A Kept Woman

The Death

It was now Wednesday, November 18, 1987. For some reason, I couldn’t pull myself together. I just kept sleeping and sleeping. I would wake to see Chi laying beside me smiling and gazing at me. I was breast-feeding so he fed himself whenever he was hungry. I called his father at work to ask if he could come home because I was not strong enough to care for my son. He cussed at me on the phone. “You are going to cost me everything. I wish I never met you”. I’ve heard this statement so much in the past year I grew numb to it. He finally arrived. I told him to leave Chi in the room with me, but he proceeded to tell me that if he were coming home to take care of this kid and me, then Chi would have to be in the living room with him. I was too weak to fight him about it. Chi screamed and cried because he wanted to stay with me. Just then, I heard a tapping on the window. There was a bird pecking to get in. The pecking calmed me. I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the sound of the pecks. When I awoke, I was tremendously better. However I couldn’t feel my son’s presence. Cautiously, I walked out to the living room and asked my husband, “Is Chi alive?” I don’t know how I knew or why I asked. As I walked closer to my husband, I felt increasingly empty. I could feel my own heartbeat slow its rhythm with each step I took. He looked at me strangely and replied, “What kind of question is that?” As if he knew, he rushed to the couch and there Chi was… lifeless. I screamed, “Oh My God! Not my son, not my baby!” Falling to my knees, I started to crawl towards the front door. I pushed my way out of the house and fell down the cold cement steps. The Domino’s manager across the street saw me and ran quickly towards my apartment. The landlord heard the outburst and without hesitation picked my baby up and brought him to his office to perform mouth to mouth.

            I watched as they worked to make him breathe. Each puff I puffed with them. My heart began to slowly stop as I watched them blow each breath. The ambulance finally arrived. I took in one final deep breath. “One, two...” I counted the seconds. They tried to shock him back to me, “Twenty-five...twenty six.” No more breaths. My baby was gone.

            I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it. I was lost and filled with a sense of void. I went deep within myself to escape the inevitable reality of not ever seeing, kissing or holding my child again. Rocking back and forth, I rolled in a small ball like a zombie, completely gone. All I wanted to do was hold my baby. I didn’t want to hear what anyone had to say. I didn’t want to know about how sorry everyone was. Just give me my baby. I walked over to where they placed his cold, limp body and kissed his cheeks. My tears tried so hard to warm his face. “Open your eyes for Mommy”, I said. “Please Chi, open your eyes. It's Mommy. Don’t leave me, baby. Don’t leave your Mommy.” With one last kiss, I touched my son’s lips and gently shut his eyes. Little by little, inch-by-inch, I tenderly moved my fingertips over his face, sketching his small frame with my mind while permanently implanting his essence in my soul.

            The landlord called my family to inform them of Chi’s death. When they arrived my grandmother held me tightly in her arms as I continued to rock back and forth. The rocking back and forth ironically symbolized my life. At moments tipping into the past, trying to exist in the present, never really going anywhere, just rocking, sitting, and dying. This rocking motion in my life was now the only true existence I had. If I were to stop rocking, I would forever be stuck between yesterday and today.  Nothing comforted me. My mind was leaving me. My spirit was crushed. The depths of my despair grew into a bottomless black pit. This was my resting place and I didn’t want to come out. I began to decorate my new home with the memories of my son, frozen in the picture frames of time.