 |
|
| Preparing for this birth yielded the death of my marriage. Right before Christmas 1994, the end of my marriage became apparent when all of the unreleased anger about the pregnancy came out. Angela and I had been shopping. I left a note for my husband to say we were running errands. We were late, and though we tried several times to call home, I got the voice of our answering machine. Taking that as a sign that my husband himself must be out doing some last minute shopping, I didn't worry too much and Angela and I completed our last minute tasks before arriving home at eight o'clock. My husband was furious. He's not the kind of man who wants his supper waiting on the table at 5:30 each evening; in fact he preferred his meals later and it never had to be meat and potatoes. Angela and I had been very quiet about matters to allow this man to deal with the crisis. For months we held our tongues, though often I wanted to lash out. Well, this night I could hold back no more, and my husband and I began to argue over minute miscommunications. His attitude surprised me as he bellowed, "Where have you been? Your note said you were doing errands and I had to go to a fast-food restaurant for supper." "You told me you were going to be late yourself tonight. I tried calling several times to see if you would join us and got the machine." "I'm tired of being a damn secretary to all the calls you both get so I didn't answer the phone." "Well, since I didn't expect you were home, I didn't leave a message. I thought we would be home before you, even after we ate dinner out ourselves. I did try to get you to join us." I continued, "I don't know what this is about, but I think you need to deal with this issue with a counselor." The next thing I knew, he pushed me across our loveseat, and when my daughter came down to the living room she begged, "Please don't hurt my mother." He answered in a threatening tone, "Get out of my fuckin' face before I hurt you." I explained to my husband that I understood where his anger was coming from, and I moved out of our bedroom that night. I asked him to seek help, and ended my conversation with him stating that I truly understood why he was taking his frustration out on me, being the closest to him. This action was in no way excusable, yet I could forgive him his action if he could apologize to my daughter and join us in counseling sessions. With each day that passed, he never apologized. We made it through Christmas and the New Year, but by mid-January my husband had moved out to a friend's house to consider his options. He did this only after we had drawn up and signed separation papers. This action in itself told me he had no intention of ever coming home. I really needed his emotional support this whole time, but since I never had it, the move was actually a relief. Now I could proceed with what needed to be done without the direct worry of his feelings, which I had no control over anyway. |
| ~ |
| I was at my desk in mid-January when the phone rang. It was my daughter's high school advising me that I better get to the campus quickly. Angela was in pre-mature labor. My heart raced and I prayed, "Dear Lord we've come this far. Please don't let anything happen to our baby now." Fortunately, the high school was not far from the office and I was there in minutes. Angela was waiting in the nurse's office. The paramedic trainee told me what was going on with Angela's contractions so we went directly to the doctor's office. They attached a monitor to Angela's belly that measured the strength of each contraction and sure enough, they were two minutes apart. To Angela, they were not very strong, no more then menstrual cramps. We proceeded to the hospital since Angela was only thirty-four weeks along. Angela remained in the hospital for a few days to get the contractions under control and then was restricted to the house for the duration of her pregnancy. The school arranged for her to be home schooled several days a week, and between Angela's repentant father, brother, grandparents and some friends, we managed to take care of her personal needs. Gifts for the baby were arriving daily and, as in the procession of the Magi, it dawned on me that this was our sign. I told Angela that there would be a sign, she would know, inside her, if this baby was to be raised by her and Shawn or someone else. This was the answer, diapers, onesies, bottles, formula, and clothes to age five. You name it, it all came through our doors and Mary-Catherine was still not born. Angela was seeing the doctors every week now and it was obvious that the baby was breech and going to stay that way. One more picture for the photo album. Mary-Catherine was facing us in the last ultrasound. It was amazing how her features were detailed. I felt as if we had known each other forever. |