not trying to be condescending. She was just reminding me of a truth I had to hold on to.
“I know, Mom,” I said as a tear escaped one eye.
“Don’t forget you’re doing what you must because of love,” she said.
We were both quiet for a few moments. A thought occurred to me that I had never told her what had happened to me on the morning this journey really began. I felt a need to tell her.
“Mom, do you remember the day Daddy died and I came into the kitchen and told you I thought I heard Daddy’s voice?”
She paused. “Yes, Claire. I remember.”
“I think it was really God trying to tell me something. I think He was telling me not to be afraid. He knew that day was going to be terrible.”
I waited for a moment, and she said nothing. I wondered too late what it might be like for her to be called upon to remember that day. I didn’t want to stop to think maybe I should have said nothing.
“On the morning I knew I was pregnant, I heard Him speak to me again, Mom. It was the first time since that other day.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “What did you hear?”
“The same thing. I heard the same thing. ‘Do not be afraid.’”
Again, she was silent.
“Are you?” she said finally, gently. “Are you afraid?”
I hesitated for a moment even though I knew I felt no fear among the mix of emotions rolling around inside me.
“No, I’m not,” I answered. “I’m not afraid. I’m sad, but I’m not afraid. But I honestly thought not being afraid would make it easier to say goodbye. I think it’s going to make it harder, Mom. I really do.”
I was not mistaken.
13
We celebrated Spencer’s seventh birthday the Saturday before Palm Sunday, taking him and six of his friends to a movie and then out for pizza afterward. It was a weird kind of day. I know Spencer had a good time, but I didn’t. I didn’t mind the movie, but it was made for adolescent boys and people who like to think like adolescent boys. The jokes were silly, sometimes crude. I realized I was feeling very much like I was nearing my forties and feeling far too old for immature nonsense.
Then at the pizza restaurant one of Spencer’s little friends looked at my abdomen, which I tried to conceal with a baggy sweater, and said, “So you’re having a baby?”
Dan was involved in pouring glasses of root beer at the other end of the table and hadn’t heard it. I wasn’t sure what to say. If I said “yes,” this kid would no doubt expect to see me at some future event with a baby in my arms.
I was formulating an answer when Spencer said, “Yeah, but we’re not keeping it.” And then he took a bite of his pizza.
The kid whirled around and looked at me like either my son was nuts or I was from another planet.
I felt like I was from another planet. I wanted to look at that wide-eyed kid and say, “Yep, I’m from Mars. We only keep babies born in December and March.”
“How about some more pizza, Kyle?” I said, though his plate was full of pizza. He looked at his plate and then back at me. I guess he decided Spence and I were both nuts.
I was anxious for the day to end and tried hiding my middle from then on anytime I stood up. I insisted on carrying all of Spence’s presents out to the van, even though Dan kept pestering to help. I didn’t want his help. I wanted camouflage.
That night when I tucked Spencer into bed, I asked him if he’d had a fun day, and he was all smiles.
“Yeah, it was great,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I said and brushed a stray hair off his forehead. “Say, Spencer,” I continued, like I had just thought of something when actually I had been rehearsing what I would say next all evening. “People may not understand why we aren’t keeping the baby, so it would be better not to tell them. It’s kind of a private thing that I don’t want to have to explain to people.”
“You want me to tell people we’re keeping it?” he said, incredulous that I would
“I know, Mom,” I said as a tear escaped one eye.
“Don’t forget you’re doing what you must because of love,” she said.
We were both quiet for a few moments. A thought occurred to me that I had never told her what had happened to me on the morning this journey really began. I felt a need to tell her.
“Mom, do you remember the day Daddy died and I came into the kitchen and told you I thought I heard Daddy’s voice?”
She paused. “Yes, Claire. I remember.”
“I think it was really God trying to tell me something. I think He was telling me not to be afraid. He knew that day was going to be terrible.”
I waited for a moment, and she said nothing. I wondered too late what it might be like for her to be called upon to remember that day. I didn’t want to stop to think maybe I should have said nothing.
“On the morning I knew I was pregnant, I heard Him speak to me again, Mom. It was the first time since that other day.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “What did you hear?”
“The same thing. I heard the same thing. ‘Do not be afraid.’”
Again, she was silent.
“Are you?” she said finally, gently. “Are you afraid?”
I hesitated for a moment even though I knew I felt no fear among the mix of emotions rolling around inside me.
“No, I’m not,” I answered. “I’m not afraid. I’m sad, but I’m not afraid. But I honestly thought not being afraid would make it easier to say goodbye. I think it’s going to make it harder, Mom. I really do.”
I was not mistaken.
13
We celebrated Spencer’s seventh birthday the Saturday before Palm Sunday, taking him and six of his friends to a movie and then out for pizza afterward. It was a weird kind of day. I know Spencer had a good time, but I didn’t. I didn’t mind the movie, but it was made for adolescent boys and people who like to think like adolescent boys. The jokes were silly, sometimes crude. I realized I was feeling very much like I was nearing my forties and feeling far too old for immature nonsense.
Then at the pizza restaurant one of Spencer’s little friends looked at my abdomen, which I tried to conceal with a baggy sweater, and said, “So you’re having a baby?”
Dan was involved in pouring glasses of root beer at the other end of the table and hadn’t heard it. I wasn’t sure what to say. If I said “yes,” this kid would no doubt expect to see me at some future event with a baby in my arms.
I was formulating an answer when Spencer said, “Yeah, but we’re not keeping it.” And then he took a bite of his pizza.
The kid whirled around and looked at me like either my son was nuts or I was from another planet.
I felt like I was from another planet. I wanted to look at that wide-eyed kid and say, “Yep, I’m from Mars. We only keep babies born in December and March.”
“How about some more pizza, Kyle?” I said, though his plate was full of pizza. He looked at his plate and then back at me. I guess he decided Spence and I were both nuts.
I was anxious for the day to end and tried hiding my middle from then on anytime I stood up. I insisted on carrying all of Spence’s presents out to the van, even though Dan kept pestering to help. I didn’t want his help. I wanted camouflage.
That night when I tucked Spencer into bed, I asked him if he’d had a fun day, and he was all smiles.
“Yeah, it was great,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I said and brushed a stray hair off his forehead. “Say, Spencer,” I continued, like I had just thought of something when actually I had been rehearsing what I would say next all evening. “People may not understand why we aren’t keeping the baby, so it would be better not to tell them. It’s kind of a private thing that I don’t want to have to explain to people.”
“You want me to tell people we’re keeping it?” he said, incredulous that I would
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