Page 48 of Harper

“I wish your mom was here.”

Me too. More than anything.

“I have to go to work, but I’ll come back during my lunch break to check on you. Is there anything I can bring you?”

No. There’s nothing you can bring me.

She sighs. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Her footsteps cross back over to the door, which closes behind her. I close my stinging eyes and try to go back to sleep.

***

It turned out that I wasn’t the sort of person who could get rid of her fetus.

Maybe I could’ve gone through with the abortion if it was only a zygote or embryo inside of me, but by the time I walked into Planned Parenthood that fateful day, she was a fetus, and she already had a heartbeat. That glorious galloping sound of her heart raced through the ultrasound doppler, filling my ears, filling that tiny, sterile room full to bursting, and my decision—resolutely one way a few days before—reversed itself in the teeny tiny spaces between her heartbeats.

I couldn’t go through with the abortion.

I couldn’t kill her when her little heart was beating as strong as mine, as strong as her father’s, as strong as all of the Stewarts and Ravens that had come before.

I left the clinic with a grainy black-and-white picture of my baby and some big decisions to make.

I was going to have a baby, yes, but did I intend to keep her?

I rented a car that afternoon and drove down the Washington coast over Veterans Day weekend to think. And when I arrived back in Seattle a few torturous days later, I had my answer: just because she had a heartbeat, and I no longer wanted an abortion, it didn’t change how I felt about being a mother. I wasn’t ready. For her sake as much as mine, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—keep her.

Which meant more decisions needed to be made, the first and foremost of which was…

What about Joe?

Would I tell Joe about the baby I was having—the baby that I didn’t intend to keep? Did he deserve a voice in the matter? Did he have a right to know?

Maybe he did, but the problem with telling Joe remained the same as it had been before the ultrasound; he would want this baby. I had no doubt he’d double up on classes and finish his degree early so he could get back to Skagway to raise her. I didn’t think he was ready to be a father, but I knew Joe. He was stubborn. He’d convince himself he could go it, and then he’d move heaven and earth to be her father.

The problem is: he’d expect me to do the same. He’d expect me to give up everything to be her mother, and I couldn’t. Aside from the fact that wasn’t ready to give up my carefree twenties, or my dreams of traveling the world, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to be someone’s mom. I’d lost the one person who might be able to help me figure out parenthood at such a young age. Being forced into motherhood by Joe would be a recipe for disaster.

And then there was the baby, herself. What would it do to her, psychologically, to know that her mother didn’t want her? Even with a loving father like Joe, it would scar her emotionally to know that her mother had rejected her, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t make the decision to bring her into the world only for her to experience that kind of insecurity and pain.

The best I could do for her was find her an amazing family and make sure they’d raise her with heaps of love. And that’s exactly what I decided to do. I would have my baby secretly and give her up for adoption, but I’d do everything I could to be sure she had a wonderful family.

That left one big question for me to answer about the boy I loved so desperately, about the man with whom, two months ago, I’d decided to spend the rest of my life…

Was I ready to accept the consequences of taking this choice away from him?

It wasn’t an ambiguous consequence either. Having our baby and giving her away meant the sum and total loss of Joe Raven from my life.

Why? Because once the adoption was final, there were only two choices for me where Joe was concerned: I could lie to him by omission every day for the rest of our lives, or I could let him go.

The agony of this decision—and the regret that would be my constant companion thereafter—was unfathomable, but I didn’t really feel I had a choice. I had to let him go, both because I couldn’t continue a relationship with such a big secret standing between us, and because he’d never forgive me if he ever learned the truth. Giving up his child—his daughter—was the ultimate betrayal.

Course decided, I had only to figure out how to make it happen.

Because I never wanted Joe or my family to know about my baby or to judge me for the decisions I made, I needed to keep my pregnancy a secret, which required hiding it for the next seven months. So, when my mother’s sister, my aunt Charlotte, sent me an invitation to join her for Thanksgiving in Oregon, it was like a sign from God, and a plan that had eluded me started forming in my mind.

I would take a semester off from UDub, but tell Joe and my family that I was doing a semester abroad somewhere far away like Chile. Instead, I would move in with Aunt Charlotte and swear her to secrecy. I’d have the baby in May, give her to a good family, and then “return” from my studies abroad to finish my degree. Only delayed by a few months, I’d ensure a good life for my baby, avoid the responsibility of parenthood, and start traveling the world as planned once I’d graduated.

It was a high price to pay for a baby I didn’t plan and didn’t want to keep. My otherwise young and fit body would bear the strain and scars of childbirth, and I’d lose the love of my life. But I tried to convince myself that those scars—the physical and the emotional—would heal. My body was young and would hopefully bounce back quickly. And one day, hopefully, I’d get over Joe. I’d meet someone new, and with any luck, he and I would find happiness.

---