Hours pass. I busy myself playing in the back yard with Libby and McGee until storms threaten. Inside we play with building blocks and read several books. At 7:00 p.m. Alma encourages me to shoot a text requesting an update. I decide to send a group text in hopes that one of my friends has a moment to let me know if there is any update.
Me: anxious to hear if you have an update
Moments pass. I force the fear that attempts to overtake me back to the pit of my stomach. I ask Alma to keep an eye on Libby while I take a minute. I slip out to the back porch. A summer storm brews around us. Angry, dark clouds approach from the west, the winds pick up speed, and the temperature drops ten degrees. It would be easy to let this tumultuous weather influence my mood, but storms don’t bring me down—they rejuvenate me. As a child, I thought I would like to be a weather-chaser and study meteorology. I’ve always been drawn to changes in the weather.
My silent phone in hand, I say another prayer. The wind picks up again and rain begins to fall from the oppressive clouds above.
“Mama,” Liberty’s soft voice calls from the screen door.
I turn to find her palms flat on either side of her face pressed to the screen. She’s not smiling—she senses my mood. I open the door, scooping her into my arms and place a kiss on both her cheeks. I point to the clouds and rain while talking to her about the weather. I extend her fist over the railing of the porch allowing several sprinkles to wet her palm. Liberty squeals pulling her hand back giggling. As her mother, I love experiencing the world for the first time through her eyes. Libby extends her palm wanting me to help her catch the raindrops again. Her innocence and eagerness to explore lightens my heart.
When I place Libby on the kitchen floor while I latch the back door, she runs to the front room yelling for Alma. I smile knowing she babbles to share about the raindrops with Alma. Of course, she doesn’t have the vocabulary yet, but she will continue as if we understand her. I follow behind her and share the raindrop story for Alma.
We bathe Liberty, place her in pajamas and each read a book to her before she finally falls asleep. Alma meets me at the bottom step with a glass of red wine. We settle in our favorite reading spots for the rest of the night. I understand my friends are scared, but with each half hour I don’t hear from them my fears begin to replace my positivity regarding Bethany’s baby. It’s another hour before I receive a reply to my text.
Winston: it’s a girl!
Winston: Bethany is fine, baby in NICU
Winston: Adrian will text soon
At the sound of the text alerts, Alma moved beside me to read with me. We breathe a sigh of relief. Alma fetches the bottle of wine from the kitchen suggesting we have another glass to celebrate before we turn in.
Later in my room, Adrian and Salem text me. They report Bethany is exhausted but healthy and happy. Salem calls me claiming it is too much to text. As Winston drives back to Athens, Adrian and Salem fill me in on speaker phone. Bethany’s daughter is tiny and the doctors state she might be in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for a couple of days while her tiny lungs struggle to provide oxygen and she fights jaundice. She weighs 4 pounds 8 ounces and they haven’t shared her name yet.
My girls report Troy is an even bigger mess now than he was during the pregnancy. He’s torn between his daughter and wife’s room. They have no idea how he was able to drive to the hospital when he left the police academy in St. Joe today. I explain he must have had his guardian angel on his shoulder the entire way and the girls agree.
Adrian shares Winston went to a nearby store for food and toiletries for Troy. He plans to decide in the morning if he can leave for the academy or not. He’s much closer from the hospital than he is driving back and forth to Athens.
I claim I need to get to sleep so I can face my fifteen students in the morning. I thank Winston for driving my girls before we all say goodbye. I send a text about Bethany and the baby to Hamilton and inform Alma in her room before I turn off my light. With good news from KC and two glasses of wine in me, I quickly drift to sleep.
Over the next three days both Troy and Bethany text us photos and updates. Their daughter, Jameson or Jami as they will call her, improves every day. Troy continues to attend the police academy each day and spend his evenings with his girls. Bethany is discharged on the second day—her family secures a hotel room nearby for Troy and her to sleep in when they are forced to leave the hospital each day.