“Oh, I…” I start to say.
“I’ll be there.” Griffin’s answer is instant. And while I should feel bad, want independence, not to be a burden, there’s more than just me to think about now. And he just saw me give birth. There’s literally nothing else to hide from him, and he’s still here.
“Good. Well, we’ll be back later with supper.” She smiles and walks out as the baby starts to fuss.
“Can you grab him?” I ask Griffin as I sit up in bed, trying not to cringe at the aches in my body.
Griffin stands, walking to the bassinet, and scoops up the baby like he’s a mere football.
“You want him?” Griffin asks, but the moment he has him in his arms, the baby settles immediately.
“Why don’t you cuddle him for a bit?” I offer, laying my head back down, barely having the energy to lift it a moment longer than necessary. Griffin helped all night; he brought the baby to me for feeding and helped me with everything so I didn’t have to move too much. But he hasn’t really sat with the baby. Facilitated yes but not cuddled yet.
I watch as Griffin swallows, the reality of his situation now apparent. He slowly takes a seat, the baby looking comically small in his arms and all too well protected. Griffin maneuvers the baby so he’s lying on his broad chest, his movements slow and steady, like he’s holding a thousand-year-old vase that he doesn’t want to drop. He rests the baby’s head on his chest, near where I think Griffin's heart is. And watch in awe as this big, gruff, grumpy man places his large hand on my son’s small back.
Watching in silence, I hold my breath. Griffin’s shoulders lower a little, my son snuggled and warm and now quiet and content. My eyes sting, my chest feels heavy. My life has never been perfect, but at this moment, I feel like it comes close.
“So you got some names?” Griffin's voice is a soft rumble.
“I’ve got one,” I admit, feeling nervous. My palms are sweating. I love the name I’ve chosen, not sure the man holding my baby will, though.
“Oh yeah?” Griffin’s looking at my son closely, memorizing his little features. Taking in his little nose, his soft little breaths, and his long lashes.
“I thought maybe we could call him Tommy.” Griffin's hand pauses, and his facial features still.
“But I wanted to ask you first, what you thought of that.” I continue quickly as my mouth dries and my heart thuds heavily in my chest. Thomas is a nice name. Strong, meaningful. Sentimental to the man who has already given me so much.
I remain quiet, waiting. Griffin leans his head down, putting his lips to my son’s head, so softly I almost shed a tear.
“I think that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy.” He looks at me for the first time, his eyes glassy.
“Thomas Griffin Shepherd,” I tell him, and his face stills, his eyes searching mine.
“You don’t need to…”
“I want to.” I swallow. “My son is going to need a strong man to look up to. A man to show him how the world works. A man who knows you don’t always need to be hard to be strong. That softness and kindness are just as important. I think he should be named after such a man as well.”
“Oh, sweetness. Don’t go putting a halo around my head now… I’m no guardian angel,” he murmurs.
“Hmmmm, maybe, maybe not. Who knows, you might walk out of this hospital room now and never look back.” I swallow hard, hating the fact that my words do have some truth to them. “But in the time of my life when I needed someone, you were there,” I tell him as his gaze remains on me.
“I’m not going anywhere… You should get some sleep, sweetness. Your body has been through a lot,” he tells me, not acknowledging the name, not refuting or replying.
I lie back down and get comfortable, pulling the blankets around my chin, watching Griffin holding Tommy until my eyes get heavy.
Feeling content, not knowing exactly what awaits me when I wake.
Hearing the baby fuss, I sit up. I’m alone, and the afternoon sun sits high.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a kind nurse says as she walks into my room. She takes a quick look at the baby and then comes over to me.
“How are you feeling? Did you get a little sleep?” She pours me a small glass of water.
“An hour, maybe… I think.” The nurse hands me the glass, and I see her eyes look down at my chest and then back to me.
“He’ll need feeding soon, but I noticed your necklace. Would you like the hospital chaplain to come in? Perhaps say a blessing for you and the baby?” she asks, and my fingers find the cross hanging from my necklace, and I thumb it a little. It’s a necklace my parents gave me when I was younger, and I’ve worn it every day since. So much so, I forget I’m even wearing it.
My eyes dart to my son. A blessing would be nice. He’s only a day old. I’m not sure what awaits him in his life. I’m not sure if I’ll even take him to church or raise him with religion being a big part of our lives after what the community did to me, but a kind blessing couldn’t harm.
