her voice trembling with emotion, she said, “It just breaks your heart to see tiny little babies bleeding, or with bruises on their little faces from where thei
r parents struck them.” She laughed without any humor, then said, “But I guess that’s to be expected. Some of these girls having babies these days are just kids themselves, and they’re completely irresponsible.” Considering this for a moment, she added, “Or I guess I should say, their parents are completely irresponsible, for not watching their kids more closely.”
“I guess so,” Jobran replied.
Noticing his wedding ring, Etta asked, “So you don’t have any kids of your own?”
Jobran shook his head, and said quietly, “No, my…my wife and I…that is, she was expecting our first child, when she…passed away…” and Jobran couldn’t continue.
With genuine feeling, Etta put her arm around Jobran’s shoulder, and gave him a hug. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Jobran; that’s awful.” After a moment, she asked, “I guess the baby didn’t live, either?”
Jobran shook his head, and said, “I used to wonder about how things might have been different for me, if my wife had died during childbirth, but the baby had lived, and I was raising it by myself.” His voice trembling, he added, “Maybe it would have helped, since I would still have had…a part of her…” and his eyes filled with tears, and Etta reached over and squeezed his hand sympathetically.
Wanting to change the subject, Jobran asked, “About this little girl—I keep wanting to call her ‘our’ little girl—can I keep track of her somehow, or find out what happens to her?” Looking down, he added, “I mean, I fort of feel tied to her, now.”
Etta shook her head, and said, “Unfortunately, you really, can’t—although I understand your concern. But don’t worry; the families that adopt abandoned babies are all carefully screened. Like I said, lots of potential adoptive parents are especially moved by the plight of a baby that was left by a garbage can, even though they wouldn’t think twice about adopting the same baby through a regular adoption process. I guess there’s some romantic notion they have about ‘saving an infinitely precious human life from the garbage heap.’” She tossed her fork down, and said, “But when the same baby grows up, they also wouldn’t think twice about cutting out food stamps or welfare benefits for it. They only care about it when it’s a cute little newborn baby.” Etta yawned, then checked her
watch, and said, “Oh, heck. It’s almost time for my hospice shift.”
“I thought you said that your shift was over,” Jobran said.
“My ER shift is over—that’s my regular job—but I also volunteer three days a week at the hospice at the hospital.”
“I’m probably really displaying my profound ignorance, but what is a ‘hospice’? It’s different from the hospital?” Jobran asked.
Etta looked at him as if he had just stated that he thought the world was flat. “You don’t know what a hospice is?!?” Shaking her head, and patting his shoulder sympathetically, she said, “You know all this historical stuff from the 18th century, but you don’t know what’s going in your own century, huh? You lead a kind of a sheltered life, don’t you?”
Blushing furiously, Jobran said, “In some respects, I guess so. So what is it?”
Seriously, Etta said, “A hospice is a center for terminally ill persons.”
“It’s a place where they go to die?” Jobran asked.
Etta shot back immediately, “It’s a place where they go to live.” After a momentary pause, she added, “Seriously, you should pay us a visit sometime; it’s pretty inspirational, lots of times. We can always use volunteers, too—especially if they’re good listeners.”
“I am, I think, an exceptionally good listener,” Jobran said. “How did you come to be interested in hospice work?”
“Have you ever heard of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross?” Etta asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve read all her books,” Jobran replied.
Looking around the room, Etta said softly to Jobran with a conspiratorial air, “I got involved with hospice work originally for spiritual reasons; I was very interested in so-called ‘Near-Death experiences,’ and she was one of the gurus about them.” Regarding him dubiously, she said, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of them?”
“I’ve read very extensively about them,” he replied immediately.
In a quiet tone, Etta said, “I’m a Christian, and a lot of Christians think that NDEs are the ‘Work of the Devil,’ or something like that. But as a medical professional, I know that there is definitely something to them. So I was initially just hoping to be able to hear from people first-hand about what their experiences were, so I didn’t have to rely on the New-Agey, reincarnationist versions you get in most books.” She took a deep breath, then continued, “But I stayed on with the work, because it’s absolutely fascinating to see and hear the stories of some of these people, and to see the difference in the ways that they each face death.” She took a bite from her sausage, and said, “One thing about volunteering in a hospice: it gives you a lot of opportunity to think about death. In fact, the entire subject of death is probably the most profound one that you can consider in this life.
You might almost say that our lives are simply a preparation for our manner of
death.”
“Wow,” Jobran said, impressed. “That’s a very interesting way of putting it.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Etta then added, “Besides, my Mom is getting pretty old, and I’d like to have a way of putting her in a loving and supportive environment when the time comes, and that’s exactly what a hospice is. You should come check us out, sometime; we’re in the west wing.” She signaled for their checks, and insisted on paying for both hers, and Jobran’s.
As they exited the Diner, they saw a police cruiser pulling up in the parking lot in front of the Emergency room. “That’s probably for you,” she said, and set off across the street, with Jobran following closely after.
* * *
After being questioned by the police—showing them the place where he found the baby, etc.—Jobran was dropped off back home. He immediately changed out of his bloody shirt, then sat back on the couch, exhausted, and fell asleep.
It was just after noontime when he awoke, so he turned on the television news, and soon heard a brief story about the “abandoned baby” that he’d been involved with.
I wonder what will become of her? he wondered. I wish there were some way I could keep track of her. Then a disturbing thought intruded into his mind, which he’d been trying to avoid all morning: Should he have tried to baptize her, since he had feared that her life was in jeopardy? (In emergencies, “lay” people are permitted to perform baptisms.) His newly-adopted Catholic faith would have told him “Yes, because unbaptized babies will be denied the full glories of Heaven.” Yet thinking back to how precious, how very innocent the little girl had looked as he first held her, he found it almost impossible to truly believe that such infants who died would be denied the joys of Heaven. He went and retrieved the new English Catechism, looked up a passage, and read that, “the great mercy of God…and Jesus’ tenderness toward children…allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation for children who have died without Baptism.” (#1261) Sometimes I think I have as many—if not more—questions as a practicing Catholic, than I ever had when I was just investigating, he thought with discouragement.
Then, another question he had been avoiding imposed itself on his mind. Am I doing the right thing by refusing to consider remarrying? Jobran knew that— although everyone assured him that he was absolutely permitted to remarry, both theologically and ethically—he couldn’t help but feel that somehow, this would constitute being “unfaithful” to Sophia. Most of the time, he remained satisfied with this decision.
But this also means that I will never have children, he realized with a stark, gut-wrenching jolt. Since I don’t live with my niece and nephew, I probably haven’t even been that close to them: I didn’t see them take their first steps, say their first w
ords, and so on. But holding that little girl, even for a few moments, touched me deeply somehow. Since having and raising a child is almost universally described as being of the chief joys of life, does that mean that I am also abandoning something of great value? After all, nearly all theologians have assured me that there is no such thing as giving birth in Heaven/the afterlife, so this life is my only “chance.” And unlike priests and nuns, I don’t have a particular religious reason for not remarrying. Is there something deep and mysterious about the nature of life that can only be grasped when you are a parent? Are single women without children missing out? Do I have some sort of “obligation” to become a father? He shook his head, unable to come up with the answers.
Jobran reflected on the fact that within a single week, he had been brought face-to-face with death, life, and birth. So often, as with Sophia, death comes unexpectedly; even when a person is placed in a hospital, one normally expects the person to recover, not to die. I suppose that there are considerable advantages to knowing the circumstances of when one is going to die—which is one advantage Abraham had, by taking his own life. Yet since I’ve been so interested in the question of whether or not there is life after death, I’ve almost totally ignored the question of “How should we die?” What are the different ways in which people face death?
He jumped up, went over and retrieved the telephone directory, and looked up the number of the hospital, which he then dialed. When the call was answered, he asked, “Can I speak with someone at your hospice program, please?”
He was transferred to that number, and when the call was answered, he said, “Hi, I was talking with Etta Strange and wanted to know: Are you still looking for volunteers?”
33
STUBBORN TO THE END
Jobran knocked lightly at the door of the hospital room, before entering.
Beyond Heaven and Earth Page 75
