Page 20 of Because of Dylan

“You amaze me.”

I laugh. “I love being a baby cuddler.”

“I know you do. Call me when you’re done. Maybe we can do something this weekend.”

“Sure. I’ll be in touch. Bye.”

I turn my phone off, put my things in the locker, then wash my hands before putting on a disposable gown, cap, and shoe coverings. I can’t wait to hold Baby Jay. When I get to his incubator, sleepy eyes blink at me, tiny fists raised, skin so thin and pink, I can see the veins beneath. He’s shaking. His little mouth opening and closing without making a sound. It’s a terrifying thing to watch. I pick him up and cuddle him to my chest, and the shakes from his heroin withdrawal subside. His little body relaxes against mine.

“Hey there, sweetheart. How are you today?”

Baby Jay mewls in response.

I look around for a free rocking chair to sit in. Nancy, the senior NICU nurse, waves at me. I move Baby Jay from my shoulder to the cradle of my arm and settle in a rocking chair.

“Oh, look. Nancy has a bottle all ready for you. Are you hungry?”

“You’re his favorite, you know?” Nancy hands me the bottle.

I smile. “He’s my favorite too, aren’t you, Baby Jay?” I touch his little mouth with the bottle, and he latches on.

Nancy smiles at me. “We’ll miss you when you graduate and move away.”

What? I’m shocked into silence for a moment. Graduation is six months away, and I haven’t thought much about what I’ll do when the time comes. Stay on campus for a grad program or try to find my own place while I work and go to school. I didn’t think of having to give up my volunteer time at the hospital. Nancy waits for a response.

“I don’t know what I'll do. I hope to stay close enough to still come by.”

“You’re not going back home, then?”

Home. I know what the word means. I know its definition. But I don’t experience the warm and fuzzies most people do when they think of home.

“No. Not planning on leaving. This is my home.” I know she thinks I’m referencing the state or the town, but I’m not. This hospital, my dorm room, spending time with River, that’s my home. I don’t want to leave any of it behind.

“I hope you can still come by then. God knows these babies need all the love and help they can get.”

“I love them.”

“I know.” She touches my shoulder. “And they love you back.”

I feel a connection to these babies. A part of my soul speaks to them, and they speak back to me. From the outside it may look like these babies are the ones getting all the help and love. But that’s not true. Not for me. I get so much more than I put in. I’m in debt to them. These babies don’t judge me. They make me feel clean and worthy of love too.

Nancy walks away to tend to the other babies, and I’m left with Baby Jay and my thoughts.

I can let my guard down inside the NICU. No one here is trying to hurt me or use me. Watching the babies thrive and get stronger reminds me I can do the same. If such tiny creatures, so completely dependent on the care and kindness of others, can learn to heal and grow and overcome all the odds stacked against them, so can I. One day I will learn to do it as well.

The bottle is empty in a matter of minutes. I put Jay on my shoulder and pat his back. The strength of his belch betrays his size and makes me giggle.

I pace the open area and sing, quietly at first, but Baby Jay likes when I sing louder, and he demands I raise my voice with a series of squeals and gurgles that make me laugh.

“Okay, little boss. I’ll sing louder for you. What would you like to listen to today?”

The first few notes of Parson James,Only You, rise in a hum, and I sway with Baby Jay. Words take form in song as I interject Baby Jay into the lyrics.

I dance with my little partner and sing, my eyes closed, my heart open, pouring all my love into the tiny being in my arms. A song turns into two, three and many more until a light tap on my shoulder gets my attention.

“Your time is up, Becca.” Before I’m ready for it to end, my two hours of volunteer work for this week are over. The nurse smiles at me in a way I imagine a loving mother would. I inhale Jay’s sweet baby scent, nuzzle his downy head. The nurse takes the sleeping baby out of my arms. He makes a sound of protest, but stays asleep.

I leave the NICU and the hospital and drive away in silence, trying to hold on to the feel of Baby Jay on my chest. But it dissipates with each mile I put between us until there’s nothing but the sweet ache of the memory.

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