Tentative revisions in bold
Fall From Grace
Friendship and Family. Two of the most important words in the F section of the dictionary. Fortune is great, but one will remain hollow without one or both of these words attached to their lives.
My fondest memories as a little girl always trace back to my grandmother. I lived with her from the time I was about one years old until I was about seven. She was always patient with me. Understanding. Gentle. She interacted with me in a way that no one else, not even my mother, had. The best times of my life were with my grandmother. The baths she gave me as a toddler. The Sunday mornings in church and Roy Rogers afterwards. The Saturday afternoons with her and my nana at Bradlees and Dunkin Donuts. Before I could fully comprehend that my grandmother was my caretaker and not my mother, I would call her mommy. My mother would become livid. It would throw her into a frenzy. However, my grandmother has always been more of a mother to me than a grandmother. "You're closer to me than any of my girls" my grandmother would say. These words would liquify and warm my heart.
"Jameelah, are you sitting down?" A college dormitory telephone ringing at what I believe to be around 9 or 9:15 a.m. is always a breeding ground for concern. This must be really serious! I take a seat in the only available of the two chairs in the room. "Yes, Phil I'm seated."
"Are you sure you're seated?" I want to scream. I wish he would tell me already what is wrong. I'm so nervous. The last time something of this magnitude occurred I was seventeen and my mother died. Oh no. Not again. Not another death. I can't take that right now. I'm barely in my sophomore year of college and just getting acclimated to my new found environment, freedom, and learning experiences. However, I love Phil. He’s been my nurse for the past two years. He's been so kind to me in the midst of my recent tragedies and transformations. So, I'll wait but with sheer anxiety. "Phil, I'm positive I'm seated." With a deep sigh Phil goes on to say, "Jameelah, you're pregnant." The silence on the phone is deafening. "Jameelah, are you still there?" After what appears to be an eternity, I snap back to reality. "Yes, Phil I'm here."
"Are you okay Jameelah? I'm here if you need someone to talk to. Stop by the office today if you need to speak with me."
"I have class at 9:55 and an afternoon class. I will see you later this afternoon."
As I hang up the phone, I methodically get ready for class. I take a shower. I'm afraid to touch my stomach. I know I'll get attached. I'm an only child. I lost my mother two years ago. I don't know who my father is. Ant, my child's father and I have broken up. Our coexistence was very rocky with sex holding us together. He won't be happy. I know he won't. He doesn't like children. He doesn't want children. I recall a conversation we had. He clearly stated, "I don't want to have children." As I brush my teeth, I look in the mirror. I look the same. Why am I moving so slow? I have class. I don't want to be late. Walking to class, my legs feel like lead. The air is crisp and clean. It's winter. However, the weather feels seasonably warm. I want to get through the day. I want to go and speak with Phil, someone I can trust.
I need to tell my child's father. How? When? My last encounter with Ant did not end well; we had an argument. It was that day, yes that day, that I decided to stop fighting for what we had. Coming to terms with that finality, I decided to move on. Hence, we hadn't spoken for about two weeks. I dreaded making this phone call. Surprisingly, he picked up the phone. The conversation was very hazy but I do recall him saying "I don't want any parts of that." I remained strong in my stance and that about sums up our conversation. I still need to tell my grandmother. Thinking of my grandmother gives me mixed emotions. I want to smile because she's my best friend. I can confide in her. Surely, she'll understand. She was a teenage mom. Then again, she is my grandmother. This is so much harder than I ever imagined it would be. I just need to get through this day. This surreal ominous day. The drive from Florham Park to Union (my doctor's office) was not as dreadful a drive as the drive from Union to Roselle, to my house. After speaking with Phil and my doctor, I decided that I wanted to proceed with this scary yet miraculous journey titled “motherhood.”
When walking through the door, I recall my grandmother cooking. On any given day, she's doing one of three things: cooking, washing clothes, or paying bills. She was frying something. I recall the sizzling sound of something being dropped into hot grease. I believe it was pork chops or chicken. I love fried chicken especially my grandmother's fried chicken. However, I didn't eat this night. "Grandma, I have something to tell you."
"Go ahead."
Although her back is to me, I proceed to tell her. "Grandma, I'm pregnant. "
After a long deep sigh she says, "I don't have time for this shit." After what appears to be an eternity, she asks "What did Ant say?"
"He said that he doesn't want any parts of this."
"So, what do you plan on doing? Do you plan on keeping the baby? Abortion?"
"I've decided that I want to have my child."
I recall my grandma, one of my best friends, saying, "Why? You're in college. Ant doesn't want this. Having a baby on your own isn't easy."
I don't know what to say, but I do know that I do not want to abort or give my unborn child up for adoption. I knew I would get attached. I just couldn't help it. Lost for words, I proceed upstairs to my room. In my bed, I feel restless. My mind wanders over the events of the day. Wow, what a difference a day could make. I don't know when but somewhere through the night I finally drift to sleep.
The subsequent morning, I don't have much of an appetite, but I now have a responsibility to this being that depends on me. My grandmother has left for work. My grandfather is home. He's a stolid man. Firm and always serious. I love him, but there's just something so special about my grandmother. "Your grandmama tells me that you're pregnant", says my grandfather. I begin to cry. Is this a conversation that we must have so early in the morning? He proceeds, "there's no need to cry. We all make mistakes." I shake my head because physically I just can't project any words out of my mouth. "You know you can't have any babies in here?" These nine words resonate in my head. My thoughts are fuzzy. The atmosphere appears to have changed. Language and word choice are amazing in its ability to move you without physically touching you.
With limited income and no previous rental references, finding and securing an apartment was almost impossible. I signed my rental agreement in August of 2002. I was in my apartment by September. It was cold. The heat hadn't been turned on yet. My due date was slowly approaching.
During my thirty sixth week check up, my doctor decided to take me out of work early (this was a Friday). More precisely, he put me on bed rest. He said, "mom, I only want you out of the bed to use the bathroom."
"Can I get up to cook?" I asked.
"Have someone else do it for you. You must rest. You do not want to jeopardize you or your babies health." After explaining that I live on my own, the doctor agreed to kitchen and bathroom visits only.
Time and language alike have an amazing ability to move you without physically touching you.
My best friend of four years, my grandmother, and I drive to the hospital. I have a scheduled inducement. Terror. Excitement. Anxiety. I will finally meet this wonderful being that I have an unbreakable bond with despite the fact we've never met face to face. This being has changed and shaped my life in ways that I never knew was possible. My friend is supportive, as always. In hindsight, my best friend has been supportive in my life for two major events: the death of my mother and the birth of my child. My grandmother is flustered and concerned with finding her way home from the hospital. She's a creature of habit. She rarely steps out of her comfort zone. She makes it home, but has to come back the next day because the Pitocin doesn't make me dilate.
My friend, a diabetic, stays in the hospital with me. "You should get a ride back home with my grandmother, so you can take your medicine."
"I don't want to leave you here by yourself. I don't want to leave you alone" replies my friend. The gesture almost brings me to tears. I've been on an emotional roller coaster since that seasonably warm day in January. In contrast, the coldness is slowly approaching. Fall isn't usually this cold. Or is it? I want to protest, but I know it will be to no avail. We have this conversation again the next night as my grandmother is leaving the hospital, again. I really don't want my best friend to get sick; am I dumb founded by this act of unconditional love? My emotions are so out of whack. Pregnancy alters your body and mind while parenthood places life in perspective. This night, I don't have much energy to argue. Once again, I have not dilated. After a restless night of sleep, I request a cesarean section the following morning. At my request, my doctor obliges. It's just my best friend and I as it has often been lately.
In and out of anesthesia, I feel pressure. A lot of pressure. At 2:52 p.m., my son is born. He's so beautiful and small. Very delicate and small. Today, my best friend finally goes home. There's a tug at my heart. I totally understand. Sleeping on the hospital floor for three days to provide me with company and comfort was more than enough. It's more than I could ever ask for of a friend. A best friend. Tears will not stop rolling down my face. "Mommy, are you okay?", ask the nurse. I shake my head no. "Are you in pain?" she probes. I nod my head yes. She places Demerol in my IV. I sleep for a long time. When I awake, my grandmother is absent. My son is in the nursery. I look around the room. For some reason, it's cold like my apartment. I'm in and out of sleep due to the anesthesia. Every time I open my eyes, they dart to the balloon on the table with a card signed by my best friend.
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