Mama

    Jenny was just barely able to walk by the time we took her apple picking. She had, for the time being been able to muster up a few words here and there. ”ball” was her favourite. We threw a ball to our dog, Max in a field fraught with the corpses of once vibrant green leaves, now a crisp, dead brown. I sipped my coffee, not sure whether the warmth in my stomach was from the temperature of the drink, or the slight caffeine anxiety creeping up because I just couldn’t handle it like I used to. Bobby flashed me a smile as Jenny shouted the word “ball” again. Her favourite word. She could hold one in her hand all by herself now. She used to just blabber on and swipe at it. The fuzz from the tennis ball must have created a wonderful sensation for her fingers. 

     Bobby lifted Jenny up on his shoulders so she could reach the apples dangling from the branches at the local orchard.

     “We should grab some of that cider you’ve

been bragging about.” Ive been telling Bobby for weeks now about the cider from

the orchard. How it hits your tongue, and caresses the tastebuds just so,

hitting the sides with that tart kiss as it falls smoothly down your throat for

an unforgettable experience. “It’s just apple cider,” he assured me. Boy was he

wrong.

     Before the accident, Jenny would shout at

the top of her lungs for a glass of that wonderful stuff. It was her favourite

thing in the world. It lit up her face as she reached her hands out, fingers

waving like a flag in the wind.

     “Sidoooo” it would come out like that, as she was just learning to talk. Watching a child learn to talk twice is something I wouldn’t wish upon my enemies. Her faithful charm is still there, but she lacks the motor function required to express her most inner desires.

     Watching Bobby lift her up like that was both uplifting, and gut wrenchingly sad. She could have used the ladder by now, instead, she is forced to rely on the help of her father to learn what she had already learned once before. 

     The orchard was lined with row upon row of apple filled bushes. Each row slightly different than the last, but ultimately the same in purpose. Bobby would have run through each organic hallway, letting Jenny chase him. Now she is stuck to her chair like a prisoner.

     I bet you thought I was introducing this story with a baby learning the ways of the world. Instead, you were bombarded with something awful. It was not my intention to shock the reader, rather employ the fact that the world isn’t all cupcakes and rainbows. Sometimes it’s fog and despair. It’s really what you choose to do with that despair which shows your true character. There were times where Bobby and I just did not think our relationship could withstand that type of challenge. We constantly blamed ourselves, forcing the other to convince us otherwise. That takes a steep toll on someone’s conscience, constantly battling yourself and convincing yourself that everything about you is wrong and that nobody can convince you otherwise.

     Bobby’s smile was the only thing that kept me going when I thought about suicide. I had just gotten over post part in depression when that driver hit us. He smacked right into the back right of the car, ensuring the only spot hit was the place where everything Bobby and I held dear. The driver wasn’t even drunk. He was old, and he himself wondered before his last drive checkup is he should be driving anymore. 

     Independence is a heavy thing to let go of when you’re that age. Sometimes all your friends die, and that’s all you have left. To let go of that would be basically giving up, and it only cost that man a child’s brain injury to realize that fact.

     I can’t even blame him. I would probably do the same if it came to it. For years now, I haven’t been able to get behind the wheel in fear that something awful might happen. Bobby is my rock, and without him I would be gone. Imagining him raising a girl alone with that kind of challenge was enough for me to snap out of my funk, and get my shit together.

     This morning I had a good cry in the shower. Jenny said “mommy” for the first time since she was three years old. In the beginning, dada was the first thing to come out of that adventurous little face of hers. This time, it was “mommy”. I did always give Bobby shit for being the first one that Jenny talked about. They do say that “dada” is the easiest thing for a baby to say. I said 

     “Well I grew her, so she should know me best.” I would tell him as I nudged him with my elbow. I got my wish this morning, but definitely not under the circumstances anyone would wish for.

     As Jenny picked her last apple of the day, Bobby brought her back down and set her in her chair. She loved wheeling around, making light squeaks on the hard floors at home. He kissed her cheek and she smiled, just like she used to when we played “peek a boo”.

     When I think of that day at the orchard, I remember the point when I knew Jenny was going to be okay. She still has trouble with certain words and gets a little mush mouthed from time to time. She works as a veterinarian assistant. She always said she would, and she persevered through all of the negative things doctors said about her. They told us that she would probably need to be home schooled, but she denied that fact and made us enrol her in public school.

     Our second baby just so happened to be a boy and do you know what his first word was? 

“Mama.”