The spotless glass doors slide open as I hurry inside the hospital, heading towards the front desk.
“How may I help you, miss?” the woman behind the desk asks.
“I’m here to see Mary Smith,” I reply, and she points me in the direction of the maternal ward where my mother’s room is. I smile and thank the woman, hoping that there would be a vending machine along the way there. I know that I will be here for a quite a while, and I’ve heard that the cafeteria food here is especially unappetizing.
I finally find my mom’s room, and I knock quietly on the door. A nurse allows me to come in, and I walk over and stand stiffly by my mother’s bed.
“Hi Mom, how are you feeling?” I ask, but by the look on her face I already know that the answer won’t be a positive one.
“I’m……okay,” she says through a grimace that contradicts her answer greatly. “I will be much better once your father gets here. Will you call him for me? He said that he would be here as soon as possible when I talked to him an hour ago….” I dial his cell phone number, and he picks up on the first ring.
“Tell your mom that I will be there in less than an hour, the traffic is totally backed up,” he said, and I could hear the loud blaring of car horns in the background. “I could be there in ten minutes without any traffic, but this jam is horrible.” I relay the news to my mom, who groans and rakes her fingers though her long auburn hair.
“Well, tell him that he needs to be here sooner. Tell him to get a police escort or something, I don’t know. I need him here now!” she bellows, and I put the phone back up to my ear to inform my dad.
“She said that she wants you to…,” I start, but he interrupts, saying that he heard, and that he will do what he can. I hang up, and quietly excuse myself out of the room. I hate the sight of blood, or of anyone in pain for that matter, and I’m not being a help to my mom in any way, shape, or form, so I’m not really needed in there.
I plop into the green, cushiony chairs in the waiting area a few rooms down, and I click the little button on the side of my phone to put it on silent. I wouldn’t want to disturb any of the other patients. But what if Mom needs me? I think to myself, and I turn it back up a few notches. Changing my mind again, I click the button off again. Then on, then off, then on again. I’ll just put it on vibrate I decide, shoving it back into my purse.
I pull out my math homework from my backpack and try to get some work done. After only two questions, the numbers begin swirling around my brain, and nothing is making sense. I try to focus, but I can’t figure out any of the problems that were so simple just hours ago when I was learning the process in class. I close the book with a sigh, lean back in my chair, and close my eyes.
I begin to picture what it will be like to have a new little brother or sister running around the house. I wonder how she is going to react to my puppy, Annie. I wonder about what color his or her eyes are going to be. If he or she is anything like my parents say I was when I was little, they are really going to have their hands full. They are constantly telling me that I would always keep them up at night and I was extremely picky about what I would eat. I cried practically nonstop and hated my dad’s beloved border collie, Ella, so he was forced to have someone adopt her from us. For my parents’ sake (and my own) I hope that this will not be the case. My parents have enough on their plate already, and adding an overly finicky baby to that would be extremely tough on them. Also, I really value my sleep and my sanity.
Thinking about my childhood always brings me to John. I try my hardest not to think about him, but his memory is always near. I don’t like to face the difficult things in life; I would much rather just figure out away to avoid them completely. Ever since the announcement of the new baby, I think about him even more. It has become harder and harder to push him out of my thoughts as the due date looms closer. I knew I’d have to face it before the baby comes, and I guess now is the time.
John is my little brother. He was born when I was seven on June fifteenth, right in the beginning of the summer before I went into second grade. Everything was wonderful. The summer seemed infinite, as it always does in June, and I had a brand new baby brother to play with. My parents let me chose his middle name and I chose Leigh, the name of the main character in my favorite series of books. He was the perfect little baby; the complete opposite of me. He hardly ever cried, and was a heavy sleeper. He always seemed happy. He stayed that way, happy and blissful, for three years, which were probably the best years of my life. When he was three and a half though, things changed.
Right in the middle of January, he got what my parents thought was just a rotten cold. The poor kid was miserable. My mom brought him to the doctor when he was still sick after four days, and they told her that it was more than just a cold. He was really sick; he had a severe case of some type of cancer, but I’ve forgotten what kind it was after pushing it out of my mind for so long. He stayed in the hospital for almost a month, just sitting in bed. I visited him every single day after school. I told myself that he was going to get better, he had to. He was strong, he could beat this thing. I wanted to cry every day when I had to leave the hospital, but I willed myself not to, because he was going to get better. He had to get better.
Then one day after school, when my mom picked me up at the bus stop, we drove back into our neighborhood towards home, instead of back down the street towards the hospital.
“Mommy, where are we going? The hospital is that way,” I said as I pointed back the other way.
“We’re going home,” she said, her voice quivering. I stared at her, dumbfounded, as fat tears rolled down her face. “We’re going home,” she repeated.
“Why?” I whispered, afraid to hear the answer, but no answer came. Mom pulled the car over and began to cry. I wasn’t always the smarted kid in my class, but I was smart enough to figure this one out; He was gone.
My face is streaked with tears that just keep rolling down. My body shakes as the tears that I have been holding in for so long plummet down my face. I’m grateful that there is no one else around, because I would be embarrassed for someone to see me crying, although I guess it might be a pretty common sight here. I pull out a tissue from my bag and wipe my face. Luckily it was supposed to rain today, so I put on waterproof mascara this morning instead of the regular stuff that would’ve made me look like a raccoon from the dripping.
I wish that I could go running. It always calms me, and my mind becomes void of any thoughts besides putting one foot in front of the other. I obviously can’t leave my mom though, but my limbs ache for some movement. I get up and walk around the ward. I pass by the room with all of the newborns, and I per though the glass at them. I marvel at their tiny little hands and their tiny little fingers, remembering the day John came home looking just like that, all wrapped up in a little blue blanket that I have tucked in the back of my closet. How is it possible that a human being can be so little?
I head back to the waiting area and pull out my phone. I have a text from Dad, saying that he is in the driveway. My phone buzzes in my hand with another text; it’s Olivia, my best friend in the whole world. She is asking how my mom is, and I fill her in on the afternoon’s events. I met Olivia when I first came back to school after John died. She had just moved here, and she came to our class when I was out. We became close friends, and she has always been there for me when I needed her. My other friends started to fade away when I was distant from them because of John, but Olivia helped me get through that tough year.
I text her and make plans to have a sleepover this weekend at her house, because she knows that I’m going to need a serious break from the new baby. An hour passes as my fingers fly on the keyboard, our silly banter taking my mind off of the situation. We talk about everything, from our new jobs at the ice cream shop to what color our dream car that we are both saving up for would be.
At around ten, I wake up to my dad tapping me on the shoulder. He looks completely wiped out, but his face is covered in a huge grin.
“Come see your new little sister,” he says. I jump out of the chair and hurry into the room. My mom is sitting in bed cradling what looks like a little pink blanket with a face, and she looks up and beams at me. I walk slowly over to the bed, and she hands me the tiny bundle. I look down at her sweet little face and begin to cry for the second time that day.
“Meet Sarah Leigh,” My mom says, and I realize that she is crying too.