Out of Time

I place my hand on my smooth, barely rounded belly. I know you’re swimming in there, a little warrior in a dark ocean of abyss. I know you’re fragile. I wonder if you’ll survive the deep waves that come crashing down on you. None of the others survived.

I’m afraid to love you. I fell in love with the others before you so many times, always believing that God in Heaven had His arms around them and that everything would be just fine. I would love them, and then time would run out.

And then one day, I was out of time. My husband had decided on divorce when I was twenty-nine. I knew time sped up when he left. I only had a few years to find someone who would be worthy of helping me create you. The years went by, and I didn’t find him. I turned thirty. Then thirty-five. Then I blinked, and I turned forty. Where did time go? Why was it moving so fast and not slowing down to wait for you? I begged it to pause and let me catch my breath, but time didn’t listen. It just kept passing you by.

I walked into the clinic feeling ashamed, but not sure why. Had I done something wrong? I was supposed to be married by now and raising a family. How did I end up on some other path? I looked through the catalog and read the descriptions of all the men who might become your father. Purchasing one of them felt like the dirtiest thing I had ever done in my life. But I was out of time. So I traded seven hundred dollars for two vials that I carried out in my little ice chest that I packed with dry ice.

It didn’t work. Maybe I should have stood on my head a little longer. Or maybe it was just time to admit that my body wasn’t able anymore. I grieved over not creating you. I took a few more vacations than usual. Life was passing me by. It was time to scuba dive in the Mediterranean and climb the Eiffel Tower. It was time to see it all, do it all. Because this was my time. My own time was all I had. No one to give it to or share it with or receive it from. Just me. So it was time to take care of me.

And then I met your father. He had the deepest eyes I’d ever looked into. He was the best listener I’d ever met. We would talk for hours. Or sometimes I’d just lay my head on his shoulder and he’d let me talk, and we would just pass time. I had no idea how unready for you he was.

The last night we were together, he told me time was running out for him with his children. He couldn’t bear to be without them while they growing up. He loved me, but he loved them more. He had made the decision to go back to their mother.

I was all alone again. This time, I was hurt on a different level. I think I was most hurt by knowing that my hurt wasn’t justified this time. He was right. And that’s what hurt so much about it. It was easy to blame my ex-husband. But this time, the only person I could blame was me. Me for never being able to create you.

I said things to him that I shouldn’t have said. We stopped talking. I missed him. It was just me again. And then I realized that you were there too.

I was scared. I was past my time. I didn’t know if we could do this together – you and me, I mean. What if you were too fragile? What if I was? It didn’t matter. You wouldn’t be there long anyway. None of the others had been. I couldn’t bring myself to love you. Not yet. Maybe if you were still there in a few months. Let’s just give it some time.

A few months went by and you were still there. You reminded me with morning sickness all the time. What would I do now? I hadn’t been preparing for you. What if you were really going to be there with me? I needed to hurry up and start taking care of you.

I didn’t have health insurance. My job as a contract worker had been perfect for just me. But now there was you. I didn’t have time to get insured before you would be here. My heart sank. Would I be forced to abandon you? No, never. I’d rather go in debt and lose everything I own than to lose you. So I prayed. “God, show me what to do in such little time.”

I called around and found a midwife birthing center with a discounted cash pay option. The receptionist on the phone was very nice. Right before our conversation ended, she asked me, “When did you decide you wanted a natural birth?” A what? I said, “You mean a birth with no anesthesia?” She said yes. I didn’t even need a second to decide. If that’s what it took, I would do it for you. I said, “Right now.”

That’s when I sat down and began to write this journal to you. I hope you’re reading it someday so you’ll know how much I love you. In your lifetime, I’ve loved you since the beginning of time.

Then one day your daddy came to see me. He was sorry he couldn’t be there for me. He just didn’t have enough time to be in both places. I told him to go away. I left him sitting on the couch and went in my room and closed the door. I lay down on my bed and cried.

He slowly opened my bedroom door and called out to me. I didn’t respond. He watched me for a moment. Then he gently came in and lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me and let me cry on his shoulder the way we did in the old days. And that’s when I felt you kick for the first time. We shared that moment together – the three of us. And then he went back to his family.

As the months progressed, I became weaker. Daily, it became harder for me to stand. I thought maybe that was natural for a pregnancy at age forty-three. Then one night I fell. It scared both of us. You stopped moving for two days. That’s what scared me most of all. But you just needed a little time. I kept placing my hand on my belly and singing softly to you. You eventually stopped hiding and started moving again.

Your daddy showed up again the week before you were due. He had thought it over, maybe even prayed a little. He was going to be there for you. His family didn’t know about you yet, but he was going back to tell them. He was nervous. He just needed a few days. But he would do it.

And then my water broke. He was out of time.

We rushed to the birthing center, and they ran tests to see how you were doing. But then they sent us home. It wasn’t time yet. You wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, so your daddy went to work. We hadn’t started contractions yet, but we would call everyone when they started.

You didn’t waste any time. You started pushing on me that evening at 6:28 p.m. I called the mid-wife, but she said to wait. But you didn’t wait. You started pushing harder and faster in no time. My parents walked through the door just in time to drive me there. It was time.

You were born at 8:24 p.m. Your daddy was five minutes late. But he had driven as fast as he could. In that moment, everything about our past was left behind. You were all that mattered. Some people said you came early. But to me, you came just in time.

You saved me. We didn’t know yet that I had cancer. I just knew that I didn’t start living until I knew you. We didn’t have each other long. But you gave me a lifetime. Thank you.

*****

Sam finishes reading the journal entry and wipes a tear from his eyes. He looks out over the podium at the congregation of friends and family who have come to pay their respects to Angely's resting body in the casket. He tells the audience, “She wanted me to share that journal entry with all of you.”

He pauses, hangs his head. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles. The audience hangs on his every word. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, for not being there for her during the pregnancy.” He chokes up and needs a moment. Her parents don’t really have a response.

He continues, “Anyway, I’m going to take care of this baby.” He looks out into the audience at a family member holding the newborn. “Excuse me.”

He makes his way into the congregation and picks up the baby. He carries her back to the podium and holds her up proudly. “This is Jewel. She’s the most important thing that ever happened to her mother. She was there for her when I wasn’t. She gave her mother joy. This is my baby. I love her, and I’m going to take care of her for the rest of my life. I wasted time. But I’m here now.”

*****

Fourteen-year-old Jewel pauses the video of her father speaking at her mother’s funeral. She stares at the paused screen, lost in thought.

She picks up her phone and opens her contacts. Pulls up “Dad” in her contacts. She stares at it for a moment. She dials and gets a voicemail, so she hangs up.

Out her window, she sees a car pull up with her older sister, Jade, driving. Her sister honks the horn.

Jewel comes outside and hops in Jade’s car. Jewel asks, “Are we late?” Jade replies, “Not yet.”

They drive in silence. Finally, Jade breaks the divide. “What do you most regret?”

Jewel solemnly answers, “Not saying what I needed to say to him in time.”

Jade replies, “You still have time.”

“Is he conscious?” asks Jewel.

Jade says, “It doesn’t matter. He can hear you. Just tell him you love him.”

Jewel nods.

*****

I watch from Heaven as you and your older sister pull into the parking lot of the hospice to say your final goodbyes to your dad. Your brother is already inside. Your dad wasn’t perfect, and I know you two didn’t have a perfect relationship. But don’t run out of time, Jewel. Don’t ever run out of time with anyone. Tomorrow morning when he’s here with me, I’m going to welcome him with open arms. Go spend this last time with him. Forgive him for everything. And just love him.

*****

As Jewel steps out of the car, a bright shining light catches her eye, but only for a moment. She could swear she saw the silhouette of a woman in the light.

“Are you okay?” asks Jade.

Jewel nods, soaking up the rays of sun. “Yeah, I’m going to be okay this time.”

She touches her heart and whispers, “Thanks, mom.”

They enter the building.

The End.