I was shaking, the mothers were oohing and aahing, and Dale was sniffling loudly, tears actively running down his face too.
Apparently, we were creating a spectacle. All of the nursery staff had gathered around, beaming. From the doorway came a loudwoo-hoo! (much to Dale’s chagrin) and clapping.
“Congrats, Ani!”
“Oh, she’s so precious!”
“Time to go home, little one!”
I turned to see all my colleagues from the ER in a pileup at the door. They were all carrying brightly wrapped boxes and gift bags. Everyone was smiling and cheering, and that made me even more teary-eyed.
Dale promptly shooed them all the way out and said they had to wait until we left the nursery. Then he said fake-sternly as he swiped at his eyes, “Chaos, people! You’re creating chaos. You all need to dress that little girl and head out of here.”
As my mom, Daria, and I dressed Rosalie—I was determined never to call her “the baby” again—I realized I’d caught a quick glimpse of everyone—Cathy, Tom, Ivy, BethAnn, and Angie—but not the one person my heart was searching for.
That was just like me, wasn’t it? Prone to fantasy, dreaming of the fairy tale. I warned myself not to diminish the momentous joy of this moment and chased away any stray thoughts of Adam as we finally brought the baby out into the hallway for everyone to ooh and ahh over.
I held her for everyone to see. My mom had bought her this cute floral outfit with adorable ruffles on the butt and a pink headband with a giant floppy bow. With her dark hair,tiny fingers, and rosebud mouth, she looked absolutely Annie Leibowitz ready.
Cathy presented us with a beautiful pastel seashell-stitch blanket with the softest yarn that she’d made between patients. “But don’t tell Adam,” she’d said in a whisper. Tom went in with Ivy, BethAnn, and Angie on a state-of-the-art car seat that had been delivered to the house yesterday, which I’d managed to install after much difficulty and a few tears, and not without wishing Adam was there to do it quicker. Angie also gave me the valuable gift of a month’s supply of diapers.
There was nothing like a baby to spread pure joy. Especially one whose situation had seemed so sad. Everyone was happy and tearful and hugging, and my heart was full.
But wherewasAdam? Working, someone said. Part of me wondered if he simply hadn’t cared to be part of this. I tried my best to understand. No matter how aggrieved you were, how was a baby not the best cure? But what did I know of true grief? I had to let all my thoughts of him go because I suddenly had someone in my life who would take all of my focus, starting right now. And that was more than enough.
It had to be.
Adam
“We’re looking to re-home Arnold,” Mrs. McClellan said when I stopped by her house to collect my jogging buddy for our daily constitutional. Late April had brought warmth and lots of sun, and it was a perfect day for a run.
“Re-home?” I repeated. My brain was a little fuzzy. It kept trying to remind me that according to my watch, Ani had probably just brought the baby home, and why wasn’t I there?
No. It wasn’t my place. Going over there meant that I was okay with being involved. That I could share in the love and the joy when I knew I was incapable of doing that. I couldn’t bring myself to risk it.
That hadn’t stopped me from wondering how things were going. Of course, the news was all over the hospital, and it brought well-wishes and baby presents from many departments. My staff was especially excited to pitch in to give Ani and the baby some really nice gifts. I hoped that Ani felt supported and loved.
Did her place look like a home? My creative side had really enjoyed zhushing it up. But it wasn’tmyhome, and they weren’t my family. My family was gone. My heart was dried up, and trying to pretend otherwise wasn’t fair in the long run to Ani or to the baby.
So I’d hoped that my daily jog would get my mind off of everything, at least for a little while, but apparently not. Because now I was worried about Arnie too.
“Yes,” Mrs. M said. “This big dog is too much for us. He keeps escaping, and he’s impossible to walk. Now that we’ve decided to move near our grandkids, we think it’s best to leave him here in Wisconsin. Know anyone who might be interested?”
I made the huge mistake of looking at good old Arn. He was sitting next to me, leaning against my leg, his red tennis ball between his legs.Isn’t it time for our run? Why aren’t we leaving? I’ve been waiting all day for this. His big brown eyes were so expressive, I could practically hear him saying exactly that. Telepathically, of course.Break me out. Come on, you know you love me.
Was it normal to think you could hear your dog speaking to you?
I didn’t know about the love part, but I did know that he wasn’t very objectionable, except for some bad breath once in a while. Plus, he was a great running buddy—focused and always pushing me to do more. My own doggie personal trainer.
But re-home him? Aw, no. My stomach churned with dread. I rubbed my neck as I thought about my life. I worked three twelve-hour shifts a week. Sometimes I left town when I had several days off in a row. Not the greatest schedule for a dog owner.
I quickly reminded myself yet again that I didn’t get attached to animals either. But Ihatedto see Arnie down on his luck. “Um, what’s your plan to find him another family?” I asked.
“We called One of a Kind Pets today.” Oh, no. Looked like Arnie was headed straight to the local shelter. He was getting his bags packed as we spoke. The hourglass was about out of sand. I swallowed hard. “They told me that I could drop him off as early as tomorrow.”
“Oh.” My whole body froze with dread. Optimistically, I wanted to think he’d find a great family. But maybe he’d find a terrible family. Either way, it would be a scary, jarring experience for a guy who just wanted a decent daily jog around the golf course, a good meal or three a day, and a rub down or two.
Arnie’s new fate sat heavily on my shoulders as we did our usual run.
