Chapter 18

Blessingway

“So how was dinner?” Paul asked over Friday morning coffee the next day. “It reminds me of an episode of Grey‘s Anatomy. Like your own little romantic retreat for the night.” He smiled and took a sip of coffee.

“Delicious, but I was blown away by the whole thing.”

“Oh, I know, right? The room was decorated so cute,” Paul agreed.

“I wish I could stay and visit longer.” Paul said looking down at his phone. “But I have a new patient checking into our unit. You remember how that goes,” Paul said.

“Indeed, it feels like I’ve been here for months instead of just weeks.”

Some girlfriends were scheduled to visit me later that day. My friends Sarah, Nicky and Sloane brought me lunch; we were indulging on taquitos and chips and queso. I would’ve killed for a margarita on the rocks with salt along the rim.

“So, everything is set and ready to go for your blessingway next week.” Sarah said. “I just double-checked the responses—we have eight RSVPs, plus your mom, mother-in-law, Melissa and Abby. Thirteen total including you. It‘s this Tuesday at 4:00 p.m. We’re planning on getting here half an hour before or so to set up.”

I had already had a baby sprinkle for the twins. Normally, for second child you wouldn’t do another traditional baby shower, but since we were having twins I thought it would be very helpful to stock up on two of everything. I wanted to do something different instead of a baby shower. My friend Sloane had something called a blessingway earlier that year for her second daughter, Lily—which I wasn’t able to go to because I was already on bedrest at the beginning of my pregnancy—and I had fallen in love with the idea. A blessingway, or mother blessing, was an old Navajo ceremony in which family and friends celebrate the mother‘s passage into motherhood. Rather than bringing gifts for the baby, this special gathering is all about nurturing the mother-to-be and celebrating the joys of motherhood. Each woman in attendance is encouraged to share her own birth experiences and provide advice, wisdom and prayers for the mother-to-be.

I had invited Jenny, Susan, Caroline, Ashley and Paul as well as some of my other nurses to my celebration. My mom and my sister, Melissa, arrived at my room first with Abby. My mother-in-law, Kathy, was there too. She had flown in from California for the occasion. I had told her it wasn’t necessary, but she wanted to be there. Together, we all loaded into an elevator and headed up to the tenth floor of the hospital to the event room. The room was bright and colorful with huge windows that overlooked the zoo. The energy felt warm and inviting without all the hustle and bustle of the labor and delivery floors. The walls were painted in shades of orange, green, yellow and purple, and the air was full of the smell of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting in the kitchen for kids and guests. The room held a new, shiny playground with several big pieces of equipment and lots of toys. There was a slide and a see-saw, a jungle gym and a rock wall. The only thing missing from this dream playroom were children. The space needed laughter and noise to bring it to life. But most of the patients on the floor were extremely ill children who couldn’t get out of bed, or post-op patients who weren’t here long enough to experience the room‘s magical essence. Something so beautiful that the mere sight of it made me want to burst into tears thinking about the sick children that couldn’t play there. That and the whole hormones thing—always the hormones thing. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and wiped a tear from my cheek.

“All right,” I said as I motioned to Melissa to help me out of the wheelchair. “Shall we?”

As I carefully stepped out of the wheelchair, I turned and saw Abby. My precious little Abby was wearing a bright-colored floral sundress and had her hair in pigtails. Her little white sandals were decorated with flowers and jewels that sparkled when she walked. I remembered very clearly the day that we bought them. I had taken her to the mall to buy a couple of things for our upcoming trip to San Antonio: a pink rash guard swimsuit, white sun hat, polka dot Minnie sunglasses—she was going to be the most stylish toddler on the Sesame Street splash pad at SeaWorld. We were just missing shoes. I was looking for a pair of water shoes, the kind she could wear on the splash pad so she wouldn’t burn her little feet, but I wasn’t having any luck. And that‘s when she found those little jeweled, sparkly ones.

“Mama, can we buy these?” she asked, picking up her preferred pair.

“Baby girl, you need water shoes,” I’d said. “These will get ruined in the water.”

“Mama—let‘s buy two,” she replied, “these and the water shoes… Then I’ll be so happy.” Her bright blue eyes lit up.

How in the world could I say no? The girl loved her shoes and she did have a great sense of style—which she obviously inherited from me.

She wore her new shoes out of the store and had worn them just about every day that spring. Seeing my beautiful child with her sparkly shoes made my heart sore. I so desperately missed the life I had before all of this. I bent down and picked Abby up—which made my mom and Kathy cringe, because they were afraid an action like that might make me go into labor. I think I almost gave them a heart attack.

I waddled over to where the chairs were arranged and sat down. Abby followed me and climbed right onto my lap. Kathy tried to take her from me, but she cried and hugged me tightly. My mom tried too and got the same response. She just wanted to stay with her mama. I think that‘s when everyone realized just how incredibly difficult it had been for me to be away from Abby. To be away from this amazing little person who needed me just as much as I needed her.

After a few moments, my mom stood up and addressed the group.

“I want to thank everyone for being here and helping us honor Crystal today,” she said. “We are all incredibly proud of her—the tremendous strength and faith she has shown all along. She‘s amazing. I don’t know how she does it.”

My friends slipped a crown of flowers—pink blooms and baby breath—on my head. They also passed out bracelets to me and all the guests. They were decorated with eight crystals—the number of people who were there. That bracelet would come to have enormous sentimental value for me. It would be my “blessed” bracelet—embodying love, faith and hope. I put it on and swore I wouldn’t take it off until I had my babies safe in my arms.

I had told myself I wasn’t going to cry at this thing. But as soon as the guests started sharing their words of support, I couldn’t hold back. Damn hormones.

They said such beautiful things about my strength, faith and hope. They wished me well on the weeks ahead. Everyone was positive about our outcome, predicting that soon we would be home with our baby girls and past this nightmare. I hope you guys are right.

My tears were flowing non-stop. They weren’t tears of fear or sadness. They were tears of joy. I was an inspiration? People looked up to me, Crystal Duffy? The love and encouragement my family and friends displayed lifted me up at a time when I so desperately needed it. There were three other women besides myself who were also expecting, not to mention the others who had infants at home. Their words about having strength were a testament to all mothers. As the women continued to offer heartfelt speeches and prayers, there was not a dry eye in the house. My friends and family planned a beautiful celebration to honor me and honor motherhood; I was deeply touched by it.

I returned to my room that afternoon with a feeling that I was surrounded by a loving, calming and spiritual presence. I drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

In my dream, I am surrounded in darkness. I’m sitting in the glider in our bedroom covered with the soft white crochet blanket my mom made me. I have an empty baby bottle in one hand and a pacifier in the other. The babies! Were they finally asleep? I didn’t remember putting them back down in their cribs. We were doing a dream feed. I get up frantically to check on them. I’m wearing a thin cotton nightgown, shivering as I close my robe. I walk down the creaky hallway and slowly open the door to the nursery. The room has transformed—it‘s bigger, and there‘s a huge bay window looking out the front of our two-story house. Wait a sec, I think, we live in a one-story bungalow. This isn’t our house. I’m now standing in my grandmother‘s old bedroom, her master suite—she has converted it into a nursery for my girls. There‘s the two white cribs I’d picked out, one on either side of the room. I rush over to them, both Katie and Lauren are in a deep milk-induced coma, each wrapped tightly in a swaddle looking like little burritos. I turn and look around the room, and notice that between the cribs is the changing table that was mine when I was a baby—the one we had used with Abby. It‘s stocked with their belongings—diapers, wipes, burp cloths and blankets. In the back of the room, there‘s a daybed. It looks like the Pottery Barn one I always wanted but could never bring myself to purchase. And on it, there she is—my Ita, all curled up, lying right beside Abby, who is clutching her big stuffed doggie. My Ita‘s short, fluffy, curly brown hair is just like I remembered it. I reach out to touch her and find it warm and soft, reminiscent of newborn skin.

“Ita,” I cry out. She opens her eyes.

“Hola mija, vine ayudarte, con las niñas, son tan preciosas.”3

I couldn’t believe my eyes. She is really here, sitting with me in a dream nursery she’d created, telling me she’d come to help with my precious twins. Oh, how I had longed and dreamed for the day I’d get to see her again, to talk to her and have her meet my girls. Ask her all those questions I wish I had years ago when we had the time together. My heart is overflowing with love. For that instant, all the people I love most in the world are in the same room.

I’d missed her so much and was so grateful she’d come to meet her great-grandbabies. “Ay Ita,” I tell her, “te he extrañado tanto. Gracias por venir, me hace tan contenta que pudiste venir a conocer a tus bisnietas.”4

As I mentioned the babies, I turn to look back at them, and when I turn back to look at her, she is gone. Our precious moments together were capped. They always were. In this dream and in the many I’d had before. I wasn’t sad, but grateful. Grateful that, even if it was for those couple of seconds that I was in deep dream-REM cycle, I got to see her and she got to see me and the girls. I interpreted the dream as a positive sign that we were all going to make it through. That even though Ita wasn’t with me in the flesh, she was always around, guiding me, giving me strength when I didn’t think I had any left. I was okay. I knew I would be able to carry on. No matter what happened, I felt ready to handle it.