Why the Sky Is Blue (11 page)

We headed down the main road out of town for maybe two miles and took a left turn onto a tar road. On either side of us were barren fields. Mel told us they would be planted with corn and soybeans as soon as the-weather cooperated. After another mile or so, we turned onto a winding, dirt driveway that seemed to end in a clump of trees. As we neared a bend, the white house I had seen in the photo came into view. Nearby were the red barn, an old chicken coop, and a greenhouse. There was a tire swing swaying from a. heavy oak limb on a tree whose leafless form towered above the house. I nearly expected a couple of dogs to come bounding off the porch, scattering chickens and announcing our arrival.

But it was still and silent, as if the whole place was awaiting our approval. Mel was saying how beautiful it was when the grass was green and the hydrangeas were in bloom, but I didn’t have any trouble picturing any of it. I knew before we even stepped inside the empty house that this was going to be my home; that this was the place where I would finally be at peace.

This would be the place where no anchor to the past existed for me.

I didn’t even want to linger in any of the rooms. I wanted this house to have no attachment to the child I was carrying. I hurried through the tour of the house, rushing Mel, and behaving like someone who just wanted to leave.

When I could bear it no longer, I rushed out the front door, holding my breath so I would not inhale any more of the house’s newness.

“She doesn’t like the house?” I heard Mel say to Dan.

“No, I think she likes it very much,” Dan said, watching me leave.

I was glad he understood this about me. It would have been hard to explain in words.

15

Two weeks after we put our Minneapolis house on the market, it was sold to a young couple with a new baby. It was only the end of April. We weren’t expecting to move to Blue Prairie until just after the baby was born, presumably the first part of June. But the couple was anxious to take possession, and asked if we could be out by the end of May.

My due date was June 3, the same day as the last day of school. If we were out of the house by the end of May, we would likely only have to spend a week at a hotel suite. I refused two offers to stay with different friends from church. I wasn’t trying to be rude. Nick and Becky understood, I think. I just knew it would be a very difficult time for me. I wanted solitude.

Three other significant events occurred in April—all on the same day, April 25. My teaching contract for the 1986/87 school year arrived from the high school where I was on leave. I sent it back the same day, unsigned, with a note asking for the board to accept my resignation. When I mailed it, I realized I did not want to go back into teaching at all. It was a funny feeling, not exactly one of relief, but I felt very satisfied making the decision not to pursue a teaching job in our new county. Not then and not ever.

Later that day, I had an appointment with Dr. Whitestone. The ultrasound I had that day revealed a placenta high in my uterus, where it should be, and a baby in a likewise proper position, down low. Barring any unforeseen complications, I would be able to deliver this little girl naturally and leave the hospital the next day, as I had asked. Dr. Whitestone then reminded me that there was a daylong childbirth class the following Saturday that I should attend. He told me there was still room in the class for me and a labor coach, if I wanted to have one. I told him I didn’t. But I would come alone.

Just after supper that night, the third event etched itself into the day. My mother called in tears from Michigan. Uncle Gene had died that afternoon. The funeral would be in three days.

I lay awake that night after everyone was asleep, unable to relax. The baby was restless as well, kicking and prodding, and I was uncomfortable with the extra weight. The three events of the day kept playing themselves in my mind as I lay there, willing me to ponder them.

I had never had any career other than that as a teacher. The thought of not having an answer if someone asked me, “What do you do?” began to needle me. I had always been quick to say I was a teacher. Now I wasn’t a teacher. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be. So what was I? And what did I want to do? Dan hadn’t been too concerned when I told him that when we moved I didn’t want to look for a teaching job, although for a moment he had that maybe-you-should-call-Patty look in his eye. He quickly dismissed it, I think, when he pictured me redecorating our new home, fixing up the greenhouse, and planting a garden.

But I knew I wanted to do something else besides plant tomatoes and stencil the kitchen. I just didn’t know what.

Then I wrestled with knowing the delivery of this child was only a month away. It had been twelve years since I had naturally given birth, but I remembered the peculiar pain of labor like it was yesterday. The pain had been tolerable knowing that my child, who I longed for, waited on the other side of it. But I winced at the thought of the depth of that certain distress with no bright hope at the end.

Vying for my thoughts was lastly the death of my uncle, the only father figure I can remember from my childhood. I hadn’t seen my aunt and uncle in many years, not since they retired from foster parenting and began traveling around the country in a motor home. Every Father’s Day I sent two cards—one to Stuart and one to Gene. He was a remarkable man, and I knew I had failed to truly appreciate him and to let him know what I thought of him. Regret over this, worry over the pain to come, and anxiety over not knowing what to do with myself career-wise kept me awake until after three o’clock.

Dan was a gem the next morning and got the kids ready for school so I could catch up on the sleep I lost. I finally got out of bed at ten o’clock, made a fresh pot of coffee, and sat down with my Bible. Seeking comfort, I turned to that which was familiar, the Psalms. I felt marginally refreshed twenty minutes later. I needed something else. I needed someone—someone of flesh and bone—who would let me think out loud. I called Rosemary.

She was genuinely happy for me that the doctor’s appointment had gone so well. And I don’t think it was just because it meant the baby was also doing well. She also offered to be my labor coach and drive down the next Saturday to attend class with me. I had already mentally prepared myself to be alone in the delivery room. It was what I wanted. I wanted to be alone with my daughter when she was born. I didn’t even want my own mother in the room with me. I thanked Rosemary, but told her the truth. I knew she would understand. I had already told Ed and Rosemary they could be right outside the delivery room and that Dan would probably need their company, since I told him he didn’t have to come in with me. I was comfortable with these arrangements.

I then told Rosemary about my Uncle Gene. For ten minutes I told her what a terrific father he had been and how I wish I had told him so when I had the chance. She told me I should share these things at his funeral, which, surprisingly, had not occurred to me.

As I told her that was a good idea, I realized my Uncle Gene’s funeral was the most opportune time for my family and Dan’s to meet Ed and Rosemary. The conditions weren’t the best, but there would not be another time when we would be all together like this.

“Would you come to my uncle’s funeral in Saint Cloud?” I asked her.

“Would you like us to be there?”

“I would.”

“Then we’ll be there.”

Mom, Stu, and Matt made their way directly to Aunt Elizabeth’s the same day Gene had died. Dan and I took the kids out of school on Monday, the twenty-eighth, and together with Dan’s parents and his sister and family, we caravanned up to Saint Cloud. The church where Gene’s funeral was held was the same one I grew up in. Even twenty years after I had left it for college and my own life, it looked and smelled the same, except that the sanctuary was now a sea of flowers. I knew Gene had touched many people in his life, dozens of them young kids. I had no idea so many of them would grow up remembering fondly the few short months they had spent at my aunt and uncle’s house. Half the flowers were from people who had met my uncle at one of the lowest points in their lives.

Aunt Elizabeth looked tired, like a ship without a sail. She was seventy-three, but looked older, weighed down by grief, I think. I found it remarkable that my mother was now caring for her sister like Aunt Elizabeth had cared for her under the exact same circumstances. My mother had enjoyed only eight years of marriage with my dad. Elizabeth had forty-nine years with Gene. But grief is grief.

I was glad someone video-taped the service for Aunt Elizabeth, because I don’t know if she truly heard everything people said about the man she had shared her life with. Even when I got up to speak, she merely nodded once as she looked at me, like she was thinking, “Oh, there’s Claire,” and then she retreated to her secret place of sorrow.

After the interment, we gathered for refreshments at the home of Gene and Elizabeth’s best friends, the Talbots, since my aunt and uncle had sold their big house when they retired. Ed and Rosemary had stayed in the background until then, not coming forward to speak with me until the day was half over. I appreciated that about them, that they had such an impeccable sense of timing.

As I had imagined, Stuart and Ed became fast friends, and spent nearly an hour talking about South American digs Ed had been on just for fun. Rosemary, my mom, and Nina also got on well together, which was no surprise to me. I was beginning to think there was no one Rosemary couldn’t get along with. While making sure the coffee pots stayed filled and guests were properly thanked for coming, I lost track of Ed and Rosemary. When the house was nearly empty of guests except for immediate family, I found Ed chatting with one of the last kids Uncle Gene had under his care, now a grown man, and Rosemary sitting in a quiet spot, holding Aunt Elizabeth’s hand and talking softly to her. Aunt Elizabeth was crying—the first tears I had seen her shed that day.

I left them and went into the kitchen where my mom, Nina, and Karin had begun helping with the dishes.

When it was time to head for home, Aunt Elizabeth looked weary but not despondent. She hugged Rosemary goodbye.

My mom took me aside and told me she was going to stay with Elizabeth until I was ready to deliver. Then she was going to come to me. She didn’t ask. She just said she’d be there, on the other side of the door, in case I needed her.

As we gathered at the front entry to say our goodbyes, I was struck by the incredible bond that families share. I laid my hand on my abdomen, feeling the child that had been a part of this day though she would never know it, and inwardly mourned that she would not know this family. She wouldn’t know how we cared for one another, how we shouldered one another’s burdens. Ed and Rosemary had no other children, and they had no relatives with children. Rosemary had a brother in Florida who had never married and Ed was an only child. Of their parents, only Ed’s mother was still alive, and she was apparently in frail health.

I prayed to God that a life with two obviously gifted people would be enough for my daughter. I prayed that her life as a child of missionaries would give her a family of others just like her, that she would know what it was like to be surrounded by a cluster of people who loved her without hesitation.

Stuart and Matt came home with us and stayed overnight. In the morning, Dan took them to the Minneapolis airport for their flight home. The kids had left for school already, so I tagged along. As we dropped them off at curbside, I gave them both hugs, feeling that when I saw them the next time, everything would be different. I would be different. Nothing was going to be the same.

“Matt and I are going to come help you move into your new place,” Stu said as he picked up his bag and started to walk away. “We’re going to drive out, so we’ll see you in a few weeks!”

Dan began to protest, but Stu just waved and smiled.

“It’s all arranged,” he yelled over his shoulder as he and Matt crossed the threshold of the entrance and disappeared inside.

*

Spring finally arrived the second week in May. I took little notice as I spent most of my days sifting through all that Dan and I had accumulated in fourteen years of marriage. Professional movers were coming for the big pieces of furniture, but I wanted to pack the smaller things myself. Dr. Whitestone had lifted the earlier restrictions on physical activity, and I needed to stay busy. So what I didn’t throw out I packed and labeled. Dan worried that I was doing too much and told me not to pick up any of the boxes I filled. I tried to oblige.

On the twenty-fourth of May, Katie had an end-of-the-school-year soccer game that Dan and I went to. It was a warm Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining, and the game was going well. As I sat there on the bleachers, I could feel things happening inside me. I didn’t want to cry wolf so I said nothing, but I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt like I was on the edge of my pregnancy, like I had climbed up to the rim of the abyss and would soon be free of it. Finally, a few hours before dawn, I fell asleep. When I awoke at eight o’clock on Sunday, I knew. Labor had begun.

Dan wanted to call Nick and Becky and have them take the kids right then. I told him to wait. The contractions were too far apart. It was way too soon to go to the hospital.

When Katie awoke a few minutes later, I heard Dan telling her we were skipping church, that it looked like the baby might come. She came into my room arid sat on the edge of my bed as I put a few things in an overnight bag. I smiled at her and asked her to hand me the hairbrush lying next to her.

“I want to see her,” she said softly as she placed the brush in my hand.

This did not surprise me, but I still hesitated before answering her.

“It might make it harder for you to say goodbye,” I said.

“I want to see her,” she said again, this time a little more forcefully.

I sat down next to Katie and told her I didn’t want her to be hurt any more than she already was. I was afraid seeing the baby would tear her in two. I told her that.

Katie swiveled her head to look at me and said in a plea that felt as though it might tear
me
in two, “Please, Mom. I am begging you. Let me see her. She is my sister.”

I nodded, and she stood up and left me.

When Dan came into the room to get dressed, I told him what Katie had said and that I agreed to let her see the baby. He looked up from what he was doing but did not look at me.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” he said.

“Dan, she begged me.”

He sighed. “I think it will be more than she can handle.”

“I agree it will be hard,” I said, “but I don’t think she will ever forgive us if we don’t let her. That will be more than any of us can handle.”

He was quiet for a moment. “When it’s all over, I’ll bring her.”