Between the Lines
BETWEEN THE LINES: a Mother’s Love
It’s never too late to do the right thing
May 11th, 2022
Chapter 5: BEFORE – the 1st 48
Ephesians 3:20, ‘Never doubt God’s mighty power to work in you and accomplish all this. He will achieve infinitely more than your greatest request, your most unbelievable dream, and exceed your wildest imagination! He will outdo them all, for His miraculous power constantly energizes you.’ (TPT)
‘Y…you…you’ve go…got…got to be k…k…idding me!?!’ Shanna cringed and ducked as Jessie’s hands flailed; not because she was fearful of Jessie—he wouldn’t harm a spider even—but because they had already been warned: the first forty-eight hours were not just critical and crucial, but perilous and precarious. How did Zachary stand a fighting chance separated from his mommy and daddy, his lifeline?!
She had just tested positive for Covid-19 and Jessie was being told he must leave. Immediately. It wasn’t going well. He had yet to leave her side since he had arrived. But most importantly, they also learned, Zachariah had been moved to another hospital across the city. No wonder there weren’t updates, even snippets of gossip amongst the nurses. Jessie and Shan had been left uninformed since the first scant details were whispered by the charge nurse. It was true: the hospital where they’d relocated him was the best in the region for pre-term births such as theirs, but Shanna already could feel the fault lines, the fissure lines, beginning to weaken her façade. She sighed; how long until she fell apart. How long before Jessie came undone?
She’d be released tomorrow. Covid or no Covid, she would be fine, and she would return home. But…their baby was half a huge city away, being cared for by someone they had never met. Jessie would go home to an empty apartment, to feast on a buffet of fear and doubt, worry and wonder—all the doubts they both had had about one another, and to be truthful, their own selves, served up on silver platters, sterling silver spoons ready to feed whatever need he had. A small sob escaped Shan, but she was careful, her face hidden in the pillow wrapped around her middle where she hoped it would absorb the afterpains which were rocking her insides. They were screaming reminders of everything that had occurred, glaring flares that not only had this happened much too soon, but also, there was no baby cradled in either of their vacant arms. She couldn’t have written this script no matter what nightmares her mind might conjure up. No active imagination or woe-is-me story could design this.
When Jessie left, she couldn’t face him. She turned her face as he went to kiss her. His fingers caught in the snarl of her day-old hair; she refused to let him see her cry. She could be the strong one; she’d not jones for a hit, some source of relief, not even a cigarette, would she crave. She’d come through this and get out tomorrow—her secret would still be safe—and she’d say something smart, like, ‘Let’s think this through, and get on top of this situation before it topples us,’ or ‘One day, we will look back on this and exclaim, “Look what we made it through! Zachary, what a shock you were then, but what a joy you are now!”’ She didn’t know; something like that. She’d be strong; she’d show him. She would call out to his God, and He would show her things she did not know, and she’d have that to add to her list of things accomplished which she had been working on. Well, rather, she intended to be working on. She had a ten-day quarantine ahead of her, so what better timing than to change her ways, shift her thinking, make new lists, work toward completing the items she would bullet-point…
Jessie stood at the window next to other parents. Some oohed and aahed, some wept silently; one really young girl alternated between cussing at her mother standing next to her and whispering sweet nothings to an invisible force on the other end of her cell phone. They all had one thing in common: they each had a miniscule being on the other side of the plexi-glass who already owned them in one way or another.
How many hours had he logged here? More than he likely wanted to know. He’d grown up here, on the other side of this glass, praying, begging for a miracle, showing up like he never had before for his first son, in the beginning caring enough for both of them since Shanna was quarantined and wasn’t allowed to come. He’d cried the day when he first got here, and the nurse pointed out his son. Zachary was so tiny; he didn’t resemble an infant, more like a crying puppy or a mewling kitten. Like an alien, or perhaps an insect almost; they had goggles on him, and his naked flesh hung in wrinkles. Jessie had a Shar-pei once years ago and Zachary reminded him of that dog with all its wrinkles and skin waiting to be grown into. He’d caught himself giggling then. His son didn’t seem human, and if he was, he must have dressed up for the occasion in a costume.
Jessie proudly strode Shanna toward the NICU, lining her up against the plexi where she could have the best view in the hallway, the first day she was allowed to come. He felt like an old pro at this by then, everyday stopping by just to make sure he was still there, Zachary still in his place beneath the blue lights with his eyes hidden behind fly-sized goggles, and his little writhing body trying to grow into its extra-large skin, swimming in the preemie diaper, with two nurses often draped over the corners of the incubator, twisting them around his itty-bitty fingers.
Jessie had stopped feeling; no more conversations with a distant God, hadn’t tried to kiss or even caress Shan since the night they told him he had to leave her hospital room so she could quarantine. She’d turned her face then. Gave him the other cheek. He’d been thinking about that a lot. ‘Turn the other cheek’, he’d grown up knowing. He’d turn his now. Something was up. He didn’t know what, and he didn’t want to think about it long, because he would be unable to turn his thoughts off and they would overheat way too fast then. Come to think of it, she hadn’t looked him in the eye in a lo-o-o-n-n-g time, his memory stuttered. Shan had been very quiet and docile, a bit beyond her nature; easy, go-with-the-flow, she kept reminding him.
Jessie pointed with a proud finger toward the far-right incubator where Zachary lay, cooking. The nurse had just informed Jessie that Zachary had gained a whopping one-hundred-and-fifty grams! The man next to him had humongous crocodile tears sliding down his face as if in a race to the bottom of his cheek, a hiccup now and again getting caught in his beefy fists. He was new to this game; it was obvious.
‘Which one’s ‘urs? How big?’ he’d slurred. Maybe he had to drink to make it through this, Jessie thought sadly. Jessie lifted his hand to point, feeling like they were competing in a fishing contest, biggest fish wins. He was proud though. Zachary was the darndest, the smallest living being he’d ever seen, and—he was his! ‘I’ll protect you, no matter what, little dude. No matter what, Zachary; I will always make sure you are safe and okay. From now on,’ Jessie added, an afterthought.
Psalm 56:8, ‘You’ve kept track of all my wandering and my weeping. You’ve stored my many tears in your bottle—not one will be lost. For they are recorded in Your book of remembrances.’ (TPT)
Between the Lines is based upon a true story. What does God’s faithfulness truly look like? Is it the same in every situation? He is wholly trustworthy; therefore, there is victory, even if it doesn’t resemble everything we imagined.
