Special Treat ??“ From Me

June 26, 2005

The Happiest Day of My Life

Carol Roach

I remember how lonely I was before I met him.  I was in love with a man who did not love me.  I had spent four years of my life pining over my former flame.  I spent four years of my life dying inside.  The candle that contained my spirit had blown out.  I was dead to the world, dead to the possibility of meeting other men, and dead inside.

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It was a day like any other. I had nothing particular planned. Though it was Victoria Day and I had a day holiday from work.  I decided to visit my girlfriend. I caught her just before she left the house to see her boyfriend. She was meeting him in the park.  She asked me to go with her. I dragged along wondering how I would fit in. I was the third wheel, the odd one, the old maid who forever tags behind; the one who lives vicariously through others.

And then it happened. I met him. I met the man I was about to marry. I took one look at him and I melted inside.  I felt wiggly - just like Jell-O, and unsteady on my feet. I was afraid my knees would buckle from under me.  It was a good thing no one could see what I felt inside. 

Was I ready for this? To expose myself would be to open up to the world, to live again, to love again and of course to hurt again.  But when I looked into his beautiful sea green eyes, the rivers of my emotions flowed through. Waters of joy forged through to my soul bursting the dam I had built within myself.

Yet, I knew the minute I met him I was going to marry him. There was no doubt in my mind.

I knew also I was going to meet with resistance from my family.  He was from another country.  He was of another culture.  All these things were inconsequential to me, but they were of grave importance to my family.

When the seed of life was planted within me, I was told the baby would not be welcome, especially if it was a boy.  My grandmother did not like boys.  As much as I loved her, I told her I could not deny the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bones of my bones.  It was a hard decision, but it was one I had to make.

The ultra sound revealed he was indeed a boy. Oh if he could only be a girl, it would be that much easier.  And then I would reprimand myself for such feelings.

There were points in my life when I knew I was right. Then there were times when I questioned if I had made the right choice for a partner.  What legacy was I leaving my child?

I felt lonely. I felt alienated. I was a social pariah.  My belly grew big and my worries swelled to immense proportions.  I lived in a world of self doubt.  What if my child was not accepted?  What if I had to make that break with my family, my lifeline, my anchor through life?

The life of myself and my unborn child paralleled.  I was a social outcast all of my life, and now even before birth, he would be one too. This realization served to reinforce my determination and my spirit.  We would make it in the world, alone if we had to, but we would be together. 

During the pregnancy with all the hormonal swings and mental anxiety, all I needed to do was touch my protruding stomach.  The immediate comfort from this simple act can only be truly understood by a mother.

I envisioned my baby, sleeping peacefully in my womb. I would feel a surge of energy release from my hand to his resting place.  My baby would stir; he would know what I was feeling. He would send out his loving vibes back to me, the feeling of sweet honey milking my veins.

I was one with my son. This was a bond only a mother can understand.  I knew that what ever happened in my life, we were together, 

My mind would relax. My heart would flutter. I could feel a blanket of peace descend upon me, covering and keeping us both safe from the outside world.  We were cocooning. We were protected; we were enveloped in a blanket of love. 

I could feel my mood lift. The painful thoughts surfacing through my soul were released. They had wings to fly away; forever gone; expelled from memory, vanquished from existence.  I felt light, oh so light. The weight   lifted from my soul, the chains of indecision broken. 

I wore the armour of truth, the armour of protection, and the armour of strength to face any battle head on.  And faced them I did. I fought so many, and I rose triumphant.

My baby was born. He indeed was accepted by my family.  However I did not get to hold my baby until six days after his birth.  I could only see him behind the window of the hospital nursery.  I was running a fever.  I could not take the chance to infect him in anyway.  But my heart yearned for my child.  I was not complete without him.

Finally, on the sixth day, I was told my fever had broken and I would get to hold and feed my baby for the first time.

Oddly enough, I waited patiently as I heard the babies wheeled down to their mothers from outside my room.  I could not see anything, but I could hear the babies??™ individual cry.  Five babies passed by, I knew they were not Him, they were not my son.  Finally the sixth baby was coming and I heard the cry; that husky cry. 

It was him; the voice which had spoken to my soul. It was the voice I had heard from within me for so long; the voice that was part of me.  No one had to tell me my baby was coming; I knew!

Later that day, my husband was present for the evening feeding. We gazed upon our baby; the product of our love.  We touched his tiny hands, we looked at each individual toe, the chubby little foot, not yet formed to perfection, but perfect, oh so perfect. 

We watched him sleep; we counted his breaths, noting his chest lift with each breath he took.  We lovingly looked upon the ethereal smile of this little angel. We stroked his little cherub face.  We wondered out loud how this little bundle of perfection could come from two less than perfect individuals. We basked in the joy of creation and the aftermath of love.

I remember that day as if it were yesterday.  It was and will always be the happiest day of my life.

Carol Roach

winterose@videotron.ca

A Native of Montreal, Quebec, Carol is a graduate of Concordia, and McGill University.  She holds a bachelor in psychology and a masters in counselling psychology.  Carol Roach is a published writer and newsletter editor.  You can purchase her book: Picking up the Pieces: A Woman's Journey at www.publishamerica.com, or www.amazon.com.  You can also go to your local bookstore and order it there as well.  Carol has now finished her second novel and currently looking for a publisher.