Clock on a Thread

Like a clock on a thread, my entire existence hangs upon thin pieces of fiber woven together into a string, ready to break at any moment. Time. It consumes me, fills me with dread. I feel myself floating through the universe, bouncing along stars, still not quite comprehending the weight of what my future depends on. My hands shake rapidly and I hear the pumping of my heart pulsing in my ears like the ticking of a clock. Yet still, nothing feels real.

 I try to gather my bearings by taking in my surroundings. White concrete walls block me in and a white tile floor with bits of blue in the design, lays below my feet. I breathe in the sterile stench of the signature “hospital smell.” The receptionist lady smiles at me warmly, unaware of what I’m going through. 

   Stella; I can almost feel her soft touch, smell her strawberry scented hair. She’s my entire world. When I became pregnant at seventeen, I was exiled from my family. They filled me with utter shame and disgust for myself. I did not have enough money to get an abortion, so I was a pregnant teen living on the streets with no support. Stella was the only thing that kept me going. This bundle of cells in my body constantly gave me hope.    

When I finally had her, we still had nowhere to go. We stayed in homeless shelters as I was working two jobs, saving up for an apartment. I was overwhelmed with guilt for bringing Stella into this awful world that I created for her. I struggled to feed myself because all of the food I got would go to Stella. I was in constant fear of being able to protect myself and my baby. I felt so alone, so exhausted, stuck in a loop of time that is full of never ending hard work. But when at the end of the day, I would see her face, her chubby, happy face. It melted away my problems because I knew that I was not alone in this. I had Stella, she made everything that I was working for worthwhile. 

 After months of bouncing around homeless shelters, accepting food from local churches and open pantries, my co-worker Mickayla recommended a small cottage that had opened up for rent. She explained that her family owned the property, and since her grandmother passed away who was living there, it was now vacant. She offered a low rent I could afford. She was a friend to me. She was kind and was helping me when no one else would. Stella and I moved into the cottage out in the woods, surrounded by a multitude of beautiful flowers. It was a dream come true, somewhere we could live without fear of being able to make it to the next meal, to not be harmed on the streets. 

 Life was still hard during this time. I was struggling to get back on my feet again, but Mickayla was there for me. She supported me, and helped me take care of Stella. I finally had a home. I could watch my baby girl smell flowers and take in the joys of life like I had never seen before. I was gaining my happiness back, but this was only because of Stella. I don’t know where I would be without her keeping me going. 

  She’s my best friend. Everything I do is because of her. She’s my reason to live, my motivation. She makes me so happy. I don’t know what I could ever do without her. I love her. Hot tears start to form in my eyes and stream down my face. I’ve never felt so helpless, it’s like drowning in all the fears I’ve had of losing her, I’m suffocating. 

    This morning I let Stella go off with her friends for a post birthday celebration. It was raining hard and I was hesitant to say yes but I could just see how much she wanted to go and I couldn’t say no. When I got the call that she got in a car accident, of course I was worried, but so thankful she was alive. They then said she had a low chance of survival and my world shattered like broken pieces of a mirror, and in every fragment you could see all the good memories I have with her. The kind of memories that grab onto your heart, and the thought of not being able to make any more with that person rips you apart. 

     I remember that cool spring afternoon as Stella and I laid out our picnic blanket in our field of daisies. Her soft blue eyes matched the crystal clear sky, not a cloud was in sight. Her lips stretched into a wide, toothy smile as she found a dandelion amongst the other flowers. She gripped the stem and plucked it out of the ground with her small, chubby toddler hands. “Make a Wish, Stella,” I whispered in her ear. Her eyes lit up as she came to a decision, “I wish that I will never grow up, so I can be with mommy forever!” and she blew the fluffy seeds off into the wind. Now after only her seventeenth birthday, she might not even get to spend a third of her life with me. The thought of her not being able to experience joys of life, to experience the things I did not get to experience when I was young, It’s all unimaginable. I won’t be able to see her smile anymore, I won’t be able to feel her hug. Every nerve in my body is screaming, “Please breathe life into her!” I can’t lose her. I can’t do this. My heart is pounding, my vision is closing in, I can’t hear anything but my rapid breathing.

     The thread breaks and the clock falls into my hands. Stella’s nurse walks through the doors and tells me that she will be okay.