Beck’s dad and I chose to have her. What I mean is that she wasn’t an accident, we planned for her. That’s how it started out. She was wanted.
Before Beck, there was Christina, her older sister. Christina was born two years earlier and was excited to be an older sister.
Throughout my pregnancy, I struggled with my relationship with her father, and when I went into labor on January 4, 1991, at 7:30 am, my mom was packed to leave for Desert Storm–literally heading out the door to go to the airport–and I was being driven by grandpa to St. Luke’s hospital. Her father never showed up at the hospital. I thought I was going at it alone until I called my aunt.
My aunt Barbara was with me during my labor and delivery. It was a long and painful process. The nurse put an iv into a vein on my right hand. You can still see a dimple where the iv left a scar on my hand. When Beck was born, she had the cord wrapped around her neck. The nurses worked on her, and my aunt started praying out loud–not a quiet “Hail Mary” but a loud Pentecostal prayer. God must have heard her because Rebecca was soon crying and placed in my arms.
I remember the following when she was born: She was a sweet little baby. I was in love with her right away. The feeling of wanting her–needing her was strong. Feeling abandoned by her father, I felt a need to be everything for her.
When Rebecca was at St. Luke’s hospital in May, I held her hand. The feeling in my chest was the same I felt when the nurses placed her on my chest when she was born–warmness and love. I wanted her and needed her.
I think maybe all mothers who lose a child feel this pain– a deep pain that starts in the chest and creeps up into the throat where the choking feeling goes on. The same place that your child runs into for hugs and tears but mostly it’s the memory of your baby looking up at you right after she’s born–just me and Beck–alone. I needed her and she needed me.
