Unsevered (9 page)

“Dr. Ansley said to let you know that there’s a surprise on the video for you. Have a great day,” the blonde says with a knowing smile.

I can’t wait to get home to watch it all over again.

CHAPTER NINE

I
’m exhausted when I walk through the front door back at home, but still anxious to see what the surprise is.

“Jewel, have a seat on the sofa and I’ll get you a snack,” Mom says.

She props my feet up on a pillow on the coffee table before walking to the kitchen. Chelsea loads the DVD in the player as Gretchen carries my bags and pamphlets to my bedroom. The video begins and all the women are back in the living room, glued to the TV screen.

I see my son’s face on the screen and my heart melts again. I’m drying my tears when these words appear:

You’ll be his first kiss, his first love, his first friend.

You are his mama, and he is your little boy.

Nothing can ever break that bond.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I rub my belly thinking about the day I’ll be able to meet this wonderful little boy inside me.

Music begins to play and my tears flow without shame. It’s a song by Celine Dion titled “
Miracle.’’
My mom hands me a few tissues and then passes them around the room to my friends. It’s an emotional moment.

Soon the video ends and we all look at each other and laugh at how sappy we are. Our mascara is running and our tissues are drenched. Truly a woman-bonding experience.

Gretchen and Chelsea have to get back home, so we hug and plan our next get together. They are a little vague on the confirmation, so I know it’s probably going to be my “surprise” baby shower.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
’m thirty-two weeks along and as big as a house. I waddle everywhere I need to go. Mom was right. Even my yoga pants are a little uncomfortable now. Maternity clothes are the only option, unless I wear my pants below my belly, and that drives me crazy. Not happening.

Apparently, the damage repaired itself. I can do gentle walking on the beach and occasionally go up and down the stairs, so Mom and Dan set me up in the guest room downstairs, which isn’t doing my
ass
any favors, but definitely helps with the exhaustion and back pain. I’m so thankful to have them here.

I’ve finished reading the entire book of ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” Needless to say, most of it was nothing like I
expected,
especially the childbirth part. I cross my legs tightly every time I think about it. My plan is to get an epidural as soon as possible. I have a high threshold of pain, but why suffer if technology can prevent it. I want to enjoy the experience.

“Are you ready, honey?” Mom asks.

We are making a random trip to the market to pick up some lemon-scented trash bags to “increase the happy vibes around here,” as she puts it.

I grab my purse and prepare to leave. Mom sees my pony tail and says, “Why don’t you go curl your hair and throw on a little makeup before we go? You could use a little color.”

She’s so obvious. I know the baby shower is today and she’s just trying to get me out of the house so my friends can set everything up. But again, I let her have the moment.

We spend almost two hours shopping, as she wants to look at “one more thing” before we leave the store. My legs are tired and I am sitting on a bench in the shoe store, which by the way doesn’t even sell trash bags. Subtlety is not her strong suit.

“Mom, can we please go now? My feet are aching and I just want to go lie down,” I beg.

Mom’s cell phone rings. She walks away to take the call, totally conspicuous.

“That was Dan. He’s getting worried about us so we’d better be heading home before it gets dark.” It’s 3:30 p.m. She’s adorable.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
walk through the door to, of course, “Surprise” being yelled out by all my friends and family. Thankfully, I estimate only about twenty people to be in attendance. I don’t like crowds.

The room is decorated in blue and yellow streamers, and a banner hanging in the entrance way that reads, “It’s A Boy.”

Within seconds, a couple of my military wife friends are congratulating me and, of course, still offering their condolences about Harley. I thank them for coming with a cordial smile and make my way around the room to greet the other guests. My dad and Susan are there, along with my little sisters, Ariel and Ashley. I give them all a hug.

Ariel, who is five, asks, “Do you really have a baby in your tummy?”

“I do. Would you like to feel him?”

She nods with a smile plastered on her face, and I lay her hand on my tummy, hoping the baby will perform for her.

He does and she squeals with delight. Ashley, who is only three, stays close behind her mom. She’s a shy one.

Susan hugs me. “Congratulations, Jewel. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to visit much since Harley passed.”

“It’s okay. I guess I’m about to find out just how busy mommyhood can be,” I assure her and we both laugh. Then she takes both girls by the hand and leads them to the backyard, their blonde curls bouncing as they walk away.

“Daddy, it’s so good to see you.” I give him a bear squeeze.

“You too, pumpkin. I’ve missed you.”

The party continues with food and games. Then, I play the DVD for everyone. The room is consumed with endearing sighs and a few tears. The video ends and I begin opening gifts.

More ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ fill the room as I open tons of of onesies and other baby clothes, and a diaper bag with a little airplane on it. Harley would have loved it.

I glance up and my eyes fix on something behind the sofa across from the chair I’m sitting in. I can barely make out his face but would know that smile anywhere.
He’s here.

“Is everything okay?” My mom asks with concern.

I’m brought back to the moment when I realize everyone else doesn’t know why I’m smiling. I look back and he’s gone. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone ... uh, something.”

Thankfully she brushes it off and the party continues.

The best surprise of all is from my dad. He walks out of the room and walks back in pushing the most beautiful natural-wood baby crib.

“Do you recognize this?” he asks.

“It’s mine from when I was a baby.” Tears well in my eyes as I run my fingers along the top railing.

“Yep. I had it completely restored and baby-proofed. A lot of things have changed with the new crib standards, apparently.”

“Dad, it’s beautiful.”
He does care.
I hug him tightly and cry on his shoulder. I can’t stop wishing Harley was here to see all of this.

The festivities finally end and I’m exhausted. Mom escorts everyone out the door by saying, “Okay, let’s let the mommy get some rest.” She’s really been my rock through so many things in my life.

Before everyone leaves, she reminds them to fill out a list next to the door with their signatures and their choice of what they think the baby’s name will be.
Wow, I still have to pick out a name for this little guy.

Harley would be ecstatic to know he has a son. I’m certain he would want his boy have a respectable name, and I know Harley would want his father’s legacy to live on. I decide to combine both his and his father’s name as I rub my tummy and say to myself, “James Harley Decker.”

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
’m seeing Dr. Brooks once a week now instead of once a month. My legs are swollen, my back aches, and this little boy inside of me insists on keeping his toes locked between my ribs – as if they are monkey bars or something. He’s a very active child. I don’t get much sleep at night because he moves around so much.

Thanksgiving is around the corner, and I know I already have so much to be thankful for; but with only four weeks until my due date, I hope to have even more soon.. Fall was always Harley’s favorite time of year. I can picture how much fun he would have had teaching James how to carve a pumpkin and decorate the house for the holidays. Not many autumn leaves can be found near the beach, so I’ll have to take James to the park to see that.

Mom and Dan help me set up the baby’s room after we assess all the shower gifts. We spend a day picking out a dresser, changing table and rocking chair that matches the crib my dad gave me. I figure I’ll probably keep little James in the room with me downstairs for a few months until I get my strength back, then we’ll both move upstairs. I gave Mom and Dan my room so I can take the one next to James when we make the transition.

Mom and I go to a few Lamaze classes together. She’s a great coach. Not surprising since she comes from a large family of girls and has been in the delivery room many times with her sisters.

The breathing exercises really seem to help me through my ‘fake labor pains,’ as the hospital referred to them the past two times I visited, certain I was in real labor. Screw that. Those things hurt! If real labor feels anything like that, I’m definitely getting an epidural, maybe two.

Mom notices me inching around on the sofa. “Are you okay, honey?”

“I hate being out of control of my own body. Everything I eat gives me heartburn and I can’t find a comfortable way to sleep. I toss and turn from side to side but no position lasts long. I’m ready for this pregnancy to be over.”

“Every woman feels that way toward the end. It’s not much longer now.” She reassures me with a pat on my shoulder.

Mom has said she will stay as long as I need her, but I know she’s ready to get back to her own house and own life soon. I’m not the easiest person to live with, especially when I’m feeling out of control in a situation. I’m bossy and emotional at best, and bitchy at worst. Thank God my mom already knows this about me and knows just how to handle it.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
’m finally in my last two weeks of gestation now and so ready for this baby to come. Thankfully my morning sickness stopped in my second trimester and the heartburn has improved, but I’m exhausted and nap several times a day. The doctor says I can safely deliver any day now, but that most first-time pregnancies tend to go past the due dates. I walk every day and bounce on my exercise ball to move the process along. I’m not a very patient person and I hate missing deadlines. Though my book is selling quite well—people just love tragic stories, I suppose—my writing has been put on hold because I have so much else on my mind. It’s all about D-day (delivery day) for me.

I’ve packed my overnight bag and the diaper bag for the delivery stay. Every day I check something else off my list. I’m a major ‘list’ person. I feel productive when I mark something off; it’s like a visual reward for a small goal I reach.

I clip the pen back to the top of magnetic list on the fridge and walk upstairs at a slow pace to the nursery.

The top half of the walls are painted blue to represent the sky and the bottom is green, like grass all around. I run my fingers over the mural on the wall to my left where the crib sits. It’s a big, beautiful tree with a tire swing on it and forest animals scattered throughout various holes within. The colors are soft and soothing to look at. Gretchen painted it for the baby. It was her gift to me and I adore it. I always knew she enjoyed art, but never imagined she was this talented.

I flip off the light switch for a moment to see the night sky painted on the ceiling with a moon and hundreds of star stickers illuminating the room. There is a lovely bay window straight ahead with sheer, white curtains veiling the ocean view in the background. A child couldn’t ask for a more relaxing atmosphere.

I turn the light back on and open the windows a bit to hear the waves crashing on the shore and breathe in the salty air. Then I sit in the rocking chair with my hands on top of my round belly. As I revel in the back-and-forth motion, my eyes closed, I detect warmth on top of my hands that sends a tingle down my spine. It’s as if someone’s hands are embracing mine in a loving way, a protective way. I look down and see nothing.

Then a warm breeze rushes through the window and I smell a faint trace of his cologne. I know it’s Harley. I lay my head back and continue to rock a few minutes more with his apparitional arms around me.

Mom interrupts my thoughts as she taps two gentle knocks on the door and says, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Mom, do you believe in spirits?” I ask her.

“What do you mean, like ghosts?” she replies with a look of confusion.

“No. Not like the white-sheeted floating characters in movies,” I say with a laugh. “I mean, do you believe that after people die, they can come back to visit their loved ones as a spirit?” I ask, my eyes fixed at the sea. I’m scared to look at my mother when I say these words. It’s the first time I’ve even considered speaking them out loud since Harley’s initial visit.

“I believe that if people have a strong enough connection, anything is possible,” my mom assures me and rubs my shoulders for a moment.

“Do you think people can communicate with those spirits?” I find the courage to ask.

“What is all this about, honey?”

              “Well, Harley visited me right after he died. He said he’s
stuck
and can’t move on to his afterlife until I let him go.”