A Taylor-Made Life (29 page)

“Who’s staying with him?” I swiped
wetness from my face with a wad of Kleenex.

“Ben was with him when I left while
your father took Grace home. She was coming back to stay with him
tonight. I’m sure they’re back by now.”

I stood. “I’m going.”

Mom gave me a defeated nod. “I knew
you would. Do you want me to come with you? He’s one floor down on
the opposite wing.”

“No. I need to do this by myself. But
will you please be here when I get back?”

“You know I will.”

Covered from head to toe in sterilized
scrubs to protect my own body, I stepped into Gavin’s room and
quietly gasped, the surgical mask sucking to my lips with the
intake. It was worse than Mom said. My gut caved in like someone
had leveled me with a gurney. The deterioration he’d suffered in
the two weeks since I’d seen him tore into me like a million tiny
glass pieces, cutting, burning.

He was a shadow, a wraith of the
Havens. Only a bed could support his fragile body, his skin the
color of a dolphin’s. He smiled weakly with cracked, dry lips. I
swiped away tears and tried to smile back.

Oh God
, how had my mother
endured?
O’ Lord Jesus
, how had she stood beside and
watched?

Cancer was easy. Chemo and needles,
catheters and tubes, they were chocolate pie and banana pudding
compared to seeing someone you love suffer. And I knew now, no
amount of conversation could have prepared me for this moment. My
legs wobbled as I walked in.

“Hey, Sweetness.” His graveled voice
was soft over the din of the machines that softly beeped and
whooshed in the background. The room was dim with the only light
coming from the long, slender florescent attached to the wall over
his bed.

“Hey yourself, Techno Boy. You’re not
looking so hot.” I schooled my face as best I could, thankful that
the mask covered my quivering lips, and shuffled closer.

He let out a possible snort, but I
couldn’t be sure.

Grace rose from his side and smiled.
“He’s been in and out but seems pretty lucid right now.” She patted
his leg and moved to the end of the bed. “They just gave him his
dose of pain meds, so he’s feeling better.”

Gavin closed his eyes. The sick
feeling in my gut sunk so deep I felt as if it had adhered to my
insides and become a part of me. Air fought to enter my lungs. I
was suffocating. Blinking hard, I sat next to the bed and took his
hand, his touch cool through the latex on mine. I crushed a sob as
it tried to escape. Skin and bones. Grammy had said that about me
when I didn’t eat, but for his hand, it wasn’t a cliché; it was an
accurate description.

Even still, he squeezed my fingers
tight. “I’ve missed you so much. That’s been the hardest part.” He
turned his head to look at me.

His eyes clouded from the morphine,
his face so gray. How could he last another week? “I missed you,
too. How can I make it through this without you? So much is
happening, and I need you. I want you near me.”

Tears slipped from my eyes. I’d never
cried during my own illness or treatments. Not once. I held my
emotions together with the will of Iron Man and Superglue. Mom had
marveled at how strong I was, but now, I realized the truth. Dying
was easy. The real suffering came at the bedside, not in
it.

Grace quietly left the
room.

He smiled again. “You’re crying for
me?”

I rolled my teary eyes and lifted my
mask to blow my snotty nose into a Kleenex. “Of course I am,
dorkasauras. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, but I’m
glad.”

“You’re glad I’m crying? That’s
great.” I swiped away the tears and smiled. “Now I find out about
your sadistic side.” His hands laced with mine, the knuckles of his
fingers pressing into mine through the protective gloves. I dropped
my gaze. “Honey, you know you don’t have to hang on for me. You can
go anytime.”

“I know. But I’m determined to see…”
When he trailed off, I shot a look at his face. He was staring,
waiting for me. “
Our baby.
He’s the best thing I’ve ever
made, and I want to look at him.” He closed his eyes and whispered,
“Then I’ll go.”

If any fragment of my heart remained
intact, it now broke.

* * * *

I waited in my room. Dad sat reading,
and Grammy was crocheting a hat and booties for Aaron. But I
couldn’t sit still. In that big hospital, my past, my present, and
my future—the three most important people in my world—were striving
for life, for me.

The report that morning about Gavin
had been grim. The thread of life that tethered him to this world
was unraveling. I paced and chewed a cuticle, waiting. I hadn’t
seen him since that first day, and every day after had been
torture. I’d wanted nothing more than to hold him and be with him,
but the doctors hadn’t allowed me back out. Not even to be with Mom
while Aaron was being delivered. In fact, they’d had a conniption
fit that I’d left the first time.

Mom’s C-section was scheduled for
seven-thirty a.m. It was now eight o’clock. The aide had already
brought the wheelchair to the room.

The phone rang. My heart stopped,
stuttered, and then raced.

Dad glanced up from his book and gave
me a reassuring smile before he picked up the receiver. He paused
then said, “Yes. Thank you. We’re on our way.”

I raced to the wheelchair and sat
before he could hang up. I scooted to the door with my shuffling
feet. Dr. Monroe hadn’t wanted to let me out of isolation, but I’d
told him I was going no matter what he said. I told him I’d sign
waivers, releases, would hire an army of lawyers, mercenaries or
whatever, but today, I was doing two things: I was holding my baby
and I was going to see my husband. Even if it killed me. He’d said
it very well might. I didn’t care.

Dad said, “Your mother is out of
delivery. Everything went well. We can go.”

Grammy finally looked up from her
crocheting. She removed her glasses, wrapped up her yarn and put
away the baby blue booties. I widened my eyes in an effort to spur
her on. It took her what felt like eons to stand.

For heaven sake, old lady,
hurry.

Then she decided she needed to use the
bathroom.

“Damn it, Grammy,” I squeaked through
my germ mask.

“Hold your horses and don’t rush the
monkey. You’ll see a better show.”

When Dad finally wheeled me to the
nursery, two occupied cribs were visible through the window. One
little pink-capped baby with mocha skin. Not the one I was looking
for. And one baby that dwarfed the other with creamy skin and a
head of dark hair. Hair I could only see because the little
squirming booger had wiggled out of his cap. I giggled. That had to
be Aaron Michael Taylor.

All the stress of the day floated away
with the sight of my son. The little guy that love allowed me to
have. My precious piece of eternity. The nurse straightened his cap
back on and brought him to me.

When the uniformed woman placed him in
my arms, a giddy feeling swirling with so much bubbled up inside
me. Protectiveness and appreciation for life overwhelmed me. This
human was a gift. A blessing. And he was mine. Even thought I’d
worn a mask, I’d refused the gloves. His warm, little hand opened,
and I placed my pinky in his palm. The softest, sweetest miniature
fingers, like those of a doll, closed around it and
squeezed.

Dad wheeled Aaron and I into Mom’s
room. I hadn’t even realized we were moving, mesmerized by the baby
in my arms.

“Hey, little mama. How does it feel to
hold your own?”

I looked up from Aaron’s face to my
own mother and smiled. “Like a little bit of heaven.” Our eyes met
in a depth of communication that only mother and daughter can
experience, and in that moment our hearts were one.

Mom shared Aaron’s stats and told us
about the delivery. He was eight pounds and eight ounces. Sixteen
inches long, born at seven thirty-four a.m. via C-section. We took
turns holding him and taking pictures.

After a few minutes, I shot a look to
Dad. “We need to go.”

He nodded, took Aaron from
his
Grammy and placed him in my arms.

I pulled the blanket tight around
him.

Mom said, “Taylor.”

I looked up and met her tearful
gaze.

“Tell him I love him, and I’m proud of
him.”

I nodded, unable to speak, fighting
back a thunderstorm of tears. Cuddling my little package close, I
rode the hall to my husband, Dad wheeling me.

Nausea churned my empty stomach. What
if he waited all this time to see Aaron and didn’t know when we
came in? This was what he’d stuck around for. I knew he was saving
his strength for this moment, staving off death for a glimpse of
what he’d leave behind.

My body ached with the fatigue of
chemo. The adrenaline rush from meeting Aaron had faded. I sank
deep in the wheelchair, trying to rally my energy as Dad rolled us
through the threshold of Gavin’s room.

He lay on his side, pushed against the
security rail and propped up by pillows. His eyes, open and bright,
sparkled when he saw me. A smile lit his sunken face, and a sigh of
relief escaped me. He looked better than he had in weeks. My heart
soared with hope.

Gavin glanced up at Dad. “What do you
think of my boy?”

“He’s got a lot a hair.” Dad laughed.
“He looks like you. We’re expecting him to rule the world by the
end of the week, with the genes in his pocket.”

With a wide grin, Gavin’s gaze latched
onto the baby in my arms. “I’m ready for you. Taylor, climb up here
with him so I can see.”

So that was why he was scooted so far
over. I pulled my mask down so he could see my smile. Grace and Ben
gathered around me, stealing a peek at Aaron. His little lips
opened and closed, and his lids fluttered. I hugged him tight then
crawled into the bed, facing Gavin with the baby between
us.

Gavin reached out his hand and touched
Aaron’s cheek. The love and pride in his eyes filled me with a
strength that I’d store up for later.

“He’s beautiful. Just like you.” His
gaze met mine. For a moment, with the sun shining in the room
behind him, he looked like his old self, strong and
sure.

I leaned over and kissed my husband.
His lips were warm, but thin. “He is beautiful.”

Dad cleared his throat. “We’re gonna
go grab a cup of coffee. Will you be all right in here for a few
minutes?”

I nodded. “We’ll be fine.” Then I
turned back to Gavin and pumped my eyebrows. “I thought they’d
never leave.” I kissed him deeply, breathing in the scent of him
that was hidden under cancer and chemicals, but still
there.

His lips moved with mine, slow and
sweet.

I moaned. “I’m so scared to be without
you.”

“Me, too.” He stroked my cheek and
stared into my eyes. “The transplant is scheduled for
tomorrow?”

I never broke the gaze and
nodded.

“You’ll be fine.” He snuggled toward
us and laid his arm over the baby, his fingers resting on my
hip.

“Mom said to tell you she loves you
and is proud of you.”

He tossed his head back in that way he
always did when his emotions overwhelmed him. “She bulldozed her
way into my heart even before you did and refused to leave me
alone.” Shaking his head in wistful amusement, he laughed. “Tell
her I love her, too. She did a great job with Aaron.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Eight and a half
pounds of pure boy. She was a trooper. The other baby in the
nursery looked like a munchkin compared to him.”

His eyes sparkled as he studied each
finger and toe. Aaron slept peacefully between us. “He’s so
little.”

Each gesture seemed to drain Gavin’s
strength more. Watching him with our baby opened a new place in my
heart, but knowing this would be their only meeting crushed it at
the same time.

His face sobered, and his voice became
a whisper. “I love you, Taylor.”

My heart cracked, and more tears
spilled. He was saying goodbye. We’d made arrangements for everyone
and everything. For the services and burial, the company and for
Aaron. Nothing needed to be done. But I wanted to know what he
expected of me. “What do you want me to do for you?
After
….”

He took in a long, slow breath and
studied my face like he was memorizing every line. “Miss
me.”

A single tear rolled down his
cheek.

A heavy knot constricted my throat,
and a sob escaped me. Tears streamed. “I already do.
Always.”

He closed his eyes. We lay together
for a few minutes. Gavin’s initial brightness faded, but this was
our moment. Ours alone.

The baby stirred and began to fuss. He
needed food. I shifted to the edge of the bed.

Gavin caught my arm, the one holding
the baby. His voice was hushed, “This” –his gaze roamed the
room—“is the life we were given, and we lived it. As best we could,
we lived it. But this—” He laid his hand over Aaron’s chest and
smiled. “This is the life we made. And it’s perfect.”