by Kelly Utt
Marjorie and the boys arrive first and I greet them in the common room. I want to make sure we aren’t too rowdy so as not to disturb John Wendell, but I also want to prep the boys a little before they go in to see him. I kiss my mother-in-law on the cheek as both of my sons leap into my arms. You’d think I’d been gone for weeks as excited as they are to see me. The feeling is mutual. I adore these little guys. I’m especially glad to see Ethan safe and sound given what I remembered this afternoon at Dr. Epstein’s and how it connects to the break-in. It’s a surreal feeling to look into the eyes of my children and know we were all together previously, in Greece. I wonder if Leo remembers being a soldier with me. And I’m eager to tell Ethan that I remember what happened, too. Not to mention telling Marjorie. I’m extremely interested in the two psychiatrists she referenced. All of that will have to wait until another time though. We’re here for John Wendell and we have no idea yet what’s going to happen with Ali and little Will. I’m beginning to develop a hunch that little Will is ready to make his appearance. I’m thinking the comment John Wendell made to Isabel about us having a baby on the way might ought to be taken literally. Isn’t it plausible that John Wendell and Will could communicate, I don’t know— telepathically, since they both have one foot in another dimension right now? Maybe they’ve known each other before, in another time and place. I suspect we’re all connected.
Dinner arrives right behind my family. Ethan and Leo cheer as Marjorie and I take the food from the delivery lady and begin to open it up on the big table. These two are easily entertained. We should all move through life with their level of enthusiasm. And to think, Ethan suffered horrible trauma in Greece and a damn scary incident last weekend, yet he is somehow resilient enough to find joy in dinner being delivered. Are we all that resilient in the grand scheme of things? Or do some of us hang on to hurts and trauma more perilously than others, crossing time and space to settle scores and right wrongs? I have so many questions about life and the Universe. So much to learn. And I’d venture a guess that no human being will ever have all the answers. I think it’s beyond us to comprehend.
Roddy, Liam, and Mom come out to join us for dinner. Mom wants to stay beside John Wendell, but Gloria encourages her to take care of herself by getting a good meal and talking about something else, even if only for a few minutes. John Wendell’s tired from all the hubbub at the hospital anyway and Gloria expects him to sleep soundly for a while. She promises to let us know if he wakes up.
We eat and we talk, mostly about John Wendell and the fun times we’ve had together. Roddy, Marjorie, and Liam do more listening than talking since they haven’t known him as well as the rest of us, but even they have stories to share. I guess that’s a testament to the kind of man my grandfather is. He touches every single person he meets. He has a good-natured demeanor about him that draws people in. He never met a stranger, as the saying goes. Roddy tells us how much he’s inspired by John Wendell and Grandma’s dancing and how he was serious when he said he would have written them into one of his plays. He says maybe he still will somehow, posthumously. We all agree John Wendell would love that. Ethan and Leo clap zealously at the idea after they see how happy it makes us adults. We’re finishing dinner when Ali gets up and heads toward the bathroom without saying a word. She’s walking kind of funny. Roddy, Marjorie, and I glance at each other and take a collective deep breath. Marjorie gestures for me to follow my wife and see what’s happening.
“Ali, babe,” I say as I knock lightly on the bathroom door. It’s a small unisex restroom with a single door just like the one we enjoyed a couple of hours ago, only this time I suspect something much different is happening inside.
“Georgie,” Ali whines in response. I can tell she’s in pain.
“Babe, open the door,” I say. “Let me help you.”
“I think my water broke,” she adds. “And I just had a mean contraction…”
“Everything’s alright,” I say while motioning to Marjorie and Roddy to come here. “Ali, open up the door. I’m here and so are your parents.”
“I’m trying, Georgie,” my wife mews. “I’m sitting on the floor and it’s a mess in here. It hurts to try and stand up. I’m having another….” Her voice trails off as it turns into a groan.
“Roddy,” I say as he and Marjorie reach me. “Please call Dr. Madera. Her number is saved on my phone. Tell her Ali’s water broke and that she’s having strong contractions.”
“Got it,” Roddy says, stepping outdoors onto the front walkway in order to talk as loud as needed without being disruptive in the hospice house.
“And Marjorie,” I begin.
“I know,” she inserts. “Let’s take care of our girl. We’re right here, George. We’re ready.” Tears bubble up in my eyes. I’m so grateful for our extended family. They truly are the best. These are the moments we’ll remember all of our lives. My heart is full.
Ali manages to stand up and open the door just as the rest of our crew gets the idea that something is going on and begins to gather around us. I wrap my arms around my wife and help support her weight. I can see that her belly looks different. Little Will looks almost shrink-wrapped in there now that the amniotic fluid has drained out. This didn’t happen with Ethan or Leo. With each of those guys, Ali’s water broke sometime after she was already in labor and drained out more slowly. It wasn’t such a sudden change.
“Daddy, is baby Will coming out now?” Ethan asks.
“Yes, son, he is on his way,” I answer. “He’ll be here very soon.”
The entire family breaks out into enthusiastic cheering and clapping at the good news. I wonder if the walls of this hospice house have ever seen such a celebration. Ethan and Leo clasp hands and jump up and down gleefully.
“Leo,” Ethan says proudly. “Now you’ll be a big brother, like me!”
“Yay!” Leo says happily, prancing around the room.
“We have to get Mommy to someone who can help her deliver him,” I add, as Roddy’s walks back in the front door with a big smile on his face. “What’s the word?” I ask.
“Dr. Madera had a feeling Ali would go into labor soon,” Roddy explains. “So she went ahead and called the midwives after seeing you at the hospital. Ali is cleared to deliver at the birth center. They’re expecting her now.”
“Thank goodness,” Ali says between heavy breaths. I can tell she’s as excited as the rest of us, but she has hard work ahead of her and has to focus inward.
“That’s such great news,” I say. “Looks like we’re having a baby tonight!” Tears of happiness fill my eyes and stream down my cheeks. I love my family. I can’t wait to hold little Will in my arms and smell his sweet newborn scent. And to look into his wise eyes. He’s probably been with us before. What a joy it will be to welcome him home again.
“You go, dear,” Mom says as she comes over to hug my neck. “Don’t worry about us here. I’m going to spend the night in John Wendell’s room.”
“Ok, Mom,” I say. “I had hoped to spend the night with you…”
“No need,” she inserts. “Go welcome my littlest grandson into the world. And take the very best care of our Ali.” I nod as I kiss the top of her head and give her shoulder a squeeze.
“I’m staying here,” Liam adds. “Gloria says there’s a guest room I can stay in. I’ll be out of Linette and John Wendell’s way, but here in case they need me.”
“Thank you, dear brother-in-law,” Mom says.
“Yes, Liam,” I add. “I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.”
“The feeling is mutual, buddy,” my uncle replies as an extra burst of tears wells up in my eyes.
“The mess?” Ali manages to ask.
“I’ll take care of that, too,” Liam says. “I’m sure Gloria will help me out. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Okay, how are we going to do this?” I say as I look at Roddy and Marjorie. “The boys?”
“We’ve got them,” Roddy says. “We’ll drive you and Al
i to the birth center and bring the boys along.”
“Yay!” Ethan and Leo cheer. We had planned all along to have them at the birth center when Will is born. We don’t have anything prepared for tonight, really, but with Roddy and Marjorie’s help, we should be able to manage. There’s no time for them to see John Wendell now, which saddens me. Hopefully tomorrow.
“Then it’s settled,” I say. “Let’s get to the car, and we’ll be on our way.”
Roddy guides Ali out to the Tesla and buckles her up while I step away for a minute to tell my grandfather goodbye. My steps are quick as I walk down the hall and I can’t help but feel out of place. I doubt anyone walks this quickly here. I’ve got to hurry though. I slow my pace a little as I reach John Wendell’s room and the gravity of his situation hits me like a lead weight. I wonder if he’ll be here when I get back. The birth centers usually let you go home within a few hours, assuming no complications. I’d like to bring Will to meet his great-grandfather.
“John Wendell,” I say quietly as I take my grandfather’s hand. He stirs and opens his eyes to look at me, but doesn’t respond verbally. “Little Will is on the way,” I continue. “Ali is in labor. I have to leave for a while to go to the birth center.” It takes him a minute to register the information, but when he does he smiles broadly and nods his head emphatically, then pushes my hand away as if to tell me to go ahead. “I’ll be back here as soon as I can,” I say as I kiss his forehead. “Mom and Liam are staying with you.” He nods again, clearly understanding what’s happening. For some reason, it doesn’t seem like he can speak though. I’ll have to check the blue booklet to find out if that’s a normal part of the dying process. I hug Mom and Liam again and rush out of the room and down the hall, waving to Gloria as I hurry past. She’ll take good care of my grandfather, I know it.
I allow myself to leave the heaviness of the hospice house behind as I jog to the Tesla and jump in the backseat behind Ali. Roddy is driving so that I can reach forward and help comfort Ali on the ride. Her contractions are coming hard and heavy now, keeping pace with the snow falling around us. The scene is ethereal. Marjorie has the boys all buckled into their car seats in the third row and she’s seated beside me. Our excitement is building and I almost feel bad for being so animated when Ali’s in pain. But, little Will is coming. Our son. Another member of our circle. And he has quite a crowd here to welcome him. The happiness is so full and round and palpable that it feels like it’s bursting right out of me. I love my family so very much.
The birth center is relatively close to the hospice house. I guess in a way that makes sense. They’re both portals, for coming and going into and out of this life. From a spiritual perspective, they should be in close proximity, right? Birth centers are required to be located very near hospitals in case of complications during delivery. Maybe hospice houses are, too, for transport in and out? At any rate, the ride down the hill is smooth and easy. Very few cars are on the roads. When we arrive, Isabel Madera is waiting for us. Roddy pulls right up to the curb and Isabel greets Ali, Marjorie, and I as we get out of the SUV and walk into the building. Roddy will bring the boys in and keep them occupied until we’re ready for them to join us in the birthing suite.
“I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you two again soon,” Isabel says.
“You were right,” Ali says between groans. Contractions are gripping her almost constantly now. Her labor has intensified rapidly.
“Let’s get you inside,” Isabel says, waving us in. “I’ll introduce you to Mama, the midwife on call tonight, and Sahima, her assistant.”
“Mama?” I ask. “Is that her name?”
“It is,” Isabel confirms. “She’s from Ghana and Mama is a name given to baby girls born on a Saturday. You’re going to love her. Everyone does.”
“Nice,” I say.
“It looks like your baby will be born on a Saturday, too. If he waits until after midnight, that is,” Isabel says. “He and Mama may have something in common already.”
The inside of the birth center strikes me as remarkably similar to the hospice house. There’s a common room, four birthing suites, a nurse’s desk, an office, and a kitchen where families can make meals if they like. No other patients of the birth center are in labor tonight, so we get the run of the place. Isabel ushers us into a large birthing suite closest to the back door and nurse’s desk. It’s a huge room with sliding glass doors that look out over the countryside, very similar to the ones in John Wendell’s room. I’ll bet the sunrise will be beautiful.
Our room has a large tub for water birth, which Ali is elated to learn. She wanted a water birth with Leo, but the tub in the room he was born in ended up too narrow. She labored in the tub and wanted to stay there for delivery. She ultimately had to get out of the tub and walk to the bed to deliver though, and it was extremely uncomfortable to shift positions at that point. I think she was in the hardest phase of labor called transition when they moved her. It looked miserable. Hopefully, she can labor and deliver in the tub tonight. This tub is huge. Ali makes a beeline for the tub the minute she lays eyes on it as if it’s calling to her. Sahima comes in and introduces herself, then proceeds to fill the tub as Marjorie helps Ali get undressed. Ali’s wearing a maternity bra that looks a lot like a sports bra today anyway. She seems fine with stripping down to bra-only in front of everyone. I learned back when Ethan was born that a pregnant woman in labor loses all concern about modesty. It’s just not the time or place to be embarrassed. She has work to do.
Ali labors and delivers her babies without the aid of drugs. Of course, something could go wrong which would necessitate medical intervention, but so far so good. Ethan and Leo were delivered vaginally and without drugs, so we have solid reason to believe the same will happen now as she delivers little Will. It’s impressive to see Ali go through the labor and delivery process like a gladiator, strong and determined to do the hard work all on her own. Not to slight any woman who needs intervention, because I realize it usually can’t be avoided if that’s the way things play out, but watching Ali do what she does is extraordinary. I have that wife.
Sahima is a twenty-something graduate student from India doing an internship in nurse-midwifery. She’s pretty, cheerful, and she seems eager to participate. Some student interns are hesitant and tentative, but not Sahima. She’s jumping in confidently. Maybe she’s been around awhile and is nearing the end of her training. We instantly know she’s going to take good care of Ali and Will. When we compliment her bedside manner, she tells us that midwifery and natural childbirth are standard practice in her country. She explains how she has had an interest in assisting laboring mothers since she was a young girl and how she has attended hundreds of births already. She came to the U.S. to get American credentials and cement her career. Her big, brown eyes and sweet smile exude warmth. We can trust her. We’re in capable hands.
Mama comes in to introduce herself and we can instantly tell why someone as gifted as Sahima would want to study under her. Like Gloria, she’s somewhere between mine and Liam’s ages. Probably closer to his. She has a calm, powerful presence which fills up the room. I get the feeling she tends her end of the life-giving portal with the utmost dedication. She speaks slowly and deliberately. She walks with such smooth, fluid motions that it almost looks like she’s floating. Her skin is a rich, dark ebony color and her limbs are long and graceful. She’s stunning. I wasn’t kidding when I said I tend to be surrounded by beautiful women. I think we’re in the very best hands here. What are the odds that we’d get Gloria, Sahima, and Mama to take care of our family on this special, snowy night? I can’t imagine any alternatives being as phenomenal. The certainty of finding ourselves in the right place at the right time washes over me. I’m grateful.
I hear Roddy and the boys out in the common area now. They have their toy bags and they adore their Papa Roddy. It may end up being a late night for them, but I know they’ll be fine while Marjorie and I tend to Ali. We’ll bring them in the suite when
it’s time for Will to be born if they’re still awake. In the meantime, though, they’ll play out there and will go to sleep when they’re ready.
In the birthing suite, it’s time to get down to business. We dim the overhead lights and place candles near the tub where Ali lays laboring. The room is warm and the water is hot enough to help ease her contractions. We can see the snow still coming down hard out the back windows. It’s lovely.
“Can I put on any music for you?” Sahima asks.
Ali is too preoccupied to answer, so we do it for her.
“Cello,” Marjorie and I say at the same time. Ali opens her eyes long enough to look at each of us and smile.
“Ali plays the cello,” I say. “Do you have any cello music?”
“How about the Unaccompanied Cello Suites by Bach?” Marjorie asks. “If you have Yo-Yo Ma, that would be amazing,” she adds with a smile. She doesn’t tell Sahima she knows the man or that she plays viola in the New York Philharmonic.
“We can arrange it,” Sahima says as she reaches for her mobile phone which is already connected to the speaker system. She smiles as she cues up suite number one with Yo-Yo Ma beginning his intrepid rise and fall. Ali’s entire body relaxes when she hears the music.
