“There is no reason we cannot leave this room exactly as it is. It will always be her room.”
“That’s the thing,” he counters. “What if we gave this room to Niesha and her baby to use?”
What a leap! Here I was thinking he was mourning the death of his mother, and instead, he is on the verge of not only moving past it, but bestowing this space to another mom on another journey. This spacious room could accommodate a crib, plus with the adjoining bathroom, it offers privacy and comfort.
As I think about the possibility, he recognizes my delay in responding and his enormous heart continues to amaze me.
“Unless, of course, you would rather she not be here. I mean, I didn’t know how you would feel about a baby being here given, you know, what you’ve experienced.”
His heart is huge.
“I appreciate you asking, and I love you for thinking about how I may feel. I’ll admit, it won’t be easy, but this room, more than any other space in this house, is not mine to direct its use. If you are able to come to terms with someone else being in this room, then I will open my life to her, and her child.”
“I wasn’t thinking they would live here forever, just until she gets situated, maybe takes some classes and is ready to create her own home for her and her little boy. Or girl.”
“I wouldn’t think she would want to share a room with her kid forever, so I think giving her a solid foundation, someplace where she doesn’t have to worry about a roof over her head right away, will do so much to change her life.”
I imagine waking during the night hearing a baby cry. I expect that will not be easy for me, but perhaps we can help with that, too.
“I’d be willing to help care for it while she goes to school or whatever she wants to do to create a life for them. Whatever you decide you want to do, I will support her and you.”
He lets go of my left hand and reaches out to rearrange the pictures on the nightstand. I left the one of him towards the front, but he moves it behind the family portrait, and I know with their absence, and despite all he does for me, so much love is untapped and available for others. This baby will definitely enjoy plenty of that. I only wish it were possible that I could give him a child. I squeeze him tightly as his gaze focuses on the pictures, or perhaps whatever emotions they elicit, and decide to keep that thought to myself.
When I finally pull away, he grabs the edge of my hand, just a finger really, and doesn’t let me pull away smoothly. I stumble, not planning for the last-minute embrace, and bump my left knee against the bed. Instinctively, I raise it swiftly to avoid losing my balance and landing with force on my unprotected, sore foot. Trying to keep from falling to the ground, I attempt to grab his hand in return, but miss it in his simple movement, and instead grasp the linens and brace myself to prevent the pending fall. The risk of reinjury – or at least making a bumpy situation worse – leaves me to rely on three out of four limbs for stability.
He likewise stands and pivots in a swift motion as I tumble, but in my awkwardness, I find myself face down on the bed, leaving him to wrap his arm around my waist in an attempt to catch me. We both slip, bumping into one another, and his hand slides upwards, conveniently leaving him with a handful of breast and my back end towards him.
I laugh out loud at myself, perhaps more like a giggle. He neither laughs, nor inquires after my safety.
He freezes in place, pauses for several beats, I presume making sure I am not wobbly or at risk of landing on my injured ankle. I lower my head so it nearly touches the fabric and soften my laugh as he squeezes my chest. He lowers his other hand, placing it in the crook of my knee. He arranges it on the bed so I am not precarious, assuring my ankle is protected from further trouble, and then continues the movement of his hand against my thigh, making its way northward. The giggle becomes a gasp as he touches the soft pants that cling to me.
Pam Portland 