The relentless beeping of the monitor attached by a web of cords to her fragile little body is a constant reminder of my daughter’s congenital heart disease. Her grandpa, seated beside me on the hard plastic hospital chair, moves restless hands between his pocket and hanky, his eyes fixed on every rise and fall of her chest, longing to hold and comfort his first grandchild. My daughter’s birth wasn’t like the beautiful stories I’d heard or movies I’d seen. It was silent - her scrawny, little, blue body, static in the cold air of the big world. My father sitting beside me, mumbles, ‘heart disease is in the family you know... your family’.
The ICU door swings a close. Through the viewing window, I catch a glimpse of Lex’s grandpa, as usual, …show more content…
A tall, beautiful woman, young, but maturely dressed, with soft locks falling to her shoulders, standing before the doors of a small, sandstone building titled ‘St John’s, Home for Women’. My mind returned to stories my mother used to tell me about growing up in the late 50’s, having been raised in a conservative Catholic family, premarital sex was forbidden, let alone pregnancy out of wedlock. The ‘Home for women’, was a humiliating, shameful place where a pregnant mother was sent to wait out her pregnancy away from her family and the prying eyes of the community. Captioned: ‘This is me (Sophie), and my home for 6 months before our little sunshine came into the …show more content…
We hope you are well and we miss you very much. It was so painful seeing your tiny, little body disappear into the hands of strangers. I know your adoptive parents love you and care for you very much, but waking each day is still very tough, I feel so guilty, but there is nothing I could’ve done… We’re having another child – your brother! It would be so nice for you to meet him one day and so lovely to see you again. We just want you to know we love you and we pray for your forgiveness overtime. Please know, no matter what our futures hold, our doors are always open for you.’
…
I blow the dust from the white pages book that has sat under the landline for as long as i can remember. My eyes examine each surname carefully as my finger scrolls down the rough surface of the aging paper. The 10 digits separating me from knowing the truth, stir in my stomach, leaving me as anxious as I was upon the silence of my daughter's birth. My finger trembling before the telephone buttons
….
“Hello, this is Sophie Lope
The ICU door swings a close. Through the viewing window, I catch a glimpse of Lex’s grandpa, as usual, …show more content…
A tall, beautiful woman, young, but maturely dressed, with soft locks falling to her shoulders, standing before the doors of a small, sandstone building titled ‘St John’s, Home for Women’. My mind returned to stories my mother used to tell me about growing up in the late 50’s, having been raised in a conservative Catholic family, premarital sex was forbidden, let alone pregnancy out of wedlock. The ‘Home for women’, was a humiliating, shameful place where a pregnant mother was sent to wait out her pregnancy away from her family and the prying eyes of the community. Captioned: ‘This is me (Sophie), and my home for 6 months before our little sunshine came into the …show more content…
We hope you are well and we miss you very much. It was so painful seeing your tiny, little body disappear into the hands of strangers. I know your adoptive parents love you and care for you very much, but waking each day is still very tough, I feel so guilty, but there is nothing I could’ve done… We’re having another child – your brother! It would be so nice for you to meet him one day and so lovely to see you again. We just want you to know we love you and we pray for your forgiveness overtime. Please know, no matter what our futures hold, our doors are always open for you.’
…
I blow the dust from the white pages book that has sat under the landline for as long as i can remember. My eyes examine each surname carefully as my finger scrolls down the rough surface of the aging paper. The 10 digits separating me from knowing the truth, stir in my stomach, leaving me as anxious as I was upon the silence of my daughter's birth. My finger trembling before the telephone buttons
….
“Hello, this is Sophie Lope