The Life: Sacrifice (The Life 3)

I spent the first few minutes after marveling at the fact that I’d given life, imagining it and living it are two separate animals altogether. But once the adrenaline wore off, all the fears came at me hard. I’m terrified. I’m giving serious thought to going home, or at the very least to grandma’s.

One minute I wished Gabriel was here, I wanted to share this with him, and the next, I was mad at him for not being here. I hid my fear well once I was allowed visitors, and Connie and Ron came into the room. I didn’t correct the staff who thought they were grandma and grandpa, but it reminded me that my parents weren’t here.

That thought only made me break down again, and I let them think that it was because of the pain of giving birth and the fear of realizing I was now responsible for something so helpless. But beneath the fear and uncertainty was this strength of will to be protector, provider, and first love.

If I focused on being the kind of mother mom had been to me before she was taken from me, I know I can do it, so that’s what I did. Once visiting hours were over, and Connie and Ron had to leave, I beat back the fear with those thoughts. I reminded myself a thousand times that I wasn’t the first eighteen-year-old to give birth, that many people had done it before and succeeded.

I’d done enough research, watched enough videos, and read all the stories, so I know it can be done well. But none of that kept me from worrying that I’d screw up somehow, and that was my biggest fear. That, and going it alone, especially now while everything is so new. My poor heart is going to be worn out by the time I leave here due to the many up and down emotions running through it.

Each time I felt panic threatening to overcome me, I had to close my eyes and do breathing exercises until I calmed down again. I had to stop myself from dwelling on all the things I had to do in the next few days in order to settle my mind because stressing about it while lying in the hospital bed wasn’t helping.

The nurses were all so proud of me; they kept telling me how well I’d done each time one of them came into the room. Their words of encouragement went a long way to making me feel better, but inside I was still a bundle of nerves. The people here were some of the most helpful, just like Connie and Ron.

They didn’t just throw problems at me but started off every sentence with a solution. They made sure I had everything I needed once I was discharged, and if I answered in the negative, they were quick to suggest where I could get it. By the time Connie and Ron returned later that afternoon, they had a list of all that we needed, if we didn’t already have it.

I felt comfortable telling Connie to go into my bag for my card so she could head into town and get what was needed that I didn’t have once the two of them were through fawning. I cried when breastfeeding wasn’t as easy as they made it look and laughed with joy when I finally got it to work.

Holding that little body close to mine was the best feeling, and the love, so much love. The realization that there would now be unconditional love in my life is what made all the fears and worries subside. I told myself I could do it, but I wished I had someone here to help. I couldn’t not think about Gabriel because it was like looking at a miniature of him. And for some reason, that gave me peace. Whatever anger I felt towards him was washed away in the pain of bringing his offspring into the world.

* * *

GABRIEL

* * *

“Young man, please, just a moment of your time.” He’d hunted me down, Salvatore Ricci or more like I’d let him catch me.

“Why are you following me, sir? I told you I don’t… Maybe you can help me.” He came closer, his eyes scanning my face.

“Anything, tell me.”

“Geraci Siculo, have you heard of it?”

“Yes, yes, this is my birthplace; we should sit.” He pointed to a table on the stone patio outside the hotel I’d had the driver bring me to. Of course, it’s not the hotel I’m staying at, just a decoy, I’m not stupid. His voice was beautiful, almost like grandpa’s but more cultured. I knew that was because he’d been educated at some of the best places in Europe, from Bologna to Eton.

“Please, you must tell me, who are you? You speak Sicilian, but you’re not from my country, yes. But how do you come to have my face? No one looks like Ricci, but Ricci.” He waved his finger back and forth to make his point. “Now tell me, what’s going on.”