Forever Innocent

“He’s still with us, Gavin. He’s still here.” She pulled a clipboard from the shelf above the machine and wrote his statistics on it.

“How long will it take, once he’s off?”

“That’s up to Fi

Corabelle came back, her eyes all red. “Mom wants him baptized. Can we do that?”

“Absolutely,” Angilee said. “Come here, child.” She wrapped Corabelle into a deep hug. “Is she going to ask her minister or should I get the chaplain here?”

“I guess someone here.”

“I’ll call him. He’ll come talk to you about it.” She pulled away from Corabelle and looked into her face. “So much to bear for someone so young.”

Corabelle started crying again, and Angilee walked her over to me. “I’ll be back. Someone will be with you pretty much from now until it’s time.”

Corabelle looked over to me. “When is it time?”

“Eight o’clock, unless we want to change it.”

She whipped around to look at the clock. “Eight more hours! Eight more hours!” Her legs seemed to give out, and I helped her to the rocking chair. “What can we do in eight hours?”

I didn’t have an answer for her.

“I have to read him a storybook!” Corabelle said, popping back out of the chair. “And sing him a nursery rhyme.” She walked up to the enclosed crib. “I have to teach him ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’” She looked up at me, and I knew I’d be haunted by her expression for a long time as she said, “We’re never going to take him to Disney World, are we?”

I stood next to her, wishing I were anywhere but there, but at the same time, that I would never have to leave. 

Chapter 34: Corabelle

Gavin was awfully quiet on the rock as we lay beneath the stars. I nudged him finally. “Do you want a sandwich?” I asked him.

The half moon let out so little light that he was only a shadow in the almost complete blackness. “Maybe in a minute.” His voice sounded off.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer, which I took to mean he wasn’t. “What is getting you?” I asked.

“Just remembering that last day.”

“The funeral?”

“No. With Fi

“Oh.”

“Remember Angilee, the nurse?”

“She was good,” I managed to get out.

“Once things got started, she didn’t leave us for a minute.”

“She must have worked past her shift.”

“I think so.”

“She got us that crazy chaplain.”

His belly moved beneath my hand, a gentle laugh. “He was something.”

“God bless this holy child! Alleluia!” I mimicked the animated speech of the minister, who’d made Fi

We both laughed halfheartedly. My mom had wanted the baptism, and I was glad we did it. We got pictures of him and could celebrate his one little life event. Mom brought a white lace bib to put over his chest and the wires, and a little satin hat.

For once I never wanted a prayer to end. The chaplain had arrived at 7:30, and I knew that as soon as the baptism ended, they’d start the process of disco

Everyone murmured, “Amen,” and I snapped my head up to check the clock, the mental countdown still ru

The chaplain signed a certificate and gave it to my mom. He shook everyone’s hands, and I took my turn absently, unwilling to look away from Fi

Another nurse arrived, and Angilee began pulling the curtain around our space, closing off the view from the rest of the NICU. My belly started heaving, but I was too dehydrated to cry anymore. I finally understood what people meant when they said they didn’t have any tears left.

As the rest of the ward disappeared, the noises inside seemed louder, the endless ch-ch-ch sound of the ventilator. I couldn’t see the clock anymore.

“Corabelle, you sit here in the rocker,” Angilee said. “It’s time to hold your baby.”

I sank into the chair that had become so familiar to me that my body practically molded itself to it, a wooden frame softened with blue cushions tied to the base and the back.

The other nurse flipped several switches and the screen over Fi

Gavin stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. I wasn’t sure it was fair that I got to hold Fi

The nurses carefully removed the little discs on his chest. Fi

Eventually they got him down to just the ventilator going into his mouth, the tubes snaking from a complicated co

My parents stood somewhere behind me, but I hadn’t looked at them since the baptism ended. I heard my mom give a little whimpering cry, but I refused to let it set me off. I didn’t want to weep the entire time I held my baby, the only time I held him. That didn’t seem fair. There should be something happy in his life.

The nurse walked to me slowly, letting the tubes shift. Angilee kept them aloft. When they lowered Fi

“Perfect,” the nurse said and arranged the ventilator so that the hoses weren’t bent or crimped.

Fi

Gavin came around and knelt beside me, cupping his palm at the top of Fi

“I think it’s yours,” I said.

My dad came around and snapped a picture of us, but we didn’t look up, or smile, or try to make this a normal image. There was no way to make anything that was happening seem normal.

“Can I have a turn?” my mom asked, and I looked up at the nurse.

“Of course,” she said and looked to me. “You want to give everyone a chance before we go on?”

I nodded. More time. I wanted all the clocks to stop, for this moment to last as long as possible, even though the pain was excruciating, a tightness in my chest and throat, my head pounding, my jaw aching from trying not to cry. Still, I would take it to keep looking at Fi

I lifted him a little, and the nurse took him back. Mom and I traded places, and she sat with him for a minute, rocking and humming some little song I remembered from when I was small. After a moment she started sobbing super hard, and the nurse took Fi

At first he shook his head, but my distressed expression must have changed his mind, because he sat in the chair. Of all the moments that were hard, seeing him there, his dark head bent over Fi