Christmas too,” I remind her, because I don’t want her to be too sad.
“We didn’t know where she was. But we did know she was alive,” Mom reminds me. She tilts her head to look up at the stars still glittering in the sky. “Bree always was my wild and crazy child. She couldn’t wait to grow up. Had to have everything
right now.
No matter how hard I sat on her, she just went her own way.”
Mom isn’t really talking to me, just saying her mind out loud. I don’t interrupt. Once she goes quiet, I say, “The way the doctor explained it, what happened to Bree could have happened anytime. It wasn’t your fault…the thing in her head. It just
blew up.
”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart…” I hear Mom sniff. “It’s too cold to be sitting out here.”
Neither of us moves.
“I sure loved that girl, Sissy. She made me crazy, but I loved her.”
“You two fought a lot.” It isn’t a criticism, but an observation.
“Yes, we did. I wanted so much for her to have a good life. It’s what parents want, you know…for their kids to have good lives.”
Bree made some poor choices, but I don’t state the obvious. “We’ll love her baby too, Mom.”
Mom sighs. “Lots of work raising a child.” Before I can comment, she asks, “Bree ever tell you if she picked a name for the baby? The baby should have a name, you know.”
I asked my sister the same thing. “You can’t give a name to someone you’ve never looked at,” Bree answered. “A person needs to look like the name you give them. Know what I mean? What if I picked out a name and got my mind settled on it, and then when she’s born and I take a long look at her, I see that she doesn’t look like that name at all? I’d have to change it on the spot. So I think it’s best to wait until she’s born, then figure out a name. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
I tell Mom what Bree said.
Bemused, Mom bobs her head. “Crazy girl. That baby has no father, no mother, no name. I guess it’ll be up to us, won’t it, Sissy?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, you think on it. We’ve got to put something down on her birth certificate.”
“We’ll figure out a good name for her, Mom.”
“Briana.” Mom speaks my sister’s name into the dark. “Do you know what it means, Sissy?”
I say I don’t.
“It means ‘strong.’ And she was strong-willed, that’s for sure.”
“What does my name mean?”
“
Lily.
From the Hebrew. A sweet, beautiful flower. You’re well named.” She strokes my hair and I lean against her blanket-covered shoulder and together we cry.
I can’t get into shopping. The stores are crowded, lots of pushing and shoving over ‘on sale’ and ‘today only’ stuff. Christmas music blares every place we go, and because our band has been practicing most of the same music since October, I’m sick of it. I don’t let on to Melody or her mom how bad I’m feeling, though. I just paste a smile on my face and trail around after them, oohing and aahing over everything they like, wrinkling my nose over the stuff they don’t.
I buy Mom a soft-as-silk fleece neck scarf and matching gloves. In the bookstore, I buy Stu a book about Winston Churchill and for me, a baby-naming book.
Melody grabs it out of my hands and flips through the pages. “This is cool! Are you looking for a special name?”
“It’s for the baby. Mom told me to pick one out for her.”
“I’d love to help you choose a name!”
“Um…I think Mom wants a shot at it first. I mean, since she’s the grandmother and all.” Telling that little lie doesn’t bother me one bit. Melody can be pushy at times.
She looks up her own name. “
Melody:
‘song.’ Well, duh! No surprise there.” She flips over to another section and reads, “
Stuart:
‘caretaker.’” She giggles. “Should we tell him?”
I carefully extract the book from her hands. “Why not keep it our little secret? It might go to his
“We didn’t know where she was. But we did know she was alive,” Mom reminds me. She tilts her head to look up at the stars still glittering in the sky. “Bree always was my wild and crazy child. She couldn’t wait to grow up. Had to have everything
right now.
No matter how hard I sat on her, she just went her own way.”
Mom isn’t really talking to me, just saying her mind out loud. I don’t interrupt. Once she goes quiet, I say, “The way the doctor explained it, what happened to Bree could have happened anytime. It wasn’t your fault…the thing in her head. It just
blew up.
”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart…” I hear Mom sniff. “It’s too cold to be sitting out here.”
Neither of us moves.
“I sure loved that girl, Sissy. She made me crazy, but I loved her.”
“You two fought a lot.” It isn’t a criticism, but an observation.
“Yes, we did. I wanted so much for her to have a good life. It’s what parents want, you know…for their kids to have good lives.”
Bree made some poor choices, but I don’t state the obvious. “We’ll love her baby too, Mom.”
Mom sighs. “Lots of work raising a child.” Before I can comment, she asks, “Bree ever tell you if she picked a name for the baby? The baby should have a name, you know.”
I asked my sister the same thing. “You can’t give a name to someone you’ve never looked at,” Bree answered. “A person needs to look like the name you give them. Know what I mean? What if I picked out a name and got my mind settled on it, and then when she’s born and I take a long look at her, I see that she doesn’t look like that name at all? I’d have to change it on the spot. So I think it’s best to wait until she’s born, then figure out a name. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
I tell Mom what Bree said.
Bemused, Mom bobs her head. “Crazy girl. That baby has no father, no mother, no name. I guess it’ll be up to us, won’t it, Sissy?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, you think on it. We’ve got to put something down on her birth certificate.”
“We’ll figure out a good name for her, Mom.”
“Briana.” Mom speaks my sister’s name into the dark. “Do you know what it means, Sissy?”
I say I don’t.
“It means ‘strong.’ And she was strong-willed, that’s for sure.”
“What does my name mean?”
“
Lily.
From the Hebrew. A sweet, beautiful flower. You’re well named.” She strokes my hair and I lean against her blanket-covered shoulder and together we cry.
I can’t get into shopping. The stores are crowded, lots of pushing and shoving over ‘on sale’ and ‘today only’ stuff. Christmas music blares every place we go, and because our band has been practicing most of the same music since October, I’m sick of it. I don’t let on to Melody or her mom how bad I’m feeling, though. I just paste a smile on my face and trail around after them, oohing and aahing over everything they like, wrinkling my nose over the stuff they don’t.
I buy Mom a soft-as-silk fleece neck scarf and matching gloves. In the bookstore, I buy Stu a book about Winston Churchill and for me, a baby-naming book.
Melody grabs it out of my hands and flips through the pages. “This is cool! Are you looking for a special name?”
“It’s for the baby. Mom told me to pick one out for her.”
“I’d love to help you choose a name!”
“Um…I think Mom wants a shot at it first. I mean, since she’s the grandmother and all.” Telling that little lie doesn’t bother me one bit. Melody can be pushy at times.
She looks up her own name. “
Melody:
‘song.’ Well, duh! No surprise there.” She flips over to another section and reads, “
Stuart:
‘caretaker.’” She giggles. “Should we tell him?”
I carefully extract the book from her hands. “Why not keep it our little secret? It might go to his
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