I am
in the dark, warm under grandma’s quilt. Mom is numb and drifting in and out of
sleep. And you. Your heartbeat fills the darkness. Steady. Now increased. Now
slowing. You are all over the place. Who are you?
You
woke us early this morning. Mom first. The 2 a.m. moon hovered full just beyond
the birch line. It is December 1, 2009 and the glowing autumn stars are jumping
out of the black eager for Christmas and the winter lull.
I woke
after mom. 3 a.m.
—Should
we shower? Well, you should definitely shower.
—I
forget. Am I allowed to shower now? Well, my water hasn’t broke so I’m going to
shower.
—I’ll
print out the map and pack the truck.
That’s
when I saw the stars and the moon dipping behind a low hazy cloud. The frosty
truck grrs the twilight morning from its slumber. Floyd’s Christmas lights are
like a quiet parade, ushering us away to the hospital. I should probably tell
him to watch the house for us while we’re gone.
Your
heartbeat is speaking again. Up and down. Mom’s breathing is hushed, heavy like
a Christmas nap. The IV is tapping, then silent. The room is alive with your
beat; quiet pockets of glowing lights and breathing. I can hear you speaking.
The
world stands still, for today anyway. All except the traffic and the accidents
and the crazy lady who followed me forever while my hazard lights were on. She
didn’t know I was rushing you and your mom to the hospital. She didn’t hear your
beat.
My
stomach is growling in the dark. I am tired and hungry and in love with you and
your heart. When, over the past nine months, I’ve thought of you I would
imagine you in the hand of God.
The
weaving and the knitting, the honing of the craftsman’s hand. The light taken
from the heavens, thrown into you, breathed into life. The swirling deeps
calling out, calling you … making you, giving you mystery. How you have been
held in the hand of the infinite, the grip of the eternal—his forging embrace cutting
you out of nothing, dripping himself into you.
What
is in your heart? Yes the blood and tissue and life. But where has he hidden
the you of his breath? I can feel my heart beating too. It is loud in my chest.
The espresso and lack of sleep make it thus. I wonder if we are, in some way,
the same. I wonder if a piece of me has found its way into you. I wonder if it
is the good in me … that sliver of righteousness left over from The Garden.
***
Your
sister is away with friends. She is only two but already looks for you. She is
a wiry one but will no doubt be your protector, even if you are a boy. She was
seized from the fire somewhere in that mysterious deep. She does not fear, her love
testifies to this. You will be fast friends.
We are
your family. You don’t know what that means and we are still figuring it out as
well. I think right now it means that we hold each other … in whatever way is
needed.
Here
you come. Mom is ready.
***
Brielle
Aven. You are born, come to life in a bloody mess. There are tears and laughter
and joy. You will be a sister, a daughter and a friend.
The
Passion was like birth. It was a bloody enigma drawing all to it, breaking all
to pieces. I wonder if we can live without death. I wonder if I can die to
live. I reach for you and am re-born. I reach for Him and am undone.
