Looking down at you, I felt as if I had gone out and bought something too precious and too expensive. It was as if I had walked around a shop I knew I shouldn’t have been in and walked out with something I couldn’t afford. Something I didn’t know how to integrate into my life. Now that I owned it, I felt I had no idea how to interact with something so delicate.
Was I allowed to touch this baby? Would it wake you up if I did?
And even if I did touch you, and even if I did wake you up, who would know?
My once fierce desire for the thing had now shriveled up into a pathetic fear of it. I was weak in the presence of you, my love. But I also felt somewhat in control.
I thought about returning to sleep, but preferred instead to keep looking down at you, my sleeping little girl.
You had your mouth open the slightest bit. A small bubble of drool formed on your lips and then popped. You squirmed in your chair, your left leg and then right kicking out. You let out a little coo. It melted my heart a little bit.
I felt an urge to pick you up. I knew I should just let you rest but I felt I needed you in my arms. I felt I needed you close to my body and my heart. I needed the weight of your little body against mine.
So I did it. I tucked my hands underneath your tiny back and lifted you into my arms. Your little body was so warm. I wiggled your delicate head into the crease of my elbow and rocked you slowly back and forth. Your screaming and crying upon my picking you up was far more anguished and primitive than any scream or cry I had heard you scream or cry yet.
I was too tired to feel alarmed but too new to this to be calm. I just existed in the surreal and primal state of what I now understood as motherhood.
I wondered to myself how this baby could have all of these things she needed in such close proximity and still feel so much agony? So much distress? How was I to care for you so constantly?
Still, I just rocked you back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, I felt you begin to relax. I could tell we were both relieved. Your gnarled fingers started to unwind. Your back started to sink into my arms. Your eyelids started drooping.
I remember it all so clearly, even though it was so long ago now. I felt a little buzz in my veins. Perhaps I could curl up on that couch and sleep, too, now.
Your eyelids drooped again.
Perhaps I could pick up that book I was in the middle of before you were born.
Your face was perfectly still and delicate now.
Perhaps I could go to the other room and call a friend. Make some contact with the outside world. Yes, that was what I would do. I smiled at the thought of how refreshing it might be to talk to someone.
I gingerly placed you down onto the couch and prepared to make that phone call. But just as I did, an alarming red color spread across your face. Your eyes pressed open, and your right green eye swirled violently. Your entire body began squirming and your mouth yawned open, promising even louder booming cries. The sound of all the grief and pain in the universe emerged from your little lungs. There was bellowing and roaring and agony.
It was as if you had discovered my infidelity—the mere idea of turning my attention to anybody but you.
I picked you up once more and rocked you. I was simultaneously excited and comforted by the fact that you needed me. Because I knew in that moment that I needed you, too. You whined a bit and I tried to offer a lullaby to get you back to sleep. And without thinking about what that lullaby should be, I began reciting the lines of a favorite poem to you. The same one I was reading when I met your father.
Sleep little baby, clean as a nut,
Your fingers uncurl and your eyes are shut...
I felt a clear understanding that my life had been divided into a before and after, and I was now, and would forever be, living in the after. I wondered how I would do this alone. And then I just I closed my eyes, recited the lines some more and let you sleep in my arms.
I knew I didn’t know what I was doing, but I wanted so badly to do it right.
I’m sorry if it made a mess of things,
Mom.
15
It was Cam’s turn to put the boys to bed and Jane’s turn to pick the movie. She cued up Lost in Translation, one of their shared favorites, and sat beneath the covers with the remote control in hand until Cam joined her. As soon as Jane heard Cam’s footsteps, a warm smile spread across her face. There were few things more pleasant to Jane these days than a quiet evening next to her husband with a favorite movie playing. Cam came in and was smiling, too. There was more pep in his step than usual, Jane thought. And his eyes looked particularly loving.
“I was thinking we could level up movie night!” he said and pulled a big bowl of popcorn from behind his back. He dug his hand right into the pile, pulled out a single kernel, tilted his head back and dropped one delicately in his mouth from a few inches above. He snapped his head back forward to look right at Jane, picked another kernel from the bowl and held it up next to his face in a position poised for throwing.
“Here, catch!” he said excitedly, and tossed the piece across to her. She opened her mouth and lurched to the side. The salty kernel landed right on her tongue and Jane crunched down on it with delight. Cam leaped up into the into the air to cheer—a few bits of popcorn toppled out of the bowl—and dove into Jane’s arms as if she had just caught the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. And then he kissed her sweetly on the ear.
“You know I’m more of a sweets girl,” Jane said into the side of Cam’s ear. “And now you got me jonesing for some ice cream.”
“Oh yeah!” Cam replied, pulling back to look at Jane in the eyes. Jane smiled and slid out from beneath the covers with a sultry look in her eye. Ice cream felt nearly as alluring as sex these days.
“Get me some of that cookie dough,” Cam yelled excitedly after her.
“You got it,” Jane agreed and walked down the hallway into the kitchen.
She opened the freezer and reached for the cookie dough ice cream. Blocking its container was a second container of plain old vanilla. She contemplated which flavor she wanted for herself and just as she was about to push the carton of vanilla out of the way, she felt a pang of guilt. It was as if Hazel was right there, asking to share a bowl with her.
She wished she could. She wished she could right now.
Jane still hadn’t heard from her daughter. And it was hurting more and more each day. She considered calling Silas, but she wanted to give Hazel the space she deserved. But Jane so wanted to connect again. In between moments of her normal life with Cam and the twins, it was painful to remember that Hazel wasn’t there.
Forgetting Cam was in the other room waiting for his cookie dough ice cream, Jane went to go get Susie’s journal that she had placed in her bedside drawer.
Letter 4
Seeing Silas in you