Where there is love.

Light, then darkness. Smell of blood, green shirts, metal tools. Andy’s gaze on mine, the lower part of his face hidden underneath a green mask matching his hospital gown. One last push; my whole body burning, stretching, aching, crying. I heard the sound as it came down from me, plop, then mustering my last strength I straightened my upper body barely enough, touching the sticky, hairy head with one trembling hand. « It's a girl! », they told me, while laying her against me. My eyes filled with tears and sweat. Wind was banging against the window panes, the fiery dawn light piercing through the glass, touching the bloody head now resting on my breast. Andy leaned towards us, his lips pressed on my forehead, then his broad hand landed on the small body. I could feel the warm flow of blood flowing from inside my thighs when they told me « The placenta has been delivered ». I already knew that, being a midwife. But for that time only, I was the patient.

Time went by.

Winter arrived that year without warning, starting with a penetrating storm. Eve was standing in front of me, her arms dangling in the living room; how could it have been three years already? The Christmas tree was half-finished, at least the star at the very top was twinkling brightly. The wind was shouting from outside the glass doors. Our new puppy was running between the presents. He made Eve fall, circling madly around her. She grabbed him by the fur, he barked happily, and she sat up; there you go. Her gaze returned to mine. Her red hair, tousled against her cheeks, looked like a fire warming up her face. My cell phone rang and I looked at the screen. She knew it, she felt it; I had to go. That night I didn’t have the strength to explain myself. Maybe that’s when I stopped trying. Andy came into the living room holding two small glasses of champagne and a smile. I shook my head while putting a large scarf around my neck and his smile disappeared into an understanding look. He kissed me on the cheek and I mumbled « Merry Christmas, I love you ». Before leaving into the storm, I took one look back : Andy, in his Christmas sweater, was holding Eve up, and our mad dog was barking joyfully among them. I couldn’t help but think that this puppy had only one mission : to replace me.

And time went by.

I ran along the main corridor. Bleeding in Room 3; we would need a hospital transfer. I prepared the patient and gently squeezed the husband's arm, his face grey with concern, forehead wrinkled and sweaty, leaning against the wall. I smiled at him and looked for his eyes, « follow me », I said. I heard him talking on the phone. He said « yes, yes, the midwife is here ». My own cell phone rang. The word home appeared on the screen, followed by ting, a familiar ringtone announcing a new voicemail. I automatically shut the thing off. I didn't know which of Eve or Andy was calling me this time. I had no time; I don't remember calling them back.

And…..time went by.

Eve is eight years old now. Tonight, I'm tucking her in. The bedside light, still on, shines on half of her sleeping face, her arms outstretched, fiery curls dancing across the pillow. Her child's chest slowly rises and falls in perfect rhythm with her breath. I think, soon she will be a teenager; the words echo terrifyingly in my mind. It's not about the future, which I’m not afraid of, it’s about the past. In nine years, I can count the times I've tucked her in. While I helped women give birth to children that weren't mine, my own baby grew up in front of my absent eyes.

The next day, I finish follow-ups after an early morning call. 11:30 am, my day is over; woman and baby are safe. Outside, the spring wind brushes against my face. New leaves are dancing at the end of branches like thin waving fingers. Eve's school is very close on the right. I cross the street, cut through the emerald grass speckled with the last snow, then push the door open. Complete silence. My footsteps and breathing echo all around. I rush to her locker and open it. My nose digs into her clothes like a dog’s. I want to smell her old baby scent and perhaps know that there is still time? I'm losing it. I sniff against her spring coat, leaving a stain of snot, which will soon dry. And then notice a black corner pushing away from her half-open bag. I recognize that corner.

- Mom?

Dear God. Head out of the locker. Eve looks at me, brow furrowed, her slender body planted in front of mine. Bright, dark eyes seeing through me. Her red hair is grown long now, it’s dancing against her waist. She is a mystical character in my incredibly real life. I stroke her face with one hand, fingers shaking with confusion, then smile. She opens her lips as if to speak, but the bell rings. A mass of mini humans tumble and roll against the floors, walls, lockers. Two friends grab both Eve’s arms and take her away from me, talking and talking. She turns around and our eyes grip together. For a few seconds, time stops. I stretch my hand forward, she moves her lips in words I can’t catch, her mouth opens up in something like a smile, then her head swivels. Tick, tock. Clock’s on again. She's gone.

I rush outside. Sniff away sorrow. Grab a black tea at the cafe, then walk a long, long walk, leaving my bike behind. The steps lead me on my familiar path, closer to the river; where the thoughts are clearer. Tea is hot against my throat. I see families, men, women grandparents, walking slowly. Children jumping up and down. I sit on a bench, roll up my collar, fold both my arms over the sadness pinching my chest. The cool wind presses both my cheeks, drying tiny paths of tears which will soon no longer be seen. I look at the dark river rebelling from the ivory grip of the snow. A man sits beside me.

- How are you ?, Andy's voice asks.

I rest my head on his shoulder and cry. He hands me a check. $ 20,000. My eyes catch his.

- I sold the boat yesterday. I've been talking about it, remember?, he says.

- Of course. But?

His finger presses gently on both my lips.

- We don't need a boat. I certainly don't. Dad wouldn't have wanted me to keep it in a port anyway. Take the money; now it's yours, my love.

He slips the check inside my hand. The corner of the paper wriggles between my forefinger and thumb.

- You don't have to decide right here or now. But if you ever want to work less or even stop working, just know that you can. Aren't you thinking about it?

- But what do you want? And Eve?, I ask.

Gentle shrug of shoulders.

- Love, I think we want you to have no regrets.

He kisses me. I nod my head. And neither of us speak. A piece of ice shatters above the water. It flows and flows before our eyes and eventually disappears, only to reach a lake probably miles away.

That night I sit and wonder. Money won’t change time I’ve missed. And I love my job. The dog, who is now quite fat, settles against my feet. Andy is cooking a curry; its perfumes are dancing around us. The fire is crackling. Eve pushes her chair against the floor; finished with homework, she is. Then she sits in front of me in the living room. Her lips open to speak.

- Time to eat !, yells Andy.

After supper, Eve’s long body rushes upstairs, the dog nibbling at her ankles. When I tuck her in, she is already asleep, wedged against the dog. I lift the covers up to her nose and notice again, this time tucked underneath the pillow, the familiar black corner. And in her half-sleep tone, she whispers:

- Read.

She moves slowly, lifts her pillow then turns on her side, leaving behind her this little black book. On the cover, she wrote in her serious handwriting : For mom. I hold the notebook into my hands and then, slowly, open it.

Wind blows to my face, gripping me forward. The pages light up with a creamy light; the hands of my watch twirl and twirl and twirl. Eve's voice rises all around, perhaps somewhere in my mind, echoing from the words that she wrote. Today, mom ran for work. She always runs. She bought me this little black book I asked for, though, and that is so nice! Oh, dear notebook, mom came to tuck me in yesterday night, before she left for work. I really liked it. Glued on the pages are pictures of her baby face, her face growing up, half-dressed Christmas trees and my tired smile, me and her running for the bus, laughing, Andy and her doing homework. While I turn the pages, her voice talks about our family. It tells the story of our perfectly imperfect, beautiful life. Our laughs, our fights, our regrets, and our hopes. The hands on my watch suddenly stop. Time freezes. And her voice : Today, mom came to my school and sniffed inside my locker. Well, that was weird. But even when she can’t be there, she’s never far away. I don’t mind her working. I just want her here, sometimes. Mom, if you read this, write me something, will you? And the wind stops, the light shuts off; it’s dark again. I press my ears on my wrist and can hear the distinct regular sound of my watch. Tick, tock.

The dog whimpers. « Did you hear that too? », I ask him. He stares at me.

I wipe away my tears and grab a pencil from her desk. In the dim bluish light of the moon, I scribble something, patiently. When I'm done, I place the black notebook back underneath the pillow, kiss the red hair, and leave. The next day, I’m gone before dawn.

Prepared my tea in silence, poured it into a thermos. Packed my bag with a change of clothes and a lunch. Put two ‘I love you’ notes on the counter as I always do, but this time, I added three plane tickets I’ve just bought for New Zealand next Christmas. Vacations with my family, for the first time in eight years. The remainder of the $20,000 cheque will go into an account I decided to open for Eve's studies.

My daughter gave me a step back in time through her own forgiving words. And as I ride my bike along the familiar path near the river, I smile. Maybe life is not about what, but mostly about how; adjusting the inner clock.

On the last page of Eve’s little black book, I drew a magical clock filled with flowers, mystical figures and shapes of hearts. Inside the clock and instead of each of the 12 numbers indicating the time, I wrote her name, Eve. 12 times. Underneath the clock, I added: Where there is love… there is always time.

I push the birth center’s door open. In Room 3, a new woman is panting softly. I examine her; it will still be hours before she starts pushing. My work is about the very stuff of life.

My phone rings; it’s home. « I’ll be right back », I tell the woman. My new clock is ticking inside my heart : Where there is love…. there is always...

So this time,

I pick up.