CHAPTER TEN

 

Each generation will be remembered by the crises it confronted, and even more by the poignant moments that overshadow history altogether.

 

Kathleen

 

I MADE A mad dash for the toilet and threw up everything that was in my stomach. It was this way every morning now. Randy was the only one who knew I was pregnant. It was bad luck to talk about it this soon, especially after three miscarriages. Besides, with all that was going on with Jake, I didn’t feel like celebrating anything.

Randy, Holly, and I had stayed up late the night before watching The Outer Limits and Gilligan’s Island. Afterward, we playeda lively game of Monopoly. It kept us from worrying about Jake so much.

Today marked the first anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination. Flashbacks of him and Mrs. Kennedy arriving in Dallas one year earlier had aired on every TV network throughout the weekend. It was eerie to see the President and First Lady smiling and waving to the crowd that had gathered at Love Field last November, totally unaware of the danger that awaited them at Dealey Plaza. My eyes filled with tears as I watched the funeral procession slowly pass Mrs. Kennedy and her two children. And then, in the most touching manner I had ever witnessed, little John-John saluted his father’s casket. It was easy to find myself drawn into this other family’s tragedy, watching it unravel on a small screen in my living room, reliving each moment as if it had happened not only to them, but to me as well.

It seemed like trouble was brewing everywhere I looked these days. Not only had our president been shot dead on the streets of Dallas, but colored folks were being hosed down in Birmingham. At the height of the Cold War, Nikita Khrushchev vowed the Soviet Union would bury us; a threat that seemed imminent during the Cuban Missile Crisis. We were in a breakneck race with the Russians for outer space, and in the midst of a cultural rebellion that celebrated free love and revolutionary ways of thinking and behaving. My generation would long be remembered for its protests against the Viet Nam War, though sometimes the conflict in our hearts was an even deeper and darker struggle than any fought with guns.

It was mid-afternoon before Daddy called from the hospital.

“Hush, Jennifer. Mommy’s on the phone.” Jennifer mimicked me by putting one of her stubby fingers to her lips and giggling loudly.

The news was worse than I had expected. Jake was scheduled for exploratory surgery on Wednesday and would have to stay in the hospital. Daddy said he would tell us more when we brought Holly home that evening.

“We’ll be there around five,” I told Daddy, biting my lower lip. “Dad wants to speak to you.” I handed the receiver to Holly.

“Where are you?” Holly asked.

I studied her face as she heard the news. She looked as if she were about to cry.

“But that’s the day before Thanksgiving,” Holly stressed. “Why do they have to operate the day before a holiday? Can’t it wait?”

There was a long silence.

“No, don’t put her on the phone. I’ll talk to her later.” Holly quickly hung up the phone.

I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to speak to Mother. Holly picked up the ball and rolled it to Jennifer who had continued to laugh and play, safe from the shadow that had fallen over Holly and me. I envied my daughter’s innocence.

I was relieved when it was time to take Holly home. Sometimes she seemed more like a stranger than a sister because of the difference in our ages. She was only ten when I left home to marry Randy four years ago. I still remember her as a little brat who always bothered me when my friends were over. She had even mutilated my favorite doll by chopping off its hair, drawing glasses around its eyes, and painting freckles on its face. Mother gave Holly a good spanking and made her say she was sorry for what she had done to my poor Sally. Recently I read in a magazine that children who experienced serious illnesses or other traumatic events often acted out as a way of feeling in control of their lives. Even so, I didn’t think having polio gave Holly a right to take out her frustrations on the very last doll I ever had.

 

DADDY CAME OUTSIDE as soon as he saw us pull into the driveway. He looked very tired. He hadn’t even shaved that morning.

“Would you take Jennifer inside?” I asked Holly.

“I want to hear what’s going on,” she protested.

“I will let you know after a while,” I said. “Right now I need you to watch Jennifer.”

Daddy waited until Holly was close to the back door before saying anything.

“The situation with Jake doesn’t look good,” he began slowly. “His white cell count is high, but they don’t think he has leukemia. He has lumps and swollen lymph nodes, so they want to take a look and see if there are any tumors that have metastasized. That’s about all they’re telling us.”

Daddy seemed so lost. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast as he rocked slightly on his heels.

“It could be nothing at all,” Randy said.

“How is Mother holding up?” I asked.

“About the same as me.” Daddy sighed.

“Jake will be fine,” Randy said, placing his hand on Daddy’s shoulder.

“He’s never been sick,” I added. “I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

“What could you possibly know about it?” Daddy snapped.

“I just think we should take one day at a time,” I tried to explain.

“You don’t understand. He’s my son. I want him to go to West Point. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”

“Daddy, please . . .” I choked back my tears.

“Ross, we don’t know anything yet,” Randy cautioned. “It may not be as bad as you think.”

“It is that bad,” Daddy insisted.

I didn’t know what to say. I thought about how I would feel if Jennifer was in the hospital and facing something this serious.

Suddenly, I was aware that Holly had never gone inside. I was afraid she had heard our entire conversation. Her face had turned pale. She looked so unsettled that I walked over and took Jennifer from her.

“Are you all right?” I asked her. She turned without saying anything and went inside.

I felt so helpless. What was I supposed to do? I was afraid of having another miscarriage. It would be selfish of me to talk about my concerns right now. No one ever thought that losing an unborn child had the same impact as losing a child you had brought full term. It was the most overlooked grief there was. There was no one I could talk to. There was no one, not even Randy, who understood that sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I thought I heard an infant in the distance crying for its mother. It was the small, lost wail of a child that I would never hold in my arms. It was this helpless cry rising from an empty cradle that haunted me, that made me weep into my pillow. My biggest fear was that time, after all, really wasn’t an analgesic that healed all wounds and I would feel this way forever.