They lived in a small cabin next to a turbulent creek. The only access to their homestead was by a two-mile hike through the woods up a narrow trail. They had to pack in all their supplies. Kerosene lanterns provided their light. They cooked on a wood stove. It was a hardscrabble life, but they were miners on a small claim, so they stuck with it, hoping to strike pay dirt and get rich.
She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant. It was not part of her plan. “One slip of the birth control and BAM,” she moaned. “Now a baby I don’t want is coming.” You could almost smell her unhappiness, like a cheap perfume that filled the still air of the exam room. It overwhelmed the small space.
Her partner did not share her feelings. He was shocked, but pleased. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad. We’ll make it work. You’ll see. I feel hopeful,” he countered, trying to antidote her negativity.
As the pregnancy progressed, his growing excitement pushed around the edges of her misery, but could not penetrate it. She suggested they put the baby up for adoption. The very idea made him shudder. He wanted it… they struggled.
She seemed untouched by the lively movement within her body. He couldn’t keep his hands off her belly when the baby was kicking. “I would trade places with you, Hon, if I could. Seems so trippy to be able to feel life inside of you like that,” he said.
As her delivery date approached, he convinced her to move into town to a little apartment, “just till we get settled in with the baby and get the hang of things,” he reasoned.
Two weeks later she went into labor. As the contractions swept over her, she did not call out or even moan. She seemed distant and removed, indifferent to what was happening. He gave her cool juice to drink, wiped her face with a wet cloth and provided steady support with his encouragement.
When it came time for her to push the baby out, I said to him. “Go wash your hands. Would you like to deliver your baby?” “Oh my God! Can I? Oh yes, I would love to be a part of the birth,” he stammered.
As the baby descended, dark, wet, matted hair appeared at the opening of the vagina. “Here’s some oil. You can gently massage all around the baby’s head,” I suggested. Tenderly, he touched the baby’s head, tears filling his eyes. The baby delivered slowly into his hands, a little boy. His eyes opened wide and he stared one-pointedly at his father. Their eyes locked as they held each other in their gaze. It was silent. Then he began to murmur little loving sounds to his son, reassuring him.
After the cord was cut he offered the baby to the mother. She stirred a little and reached down to bring him to her chest. Instantly he latched on to her breast and began to suckle. As he nursed, her eyes gazed out the window—empty, detached.
I did home visits for the first six weeks and the baby seemed to flourish. While she fed the baby, the rest of his care fell to his father who attended his every need.
I did not see them after that. They never returned. Then, one day in a supermarket, I saw him with his son who was now about two years old. “Hello. It’s so wonderful to see you again. Your son is beautiful. How are you?” I asked.
His eyes became sad. “She left us when he was four months old. Said she couldn’t do it any more. It’s not her fault. She just wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She disappeared, and I don’t know where she is,” he said. “It was so hard. I thought I would go crazy. But you know…when he was born and my hands were the first to touch him, and when he looked into my eyes like he did, something happened to me. He captured my heart. I knew then that we would make it somehow. I knew that I would give up my life for him. Thank you for that gift—for letting me deliver my own child. We formed a bond in that moment that has held us together through these difficult times. Who knew what trials we would be given to bear together. I have never loved anyone like I love my son. Our bond will never be broken.”
Then he slowly walked away. Laughing. His eyes sparkling once again.
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