Page 52 of My Little Doe
“Oh… I don’t know about that. I’ve never really been a fighter,” I told her.
“Just throwin’ it out there, somethin’ to think about,” she said.
“My boobs feel better… much better today, actually. The cabbage really did help,” I told her.
“That’s good, and I see you're eatin’,” she said, nodding toward the plate.
“It’s getting better. I actually felt hungry today. I also haven’t cried today, but the day is young still,” I said.
“Such optimism,” she said, laughing.
“Just being a realist,” I deadpanned. The truth was, I knew that I often cried at bedtime. The last couple of nights were only a couple of tears, not sobs. It wasn’t always about Izayuh. It was sometimes about Aspen. Sometimes it was because I really missed my friends—Brenden, Maggie, and Josie.
“Never feel ashamed for mourning the loss of your child. He passed in your hands, that takes a toll on the mind,” she said.
“How did you do it?” I asked her.
“My baby was a little bit older than yours, not by much, though. I didn’t even know I was in labor. I thought I’d eaten some bad food, and then I felt her coming and caught her in the bathroom. I felt like such a dumb midwife. How could I call myself one when I didn’t even know I was in labor? I was young and fresh, though, and didn’t know that really early babies often come very quickly, and moms often don’t know they are in labor because it presents differently. Babies that young just don’t survive, and if they do, they need a big hospital quickly. I held her for nine minutes while she whimpered and tried to breathe. I gave her breaths, but by the time the ambulance reached us, it was too late,” she said, tears streaming down her cheek.
“What did you name her?”
“Malika. It means angel,” she said.
“It’s beautiful,” I told her. I reached my hands across the table, placing my hands onto hers. We shared something that no one in the world wanted to share.
“When children lose their parents, we call them orphans. There is no name for what we are. Children were meant to bury their parents, not the other way around. We are just mothers who continue living without our babies,” she said.
Silence settled between us. I didn't have anything to say to that. I'm not sure she expected me to.
“To answer your question on how I did it… I don’t know. Quinn's mama moved into my house with him for a few months. It was hard watching her with her baby when they should have grown up together, but he was the best cuddler. They both helped me heal, like he’s helping you now,” she said.
“I’ve got a little sister… I miss her dearly,” I said.
“Hopefully, you’ll be able to see her soon enough,” she said.
“Hopefully,” I repeated.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
“No, Quinnlyn took me to Walmart and got me everything I needed,” I told her.
“Okay. Well, I think Dr. Arthur went over everything medical that I’d have gone over with you. I’ll check in with you more than he will.”
“He said come back in five weeks,” I told her.
“Yes, the usual six-week postpartum check-up. Midwives see moms more than that. Is that okay with you?” she asked.
“I guess,” I said.
“Do you have questions?” she said, tilting her head toward me.
“No… it just feels like I don’t need all that without a baby here,” I said.
“Youstillgave birth,” she said.
“Yeah… I know.”
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome—”
