Until she Didn't

When I was 24 years old, I met a guy. His name is Tom. Straightforward, smart, nice, reserved, and handsome. He is beautiful. He is kind. He was the love of my life. He is the love of my life. We began dating, and on our one year anniversary he took me to the restaurant we met. It was a group blind date, and my friend insisted that we would hit it off. She was right. If I had met him earlier I may have reconsidered things. If I had met him later I may have also reconsidered things.

I woke up one morning, about six months into our relationship, with the feeling of bubbles popping in my stomach. So many little, tiny bubbles. I looked at my phone, one week late. Eight and a half months later, I fell in love all over again. I named her Theo. She was beautiful, she was funny, she was always smiling. She was.

Slowly, she began looking pale. Her face was always washed out. By the time she turned ten years old, she was having headaches, dizziness, trouble breathing. She was still the happiest person I ever met.

I took her to the doctor. Tom insisted it was puberty, but I knew. Somehow I knew.

She was diagnosed with Leukemia. She survived every day, until she didn’t. Tom only came to the hospital when he wasn’t at work, or out with friends, or at home. Until he didn’t. It got to the point where sometimes he didn’t even come home. I was happy to spend every moment with Theo. Until I couldn’t.

Every day Theo grew weaker and weaker. Still, her smile grew bigger. Friends came by with nail polish, presents, and love. Her hospital room was filled with love so much so that I didn’t think it could fit any more in. The hospital room began ripping apart at the seams, the door was coming off the hinges, and the windows were breaking. Until it wasn’t anymore.

I didn’t even notice Tom leave. I guess I had poured all my love into this beautiful, little child so that there was none left for him. I don’t regret it. This little child needed all the love the world could offer. I think, if there hadn’t been so many people coming in to visit and giving her all the love they could possibly give, she would have passed sooner. I am so thankful for that. I am thankful for every second I had with her, from the moment I felt the bubbles, to the bubbles she blew in her chocolate milk while laughing so hard she snorted, to the last breath she took. I watched this entire life open and close in what felt like the blink of an eye.

The first time I held her in my arms, I could feel sunlight pouring into my body, as if grey skies were disappearing. She cried until she didn’t anymore. When she stopped, I think she felt the sunlight too. We sat together, her in my arms, breathing. Over and over and over again.

With all the pain and heartache that came with losing this beautiful girl, I had ten years of milk bubbles, of laughter, of running in the backyard, of swimming, of loving, of happiness.

When she died, she told me she would wait for me. I told her, no, you have to be free when you get there. I told her that when the time came, momma would find her.

“How will you know where to find me, momma?” She asked me, with tears in her eyes. I told her, a momma always knows where her baby is. I told her that no matter what, she would always be with me. I told her that I would always be with her. She held my hand and she squeezed it, until she didn’t anymore.

I watched her breathing slow down. The doctors were turning the machines off and pressing all the buttons. I told her I love her over and over and over and over, until I didn’t.

I went home. Tom wasn’t there. All that was left of Tom was a tiny black notebook. I had never seen it before. Tom had taken all of his belongings out of the home we shared. I figured it was mine and I forgot, but when I opened it, a piece of paper fell out. The piece of paper was a cheque for $20,000. It was the last thing he had left me before he left me. The first page of the notebook read For The Funeral. I love you.

I didn’t understand why he left it. I didn’t understand the significance of the notebook. I looked through the first few pages, they were full of notes Tom had taken during his meetings at work. The last page was covered in illegible writing. I was not able to read it because Theo had broken into the notebook and decided to draw a picture of her and me together. I now understand the meaning of the little black notebook. The item that I cherish.

A momma always knows where her baby is.