Ireland, 1973
“Something’s wrong with the baby!”
Patrick sighed and gripped the steering wheel more tightly. The rain was coming down as if all of God’s angels were dumping buckets from the sky. Barely able to see the car in front of him, he was struggling to keep the vehicle on the road—to even see the road. Though generally a patient man, Patrick didn’t have the energy to give in to Nora’s dramatics.
“Nothing is wrong with the baby, me love,” he said, with all the calmness he could muster. “Everything’s just fine.” He glanced over and offered his wife a gentle smile, then quickly turned his attention back to his driving. He should’ve known it would be raining on the night his child was to be born. After all, this was Ireland. Was it not always raining?
“No, I mean it,” Nora said, through clenched teeth. Her knuckles were so white, they were turning blue as she squeezed the armrest on the car door and arched her back, while a labour pain ripped through her. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it,” she gasped.
“What you feel is labour,” Patrick said, smiling slightly. “It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the baby. It just means he’s ready to make his entrance into this world.”
Nora was known, to him and their whole family—and perhaps, to their entire village—to exaggerate events. It was the single thing he simultaneously loved most about her and also loathed. An odd thing to love, he recognized, but Nora’s extravagant stories always made her the life of any party or gathering.
Nora had a way with words. She often said the more miserable a situation, the better a story it would make later. And, he had to admit, in her case, she was right.
So, it came as no surprise to Patrick that the birth of their baby was, in Nora’s eyes, bound to be wrought with drama. He had no doubt, though, their little boy—Callum, as he was to be named—would enter this world with little to no difficulty. Nora had experienced the best medical care available in Ireland. Patrick had made certain of that. There were many perks to being a Senator, a member of Seanad Eireann, and he’d taken advantage of every connection he had. His wife and baby were going to have the best medical care in all of Ireland. Blinking hard, trying to see through the downpour of rain, Patrick was beginning to wonder why he hadn’t used some of that power to ensure a driver to take them to the hospital tonight. For all of his prepping and planning, the detail of who would drive them to the hospital had never crossed his mind. Once she’d regained her composure, Nora spoke again.
“Patrick, listen to me. I am serious. This isn’t one of my stories this time. Something is wrong with the baby.”
“Why, me love, would you even think such a thing?” Patrick said, checking his rearview mirror. “You’ve had all the tests. He’s perfect. Just perfect. The doctors say nothing is wrong with him.”
Patrick smiled as he used the word “him.” In actuality, Nora and he had not been told they were having a little boy. There was really no way to know until the lad made his appearance into this world. But, in their hearts, both of them just knew this child was a boy. They were so certain, in fact, they hadn’t even discussed girls’ names.
Nora sighed deeply and looked out her window into the dark, unceasing rain. “I know there’s something wrong, because…I had a dream.”
The words made Patrick catch his breath. A dream? There were four things in life that Patrick took seriously and without question. God, death, taxes—and dreams.
Years ago, on the night his baby brother died, Patrick had learned the power of dreams. Many people wrote off dreams as nothing more than figments of one’s imagination. But Patrick knew better. A dream was a sign from God.
Keeping his voice calm for Nora’s sake, he said, “What do you mean, you had a dream?” He quickly looked at Nora, trying to offer her a reassuring glance, before returning his eyes back to the road. “Last night,” Nora said, beginning to breathe more rapidly as pain began to rise in her body, “I dreamt you and I and our baby were in the park…” The words trailed off as Nora gasped and let out another, what seemed to Patrick’s ears, inhuman wail.
“The park?” said Patrick, speaking soothingly to Nora, as she panted in agony. “The park sounds lovely. I like the thought of a family day in the park. What else happened?”
Nora’s breathing evened out again. “We were at the park and you were pushing our boy on a swing. I was setting up a picnic at a table, not too far away. I could see your back, and I could see the swing going up and down, but I couldn’t see the baby. I called your name, to tell you and Callum to come and eat.”
Patrick smiled. Despite the dread he felt over what was to come in the dream, he couldn’t help but feel warmth at the sound of their son’s name. Callum. A name which meant dove. Some might not find it a strong name, but Patrick, a politician and, above all else, an Irishman, was hopeful that a shift was finally here for Ireland. The violence and riots of the past years had taken a toll on Patrick, and, of course, his country. It was time for a new beginning. And what better way to acknowledge that he, himself, was ready for that change than by naming his first-born son after a bird that symbolized peace?
Patrick had such dreams for his child, this boy he had yet to meet. A boy who would have hair as black as Kilkenny coal and eyes as blue as the summer sky. If Patrick had thought about it long enough, he’d have recognized the child he was imagining was an identical version of the brother he’d lost so long ago. But, he never did think about it long enough. He was a man who tried to never look back. And for the past nine months, Patrick’s eyes had been set on the little boy who was about to arrive. Oh, Patrick had great plans for his son. He would, of course, be beautiful. How could he be anything but gorgeous, being born from a mother as stunning as Nora? Even at the age of thirty, she was as breathtaking as she’d been when he’d met her at eighteen. No, Nora never aged. Patrick wished the same could be said of himself. The years, and his stressful career, had taken a toll on him and he looked much older than his forty-two years. It wasn’t uncommon for a stranger to inquire about whether or not Nora was his daughter. But as long as Nora found him attractive and still wanted to be with him, it didn’t matter to him at all how he was aging. Though he did hope a son would help keep him young. Patrick didn’t know what was in store for Callum, but he somehow knew—call it intuition—his boy was to be unique.
“And, did we come for lunch when you called?” Patrick asked, breaking his thoughts long enough to focus on Nora’s dream.
“I called your name and you turned and looked at me and smiled. Then you went back to pushing the baby on the swing. I looked toward Callum and I noticed a crowd of children standing near his swing. They’d all been playing before, but now they were just standing in front of him, frozen and silent. One of them pointed at Callum and said something. Then, another child started to laugh. I looked at you, but you didn’t see me. You just kept pushing Callum back and forth on the swing.”
Patrick put his hand on Nora’s leg and gently began to rub it. He knew he shouldn’t take his hand off of the steering wheel in this weather, but he had a feeling what was about to follow was not going to be good.
“Then, as if the children had seen something terribly frightening when looking at Callum, they started to scream. The girls began to cry and the boys started to yell, and they all started to run away from the playground.” Nora became silent and Patrick could see, out of the corner of his eye, she had tears running down her face. “I started to run towards you and the baby, to see what was the matter. What was scaring these children? You didn’t turn. You just kept pushing the swing, as all the children screamed, pointed at our child, and ran.”
There was silence in the car for a moment. Patrick was almost too frightened to ask what happened next, but he did.
“And what did you see, love?” he asked softly. “When you got to the swing, what did you see?”
Nora began to sob softly. “There was nothing there. The swing was empty. You were pushing an empty swing.”
Patrick hesitated. It didn’t make any sense. “But, you said earlier you’d seen Callum in the swing.”
Nora continued to cry as she reached into her handbag to grab a handful of tissues.
“I know,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’d seen the back of his head as you pushed. But, when I got closer, there was no one in the swing. It was empty.”
They rode in silence for a moment longer, until another labour pain grabbed hold of Nora, and she began to cry harder. Patrick was no longer sure if she was crying from the pain, or from the dream, or if the two were intermingled. To be perfectly honest, he suddenly felt like crying, too.
Get ahold of yourself, he thought. This is ridiculous. It was a dream.
Only a dream. The words echoed in his mind. Hadn’t he said that same exact thing to himself years earlier. Only a dream. It hadn’t turned out to be only a dream then. Would it now?
Patrick shook his head, to regain his composure. He could not allow himself to fall apart now. His son was about to be born, and hopefully not on this cold, wet road. They’d almost reached the hospital. Nora’s pain slowed, and she began to speak again. “What do you think it means, Patrick? What’s going to be wrong with our baby?”
Patrick was relieved to see, through the dense fog and rain, the sign for the hospital straight ahead.
“Look, Nora. We’re here. Just a minute more and you’ll be out of this car and headed up to deliver our son.”
Patrick carefully guided the car into the driveway and pulled in front of the main entrance.
“Nora, love,” he said softly, as he turned back toward her. “Listen to me.” With very deliberate, yet loving words, he said, “Our son is a blessing from God. A blessing, me love. I don’t know what we have in store for us tonight. I don’t know if he’s going to be perfectly healthy or have a bit of a problem. But what I do know is that he’s ours. Yours and mine. And he’s been given to us as a gift. I am going to love Callum from the moment he enters the world until the moment I exit it. And whatever God puts on our plate, I’m ready to face it, with you by my side, because there is a plan for our lives, for Callum’s life. I might not know what it is, but I know it is real and true and good.”
Nora’s eyes remained closed, but Patrick saw a new tear slip from the corner of one eye.
“I love you, Nora. No child has ever had a father who loved his mother more. Whatever lies in store for us, we’re going to face it together. Do you hear me?”
Nora nodded slowly, opened her dark eyes and looked deep into Patrick’s blue ones.
“Now, can we please go inside and have this baby?” Patrick asked.
A small giggle escaped Nora as she nodded and said, “Yes, and please, let’s hurry.”
• • •
Patrick rolled Nora into the front door of the hospital in the wheelchair he’d found outside. As he completed the necessary paperwork, Nora was whisked into a hospital room, and by the time he found her again, she’d changed into a gown and was being tended to by a nurse.
“It won’t be long now,” the woman said to Patrick. She was a large woman, with an even bigger smile. “Are you ready to become a dad?”
Patrick returned the smile. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all of my life.”
“Then let’s get the doctor in here,” she said, as she left the room.
Patrick walked over to Nora’s bedside and took her hand in his.
Nora smiled, then began to grimace as the pain grew.
The doctor entered the room, as the pain in Patrick’s hand, from Nora’s iron-tight grip, began to truly sting. Behind the doctor were two nurses.
“I hear we’re going to have a baby in a wee bit,” the doctor said, smiling.
“We’re looking forward to it,” Patrick said, as Nora’s grip lessened.
The doctor examined Nora.
“Well, it looks like you’re ready to begin pushing. What I want you to do, Nora, is do your best to relax, and when you feel the next pain, I want you to push as hard as you can.” Nora smiled weakly. “And, if you want to call ol’ Patrick, here, some terrible names, that’s fine by me, too. I won’t tell a soul.”
As soon as the doctor said his last word, Nora’s grip on his hand tightened again and she began to cry out.
“You’re doing great, Nora. That was a magnificent push,” the doctor said. “I can see his crown. He has hair as black as yours. You can do it. Push again.”
Nora arched her back and made a sound like none Patrick had ever heard.
“That’s it, Nora. One more push. I see his shoulder. One more push and he’ll be out.” The doctor’s supportive voice was reassuring to both Patrick and Nora. The baby would soon be here.
Nora squeezed Patrick’s hand one final time, cried out in agonizing pain and pushed. As Nora’s scream ceased, a new one began in the room. But this was a tiny cry. A gentle wail that made both Nora and Patrick smile. It was the first sound of their child, and it was beautiful.
Patrick kissed Nora on the forehead and whispered softly, “You did it, me love.” She smiled gently back at him.
Then Patrick stood up straight and looked toward the doctor, hoping to catch a glimpse of his newborn son.
The doctor and nurses were whispering softly. Patrick hadn’t noticed how quiet the room had become once the delivery was over. But now that he was paying attention, he realized it was silent. Even the baby had stopped crying.
“Is everything okay?” Nora asked. She, too, had noticed the change in the room. “Is my baby okay?”
The doctor and nurses appeared not to hear her. One nurse hurried out of the room. Nervous, Patrick started to walk toward them, eager for a glimpse of their child, and as the doctor, who had Callum in his arms, turned, Patrick caught sight of the baby and the room began to spin.
Patrick grabbed hold of the instrument table, and it began to roll away from him. The other nurse, the one who’d smiled at Patrick earlier, ran toward him and grabbed his arm, just as a number of doctors and nurses rushed into the room.
“Come with me, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said gently. “Let’s go out and get you some fresh air.”
Patrick wanted to look at Nora, but he found he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to see her face. And he couldn’t bear to have her see his. Would she see it in his eyes? Instead, he nodded at the nurse, and followed her out of the room. He could hear Nora crying behind him.
“What’s happening?” she begged. “Patrick! What’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”
Patrick hated himself for doing it, but he let the door close behind him, and then he sank to the floor.
The nurse squatted down next to him, her hand on his back.
“Can I get you some water?” she asked.
“It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Patrick said dully.
The nurse nodded.
“He’s missing an arm,” Patrick said. He could barely get the words out. It couldn’t be true. Of course, his son had two arms. They’d seen them on the scan—hadn’t they? But Callum didn’t have an arm. Patrick was certain of it. He’d only caught a glimpse of the baby, but he was sure he’d seen nothing more than a stub where the limb should have been.
“He was born without an arm, wasn’t he?” Patrick asked the nurse, pleading with his eyes for her to correct him. Silently begging her to tell him he was mistaken.
The woman took a deep breath and sighed. It was never easy to tell a parent something was wrong with their baby and fortunately, over the span of her career, she’d only had to do it a few times. It was a heartbreaking part of her job, but it had never been like this before. Even she couldn’t believe it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald, your son was born without an arm.” She lowered her eyes, as if she could no longer bear to see his pain. And he understood this. Sometimes, the pain of others was physically tangible in their eyes. He remembered the agony in his mother’s eyes after his brother had died. It had hurt his chest to look at his mum from that day on. He’d thought nothing could hurt more than that sadness, but he’d been mistaken. No trouble Patrick had experienced before prepared him for the torment that was about to come.
“And, I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Fitzgerald, but your son was also born without either of his legs.”
The sound was primal. Patrick had never heard such a low and guttural noise and for a moment, wondered how it could have risen out of him. He curled up into a ball, against the wall, and began to sob, convulsing in a burning pain more scalding than any fire. He wondered how he was going to tell Nora. And then, as he heard the agonizing scream pierce the hall, he knew he wouldn’t have to.