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Another thing, when did I stop being a lady? Because at night, I giggle, thinking how air just sneaks out of me.
“What are you doing to me?” I say affectionately to our baby. A smile stretches my lips, knowing we’re going to be okay. Staring at Gran’s diary, I wonder about her pregnancy and what support she had from the shaman because she didn’t have someone like Samuel to guide and support her through it. I imagine my Gran being strong like the other Ularan women. I have her blood pumping through my veins. Her strength is with my spirit, and she’ll help and guide me while I’m in the jungle, doing what she did decades ago.
Mum said she had blessed me when I was born. Maybe she had some power to see my future and visualize this moment where we’d connect even though times separate our journey. A different level of consciousness unites us.
15th May 1961
What’s wrong with me?
I’m a nurse, for God’s sake, and I can’t even cope with a baby. I know my skills. I have the knowledge only the black hole keeps threatening to swallow me up every night. Every night I’m scared to close my eyes. It is not the fear of dying. It’s the demons waiting for me, whispering that it is all a lie. It shouldn’t bother me, but no sooner do I close my eyes and Winston starts crying, I’m up pacing the floor with him in my arms.
Last night I was so tired I walked around in zombie form, and I almost dropped him. There was a moment I wished I did because then all the crying would stop. And I’ve hated myself since because it’s not how I feel. I love my baby. I’ve just stopped loving myself because I’m trying to find that mother-baby connection.
It’s not there.
My heart is empty.
I tried to talk to Albert this morning.
He brushed me off and said all mothers are tired, and I’m going through a stage. He didn’t even offer to help.
19th May 1961
I haven’t showered in two days, and I’m wearing the same pajamas.
Winston isn’t crying as much, so I can’t even blame the colic.
What sort of life can I offer him when I can’t even manage to change my clothes? I see the sideways glances from Albert. He notices, yet he doesn’t say anything. I know he thinks I’m a terrible mother.
3rd June 1961
Brenda is getting married. I’m thrilled for her as it’s her dream, and she wants babies more than anyone.
I showered before she came to visit me and pinned my hair to the top of my head in a classic roll. The guilt stops me from telling her the truth.
I wanted to share in her happiness. When she asked me to be her Maid of Honor, I cried. She thought it was tears of joy. How am I going to pull myself together in three months?
I need a miracle to get me out of this cave.
“Gran.” I wipe a single tear before it cascades over my cheek. I don’t want to keep reading, only I need to know she got through this and found her way out of the darkness because it’s the darkness that scares me too.
I remember the day Gran died. It was the same time we heard of the Haiti earthquake in January 2010. I remember the devastation of Dad telling Faith and me that Gran had passed in her sleep from a heart attack. Then the world grieved with the devastation of Mother Nature’s wrath. I was around fifteen at the time, and I couldn’t fathom life without Gran.
She had never mentioned being in the jungle, although her stories of life lessons made sense, especially her love of nature and every creature on earth. I got my spider phobia from my mum’s side of the family because Gran loved to keep the huntsman spiders in her house.
“Henry is eating the flies and mosquitoes for me,” she’d say.
I lean up on my elbow and look around the stunning vista surrounding me.God, she must have loved this place.
My stomach tightens, and I groan before breathing through the Braxton Hicks contraction. “You can practice all you like,” I tell my daughter. “I’m not ready for you to make any surprise appearances just yet.”
23rdSeptember 1961
It’s Brenda’s wedding day. I’m so excited for her. Albert bought me the dress for the wedding, and I feel excited to finally wear it.
I have had time to think and consider the guilt that cripples my thoughts. It is not being a mother that I struggle with most, and it’s not working and being financially independent. I miss caring for my patients, knowing I’m doing some good in the world. Winston doesn’t need someone like me. Anyone can feed him and change a nappy. He’ll appreciate his mother when he’s older.
I’m going to ask Albert if I can at least take on the bookkeeping for the hotel. He’ll need to teach me. Then he could care for Winston while I do a day’s work.
