Redemption

Redemption
by:  The Merry Farmer


At first she resisted but they couldn't afford another child.  Eventually, she made the appointment.

The Dr. sensed the subliminal message that briefly flickered across her young, tired face and exuded from her slumped shoulders.  Treading lightly, she offered, “We can schedule for Monday.  Would that be ok with you Mrs. James?”

Sam only nodded yes in response and as an after thought asked, “What should I do?  I mean at home.  Not eat after midnight or what?” 

The Dr. paused, observing the somber girl and felt a pang of sympathy for her. “The nurse will give you a sheet with pre-surgery instructions on your way out.  Sam, you know you can change your mind.  Just call and cancel.  No harm, no foul.” 

Sam arrived home to the dingy apartment.  Low light filtered in through the grimy windows and dust motes shown in the light beam streaking through a crack between the faded curtains.  The dog had been left inside, too long.  She reached into the closet for the mop, dabbed at the stain and after rinsing the mop, in despair she sat down on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.

Head down with tears blotting her face, reflexively running her hands through her long, chestnut brown hair she thought about what she should do.  In her heart she knew it was wrong but the reality was that she didn’t know how she was going to feed their dog, Buster, let alone Charles and now, a new baby.

Just then, the neighbor entered carrying the sleeping child.  Tiny beads of moisture had collected on his forehead and the blush of a fever kissed his cheeks.  Fretting in slumber the tiny hands were curled into little fists and he made sucking sounds trying to get air.  Maya held the child out to her. 

Sam looked at her son’s flushed face and only barely held back a wave of tears that threatened to spill over.  Her throat was tight with emotion when she spoke, “Maya, did you give him the baby aspirin like I told you?” her voice croaking just a little.

She shook her head up and down.  Maya understood but her ability to speak English was less than adequate.  Rubbing her hands together nervously, she worried whether Sam would be upset with her because of the child’s fever.  Trying to console the mother, she added with eyes downcast, “I gave juice bottle.”

“Good, Maya.  Thank you,” Sam responded gently and dug $10.00 from her little stash in the zipper pocket of her hand bag.  “Come tomorrow, 11:00Am.  I have errands.  Bye, bye, now,” Sam cooed, nearly shoving Maya out the door. 

Exhausted she just wanted to sleep with Charles in the crook of her arm but first he needed his diaper changed and she thought, might as well get the bath out of the way too.

An hour later the baby slept again peacefully, his fever abating and Sam rocked him before putting him into the crib.  She turned on the night light and quietly left the room, the door ajar to hear if he made a fuss.  She could never be one of those mothers who let their kids cry and cry.  She’d read somewhere if you give into them you’ll be a slave all your life.  Well, as far as she was concerned it didn’t matter.  You just have to go through it.  It’s not like you can send them “back.”

She stopped in her tracks.  That was the answer that had been nagging at her all along. God had given her another baby whether she thought she was ready for it or not.  Surely, God knew what he was doing.  Somehow she’d pull herself together and make it work.  She said a prayer for strength and guidance.

After taking her own bath she dressed for bed.  The dishes and the cleaning would just have to wait until morning.

That night Sam dreamt the baby was being born.  The pain was so real it woke her up.  Shocked, she realized she had wet herself and got up to head to the bathroom to clean up again.  She didn’t understand the pressure coming from her lower region but sat on the open toilet to rest, the pain waning somewhat.  Then as if guided by some unseen hand, she reached under her and felt something sticky and a bit weighty.  Drawing her hand back she saw the fetus in the palm of her hand.  It was about the size of a small lemon, too small to recognize the gender.  Sam moaned through grief she could not comprehend.

Later, Sam methodically slipped the tiny object into a clean baby food jar and replaced the lid.  Thinking they might want to run tests she placed it in the refrigerator before grabbing the phone.  “Dr’s answering service,” a limpid voice answered at the other end of the line.

“This is Samantha James,” she reported woodenly.  “I want to leave a message for Dr. Greer, OBGYN.  The baby aborted spontaneously.  Please tell the Dr. to call me to schedule a follow up.  You got that?” she quizzed the young man, concerned the answering service would screw up the message.

The voice cawed back, “Yes, I wrote it down just as you said.” 

Barely audible, Sam thanked the message service and hung up.

She sat in the rocker the rest of the night holding Charles close enough to feel his little heart beat and listen to him breathing through a stuffy nose. 

Staring at the neon signs and glaring streetlights of the city she breathed one more prayer, “Dear God, bless the little soul and Thank you, God, for releasing me.”

[WC: 946]