Welcome to Unwritten's May Flash Fiction challenge! Every story (600 words max) begins with this sentence:
I never expected to be in this position so soon, saying goodbye to my son.
For many women, the dream of having a child is dashed by the curse of infertility. For others, a baby is the last thing they expected or wanted. Judy Beaston brings these two situations together in this bittersweet story, ending with a note of hope. Read on and be generous with comments!
My Baby Boy
I never expected to be in this position so soon, saying
goodbye to my son. Though the pregnancy was unplanned, I treasured this little
being within my womb.
His dad and I rejected any suggestions of abortion, promised
to support one another going forward. Keith, eighteen, remained in school, but I
was a strong-willed seventeen-year old and dropped out during my fifth month.
It was the ultrasound image of our fast-developing son that captivated me. We
were going to be a family and I was eager to begin my life as a mom.
With no savings, and very little income, we moved in with
his aunt. Her promise of help and support encouraged me. The world waited for
us, our sails were set and the breeze was gentle.
Three weeks before the due date, my family intervened. Keith’s
family joined the assault, for that’s how it seemed to me at the time. I was
heartbroken, but agreed with their logic. I did
want what was best for our child, did want to complete school. But I did not
want to lose my little boy.
Two days later, Keith and I sat with an adoption counselor. I
fought back tears. In my womb, our baby kicked and turned as if he knew and
wasn’t pleased.
“You’re wise to make this choice,” the counselor beamed. I
frowned.
She handed us a large album filled with family biographies, like
little advertisements, each declaring: Choose
us. Look at the stable and rich home life we’ll provide.
Keith and I selected a family with a three-year old. A
sibling would be nice, we agreed. The family’s album detailed their love of
camping, biking, celebrating holidays. They both had good jobs and lived in a
nice community. Our son would thrive.
On the day he was born, that family waited for our call. Given
the option, I’d refused to let them be present during the birth. When that
little boy entered this world, my emotions overrode logic. The call that family
received was not the one anticipated. I had changed my mind; decided I would be
my son’s mom. Keith’s aunt would help; my mom would help. We would struggle but
remain together.
Three weeks later, reality shadowed desire. My expectations
of ongoing help were not met. All of our relatives had day jobs. Keith went to
school, then work, then out with friends. I had lost most of my friends when I
quit school. My full-time job was caring for a colicky child I was woefully
unprepared to nurture. I was exhausted and afraid. This was not the life I
anticipated for my little man.
I never expected to say good-bye so soon. He was supposed to
remain by my side until Kindergarten, live with me until he left for college,
return again and again to my loving embrace.
I tuck a blue blanket, the one with trucks and bears on it,
around the edge of his carrier. In a bag, I gently place rattles, a stuffed
dog, and the little bear that drew his first smile when I held it before his
eyes. A small envelope holds notes about his schedule, the first doctor’s
report, a photo from the day he was born.
While waiting for the woman from the adoption agency, I hold
my son’s hand. His strong, tiny fingers grasp one of mine. I gaze into his pure
blue eyes. A tear runs across his cheek. It’s mine. I leave it for him, a
going-away gift. I imagine it as one small part of me going with him.
****
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Judy Beaston lives in northwest Oregon where the weather and
people suit her muse. She composes flash fiction, short stories, novels and
poetry about following dreams, the ins and outs of living the human experience
and just wacky, sometimes funny, tall tales. In the spaces between the written
notes, she enjoys playing her tenor saxophone and keyboard, as well as playing
with her two grandkids. Her flash and
short stories have won acclaim at WritersType and WOW-Women on Writing.
Spellbound 2011 by Jenny Twist
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