| |
MARK STOOD IN THE CORNER of the labour ward watching his wife’s contractions coming one after the other. He’d never felt so powerless. There was nothing he could do to ease her pain. Two years it had been since he’d last watched her labour, and even though he knew the result would be worth it, he couldn’t stop himself from pacing with worry.
When their son had been born, Mark had tried everything the books suggested to make Amy more comfortable. He’d rubbed her back, but she’d pushed him away. She couldn’t stand being touched. He’d collected ice-chips for her, which melted to a watery puddle after she arched her back during an intense contraction, knocking over the cup. The cool cloths he’d placed on her forehead were removed and thrown across the room too. In the final stages, she’d reached for him, her nails digging deeply into the skin on his tattooed forearm. Those nails had hurt even more than getting the tattoo, but he knew it was nothing compared to the pain she was going through.
It had all been worth it. When it was over, and he held his son for the first time, he remembered his tears dripping onto the soft blanket as tiny fingers wrapped around his own. He’d been overwhelmed with love and a desperate need to protect this beautiful little boy. Jack they’d called him, after his grandfather who they’d lost months earlier to cancer. Mark’s father would have loved Jack, if only they’d gotten to meet.
Now, the midwives fussed over his wife, reassuring her with encouragement when she felt weak, checking her vital signs and assuring her all was going to plan. Nursing shifts finished and the faces of those in the room changed, but the quiet encouragement, love and comfort they brought to his wife filled him with gratitude.
She was strong, that wife of his. Amy had been through so much, but nothing had defeated her. As obstacle after obstacle was thrown in her path, she’d pressed her lips together, gritted her teeth and soldiered on, just as she was doing today.
He watched a tear trickle down her face as she looked into her mother’s eyes. He’d never really gotten along well with his mother-in-law, but Amy had insisted that she wanted her here this time and he couldn’t say no. Watching as Joan gently wiped Amy’s tears away, whispered in her ear and squeezed her hand he knew she’d made the right choice. Mothers always knew the right things to say and do during childbirth. Maybe it was the bond between mother and daughter. Maybe it was simply due to the fact she’d been through it herself, but he could see how her presence gave Amy strength.
Amy screamed as the pushing started. It wouldn’t be long now. The nurses positioned her with Joan by her side. Mark felt like an outsider, watching from his corner. He wanted to feel those nails of hers pierce his arm, just like last time, but her hand was gripping her mother’s. It was her mother’s eyes she focussed on as she pushed to bring his child into the world, and it was her mother who urged her on.
The baby’s hair was dark, just like Jack’s and he watched on as the rest of its head appeared. Shoulders appeared one by one, followed quickly by the rest of the baby, sliding out into the waiting hands of the midwife.
“Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl,” the midwife said, wrapping a towel around his daughter and gently wiping the blood from her face.
Wailing and squirming his daughter was placed in Amy’s arms as Mark watched the tears stream down her face and her body convulse with sobs. Joan’s arms wrapped around her, tears pouring down her own face.
“She looks just like her father. Do you see it too?” she said once Amy’s sobs had eased.
“I see it. I miss him so much, Mum.”
“I know you do. Have you decided on a name for her?”
“Hope Phoenix,” Amy said, looking down at their child. “Hope because she brings with her the hope for a better future, and Phoenix after her father.”
“I never liked that phoenix tattoo on his arm, but it certainly fits. He’s been raised from the ashes to live again through Hope. Who would have known when we lost him that he’d left you this one last gift?”
“I know he’s gone, but so many times today I’ve felt his presence. It’s like he’s in the room with us, making sure that we were okay.”
“Maybe he was, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing Amy’s arm. “He was quite a man.”
“I never thought you liked him,” Amy said.
“He died protecting my grandson. Jack wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his bravery. I’ll always remember him as the hero he was. And now he’s gone, it’s my job to protect you all. It’s the least I can do after the sacrifice he made.”
Mark watched as Amy hugged her mother. Maybe the old bat wasn’t so bad after all. He felt himself being pulled, back to the beyond. Just before he forced himself to turn away, he took one last look at his daughter. Hope. That was fitting. He had to leave Amy, but he’d left a part of himself with her. He’d left her with Hope.
––––––––
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carolyn Young is a single mum living in Melbourne, Australia. Most of her writing falls under the speculative fiction banner with Young Adult dystopian as her main focus. She has several short stories appearing in both Australian and international publications but also enjoys dabbling in poetry.
Her spare time is spent reading, writing and dreaming of the day she can move to the country and write full-time.
As a writer, she credits any and all success to her cat, who always knows the right keys to walk over to inspire creativity.
Follow Carolyn at https://www.facebook.com/authorcarolynyoung
