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“It does, but her mother signed off her rights because the baby girl is paralyzed from the waist down, Irving. She has spina bifida.”
“Lack of prenatal care probably explains that,” I said to buy time. I was unsure what to say to him, so I went with the obvious. “Have you talked to Heather?”
“Nope,” he said with a shake of his head. “She wants a child, Irving. If I tell her about this baby, Heather will be at the hospital tonight.”
“You’re concerned she will leap without considering the implications of fostering, or adopting, a baby with a disability?”
His head hung as he spoke. “I told you I’d sound like an ass.”
“Thinking through the considerations of not only what the child’s life will entail but how it will change your own, does not make you an ass, Gabe. I would be far more worried if you had come to me with no concerns. Here’s the thing. No parent expects their child to be born with a disability or considers that their child could become disabled early in life. It’s not something we think about in those happy days of starting a family. Sure, if you’re disabled, maybe those questions enter your mind, but no matter what, we still don’t expect it to happen to us. We can’t predict or keep them from happening, but we can arm ourselves with knowledge and love to navigate them. The question you need to ask yourself isn’t what can’t this child do, but what can she do.”
“You mean, like, is she of normal intelligence?”
“I’m sure that’s a question that no one can answer right now, but typically children with spina bifida, while they have mobility considerations and some have learning disabilities, are generally of normal intelligence. I have several friends with spina bifida who use wheelchairs but have had extremely successful careers and lives, regardless of how they get around. My question was more about what the child will do within your family unit.”
“She’d make my wife a mother and me a father. Both things we didn’t dare dream possible. She’d bring so much joy to our home, along with sleepless nights and ten tons of worry.”
“Just like any new parent,” I agreed with a smile.
“The thing is, my house isn’t accessible.”
“Gabe?” I asked, and he stopped his muttering to look at me. “You have time to worry about that stuff. The baby is three or four days old?” He nodded, and I smiled, holding out a calming hand. “It will be years before you have to worry about her accessibility needs in the home. You’ll be carrying her for the most part for many years. You’re thinking long-term, which is important, but you’re forgetting to think about the present. When you think about holding a baby, what do you picture?”
“Blankets, bottles, pacifiers, a rocking chair. My wife cradling the baby while singing a soft lullaby in her ear.”
“What you’re picturing there is called love, Gabe, in the purest form. It doesn’t matter that the little girl can’t move her legs. She needs love. If you can offer love, then that makes the decision easier. If you’re fostering, you take her, offer unconditional love, and accept hers in return. You can talk to the experts, get advice from doctors, and do the research you need to do to make informed decisions before adopting her. When I see you around the community, I see someone who steps into dangerous and scary situations to help others daily. There is nothing more dangerous or scary than becoming a parent. That puts your heart out there walking around on this earth at risk of being hurt. Considering what you see on the job, I imagine it’s hard to fathom for you.”
“There’s that,” he agreed as he rubbed his temple.
“I also see the person who loves everyone he helps unconditionally, whether for a moment or a lifetime. Talk to Heather, and bring up your concerns about the future for you as parents of a child with a disability, but also, remember that where there is love, there is hope and joy.”
A natural smile finally lifted his lips, and he nodded once. “Where there is love, there is hope and joy. I like that, Irving. It’s so true, too. Would you mind if I dip? I want to pick Heather up at the center and take her home to discuss this. I’m supposed to let the social worker know in the morning what our decision is.”
“I’d drive you myself,” I said as he hurried out of the booth and offered a handshake. “Good luck, and for the record, you and Heather will make excellent parents to this little girl. That’s coming from someone in her position, so you can believe it when I say she’d be a lucky girl to have you and Heather loving her, even for only a little while.”
Gabe gripped my shoulder for a moment and closed his eyes, his head nodding as he did so. When he opened his eyes, they were clear, and he smiled. “It’s funny how the universe always puts someone in our way when we need them most. I’m grateful that I ran into you tonight and that you noticed me struggling. Hazel is a lucky woman to have you loving her, Irving.”
He patted my back and took off for the door at a trot, reminding me of a man who just found out his baby was on the way. When the door closed, and I was left alone to stare out the window, I couldn’t help but think about his parting words. That was where he had it wrong. I was the lucky one to have Hazel love me, even for a little while.
Chapter Eighteen
The lights were low, and Christmas carols played on the speakers. Irving was in the kitchen while I strung the lights and sorted the ornaments.
“It’s so nice to finally find time to do the tree,” I called out as I wound the lights around it. “I feel like we’ve been running nonstop since Friday.”
“Probably because we have been,” he said, rolling toward the table to set a plate on it. “Thanksgiving, the tree lighting, the wedding reception planning, and work.”
After the lights were on, I walked around the tree to the table. “I love being able to tell our tenants that we have a place for them, though. I’ll never get tired of their joy and thankfulness.”
“That part is pretty great,” he agreed with a smile. “I made some cheese ball and eggnog.”
“Cheese ball?” I asked, eyeing the plate that held a ball of cheese covered in nuts.
“It’s a Christmas tradition in Wisconsin,” he explained, grabbing a plate and breaking into the cheese with a knife before he set crackers on the plate for me. “Do you like cream cheese and cheddar cheese?”
“Yes, but not together.” I took the plate from him with hesitation and eyed the concoction.
“Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
