Metamorphosis: the journey of a heart.

NOTE:  Since the last entry, I debated on whether to pick up where I left off, or move forward to another time...to one of my sweetest days.  A comment swayed me, but I still hesitated.  Then, last night the movie 'Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood' aired on television.  And I knew.  The answer was clear.

Annie Lennox  : Bare  : 'A Thousand Beautiful Things' (In-Studio)

On the porch, I stood for a moment, hoping against hope. The screen door was unlocked, but what about the kitchen door. Was it locked? With my heart in my throat, I reached for the knob, and turned. Without resistance, it turned. A gentle push, and the door swung open. Before I took a single step, I knew she was awake. For her, this was unusual. It was 6 a. m., and Mom never rose from her bed before 7. But my nostrils filled with those two familiar morning smells. The same scents that greeted me each and every day as I made my way through my home. The undeniable smells of coffee and cigarette smoke, lingering in the kitchen. A hazy cloud of smoke hung in the dining room when I walked in.

I found her sitting at the dining table, looking worn and tired. Between the bags under her eyes and the look within those eyes I knew that if last night had been hard on me, it had been hell for her. Our eyes met and I wondered if this moment would be a continuation of yesterday, or if it would take a different direction.

"Sit down, Crystal," she said with a heavy tone. "We need to talk."

Without hesitation, without a word, I slowly sat down. Silent seconds passed, but I knew to hold my tongue. She was choosing her next words carefully, for they would determine where she and I would go from here.

With shaky hands she rubbed her forehead, then sighed. "Have you thought about what you'll do?"

"Yes. It's all I think about."

Another moment of silence passed between us. "Crystal, I'm sorry about yesterday. And last night."

"It's okay Mom."

With a mother’s eyes she looked at me, taking in every part of me. As if she was seeing something in me for the very first time. "You have three choices, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"What's it going to be?"

"I don't know," I sighed.

"Do you know who the father is?"

"Yes."

"Have you told him yet?"

I started to shake, and before the words formed in my mouth, my eyes filled with tears. "As soon as I found out, I went to tell him. But he was in bed...with another girl."

That was all it took. Within seconds, my mother was beside me, comforting me, holding me, gently wiping my tears away. "Oh honey, I am so sorry. Why didn't you tell me?" she asked as she scooted her chair closer to mine.

"How could I tell you? I never got the chance," I sobbed. "Would it have changed anything? Would it have changed your reaction?"

She nodded her head, no doubt remembering yesterday's bitterness. "I'm sorry," she said again, taking up my shaking hands. Tenderly she wrapped her hands around mine. Hers were now strong, warm, comforting. She leaned in toward me, stroking my face, wiping the tears. My long blonde hair fell in front of my face, and she gently tucked the strands behind my ears. "Are you going to tell him?" she asked.

"No. It's my problem, not his. I got myself into this mess. I'll get myself out. I don't need him." I sounded so sure of myself, and yet I felt so lost.

She let out a deep sigh. "It's probably for the best that he doesn't know." Softly she rubbed my cold hands, slowly warming my fingers...warming my feelings. "Crystal, you can't keep this baby."

The tears came back. "Mom, I feel so confused. All I know is I can't carry this child for nine months, then give it up." Did she understand my feelings? "When I look back at my life, I see all the pain I felt as a child. Pain only I knew." I lifted my right hand to my heart and covered it. "I knew I wasn't like the other children. I felt different. And they treated me differently. I know what it feels like to go through life not knowing about my father. None of my friends understood that. They had both their parents. The loneliness, the feeling of isolation...I don't want my child to feel those things." With the warmth of her touch pressed against my skin, I felt like my heart just opened and all the years and years of silent feelings began to flow out. In all my life, I had never shared my childhood feelings with my mother; until this moment. "I want something better for my child. But God, I feel so confused."

She sat back, and looked out the window. Her eyes searching...searching for an answer. "Honey, we are barely surviving right now. Your paycheck and tips are the only things keeping us going. You know how bad things are, don't you?"

I nodded my head. Yes, I knew.

"We all depend on you. Me, Kelly and Cheri." Her voice was soft, soothing. Then her tone shifted. From soft to firm. "But this pregnancy changes everything. And things will get worse, much worse."

She reached for her cigarettes, lit one and offered me another. I took it, hoping it would calm me down. I was still shaking, inside and out. Shaking with fear. Shaking with pain. Shaking with worry. "Have you thought about an abortion?" she asked.

"Yes, but I can't do that. I can't take another life."

She set her cigarette in the ashtray, then moved closer to me, folding her hands together in front of her, between us. And she began to plead with me. "Crystal, listen to me. Listen carefully. Things are bad, really bad. I lost my battle with the State Disability Board. I won’t receive any disability benefits for the past several months. I was counting on those benefits. You know the problems I’m having with Ray’s child support checks. All we have to keep a roof over our head and food on our table is you. The food stamps help, but you know they don’t go far."

As my mother painted this vivid portrait of our lives, I sat listening, my head bowing with the weight of her words. I thought I knew how bad things were. I had hoped things would improve for us. Clearly things had not. And this pregnancy made it worse. I listened, and watched each of my tears land silently on my legs.

Finally, I lifted my head and spoke. "I used to dream of the day. I dreamed the day I received the news that I was pregnant would be a day of the deepest joy my heart has ever known. Instead, when I heard the news, there was no joy. There were only tears. Since that day, the weight of these tears grows heavier. I am tired of the tears." She reached up and gently wiped my eye, her face filled with a mother’s pain. I looked into her eyes. "Mom, the other day, I made a list of the pros and cons of keeping this baby." I paused, and looked out the window, my vision blurred with tears. I felt my mother’s hand on mine. I let out a deep, heavy sigh. And then fell apart. "And I tried, and I tried, but I couldn’t write anything on the pro side. It was empty."

Mom moved in and held me. "Then you know what you need to do," she whispered in my ear.

I nodded my head. I knew. And I hated that I knew.

---+---

We sat together at the State Health Department, in an office, silently watching the caseworker leaf through the paperwork as she checked her notes. The questions had been asked. Now, we waited.

Throughout the interview, I watched Mom speak and move with a regained sense of purpose. She was straightforward, deliberate, never wavering. She dominated the interview, receiving several looks of disapproval from the caseworker when Mom replied to questions posed to me.

Finally, the woman spoke. "Well, it appears we have everything we need," she gave us a hollow smile. "You will hear from us in a couple of days."

That was it, I wondered? We sat here, laying our pathetic life out on the table for her scrutiny and she just brushes us off like a couple of crumbs?

Stunned, I turned to Mom. "Crystal, give us a minute," she said matter-of-factly.

What? "You’re asking me to leave?"

"No. I’m telling you to leave," she said, never taking her eyes off the caseworker’s face.

"Wait a minute! This is my life…my body-"

Mom turned to me. "Just do it!"

She had that look in her eye. The look that said ‘Cross me, and I will take you down.’ I glanced at the woman behind the desk. She may have come to work today thinking it would be just another day…but it wasn’t. She was about to experience something totally new, the wrath of my mother.

At that point, I knew better than to push back. With a huff, I stood, frustrated and furious, but ever the obedient daughter. I knew better than to strike back at my mother’s ire. I stepped out of the office and walked to the reception area. Sometimes...God that woman...my mother! Why the closed doors? Why all the secrecy? This is my life, my body, and my choice being negotiated behind closed doors. I had no say. What could my mother say in private to that woman that would change anything?

With agitation I picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages. Nothing made sense anymore. What were they talking about? Me, of course. Yet, here I sat, separated from the words that by now had to be flying around that office. This was about me. Why didn’t my voice matter in this?

Minutes passed and soon I saw Mom walking toward me. "Let’s go, Crystal," she said, never stopping as she moved toward the door. I stood and in two strides we were outside. She was digging through her purse, walking like we had just stepped out of the grocery store. I waited. She said nothing.

"Well?" I asked.

"You have an appointment, in two weeks with a doctor in Pullman," she replied flatly.

I stopped walking. "What? Just like that? But, she said the decision would take days."

Without breaking her stride, Mom said, "She changed her mind."

"But how…why? What did you tell her after I left?" I didn’t move. This made no sense at all. One minute it’s this way…and the next, it’s that?

Mom kept walking and reached the parking lot. "Come on Crystal, we need to get home before the girls. Let’s go."

I ran to catch up with her. "Mom! What did you say to her?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Then why did I have to leave the room?" I stopped and grabbed her arm.

The fire was still in her eyes when she stopped and faced me. "I needed to speak to her, woman to woman, in private."

"In private? What about me? What could you possibly have to say…to her…that I wasn’t supposed to hear."

She started walking again, leaving me standing there. I needed answers.

"Mom! Answer me."

She was at the car. "Just get in the car."

I dug in my heels. "No. I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers."

My mother. She could love me and drive me crazy all at once. Without even looking, she opened her door and slid onto the driver’s seat. Fine. I’m not moving. Next I heard the engine start. Okay, she’ll wait. But she didn’t. From my stubborn position I watched the back-up lights shine as our 1969 Chevy Kingswood Estate station wagon slowly backed out of the parking slot. I crossed my arms. Come and get me. The brake lights lit up and the vehicle stopped several yards ahead of me. Mom put the transmission into drive, and waited. With a sigh of exasperation I knew if I didn’t budge I’d be walking home today, without my answer. Fine. I threw my hands up, walked to the waiting car and got inside.

Resistance was futile.

---+---

There were several visits with the doctor before the procedure. A consultation and exam, then another visit to prepare me for the procedure. The day of the procedure I remember sitting in the waiting room, filled with pregnant women, yet feeling so unlike them. I wondered what it would be like to someday be in their shoes, joyfully awaiting the arrival of a miracle. Mom was tense, and in a terrible mood. She’d brought her knitting, and as we sat the click…click…click of the needles marked off every moment of guilt. I could tell she was angry with me. Still.

"Someday, Mom," I turned to her, "I’ll be like all these other women. You and I will be happy to be here."

Click…click. "S-h-h-h-h! Be quiet!" Her tone was stern and impatient. Click…click.

Then it was my turn. I followed the nurse back to a private room, with Mom right behind me. I undressed and slipped into the gown. Everything was explained to me. The nurse injected my arm and the last thing I remember was turning to my mom…then everything went black.

I awoke, fully dressed. Groggy and in a foggy, drug induced haze. Someone was talking…

"Crystal…wake up." It was my mother’s voice. "Come on honey, stay awake. Stay with me."

Then I remembered where I was. And why I was here.

The doctor came in as I was sitting up. From my first visit he made it clear to me he did not enjoy these procedures. I heard his lecture before. Today was no different. With his arms folded, he stood in front of me. "I never want to see you here again," I heard him say.

"You won’t, I promise you," I replied as I looked into his dark brown eyes.

His gaze penetrated mine. "I’ve heard that before, too many times from young girls like you. You’ll be back. You’re all the same." He turned, and I grabbed his arm.

"No, I’m not the same. I mean it."

He shook his head.

"I’m serious," I said swallowing. My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. "You will forget about me. You’ll never see me again. You won’t even remember me."

He paused, as if he almost believed me. "I hope your right," he said as he stepped toward the door.

"I am."

Mom and the nurse helped me stand, and walked with me to our car, which Mom had brought around to the back door, so we could leave discreetly. There was one stop we had to make before driving back home to Clarkston. I needed an immune globulin injection, which was administered at the local hospital. I was told it was for my protection, as I have A negative blood, and if the baby I had carried was Rh positive, it could pose a threat to me in the future. As soon as we walked into the hospital, I felt nauseated. Nauseated with the weight of the guilt…nauseated with my life. I barely made it to the women’s rest room. Inside the stall, on the floor I kneeled over the toilet, retching. Everything about today made me sick. On the other side of the stall door, my mother stood, worried. I saw it in her face when I finally opened the door several minutes later. At the sink she wiped my face with a wet towel, speaking softly to soothe me. She knew what I was feeling just then. Holding my arm to steady me, she led me to the appropriate office, where I received the injection, and soon we were heading home. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Just outside of Pullman I fell asleep.

At home, Mom woke me up. Still groggy, I crawled out of the car and stumbled up the porch steps as Mom led me into the house. Inside, she set me down on the couch, and I went back to sleep. I awoke to a dark, silent house around midnight. Again I remembered…today. There was only one thing I wanted to do now. Having slept off most of the effects of the anesthesia, I got up and walked down to my room in the basement.

It hit me all at once. Through everything these past few weeks, I had held myself together. But I hadn’t dealt with my feelings. As I walked into my room, every one of the feelings came crashing down on me. Fear. Pain. Depression. Anger. Despair. And guilt. The heaviest was the guilt. By my bed, alone with my feelings, I fell to pieces. I kneeled down, with my head resting against the mattress. And I sobbed.

And I prayed.

"Forgive me. Dear God, forgive me for what I have just done. I know this baby was a gift, to me, from you. I am so sorry. Please…forgive me. Please, if you just forgive me this one time, just this once, I swear…I promise it will never happen again. I promise you. On this, you have my word."

Alone in my room, I sought forgiveness from the only One who truly mattered. What I had done was between God and me.

It was His gift of life I had rejected. It was up to Him to forgive me. Only He had that power, the power of life, with the power to forgive. I owed nothing to anyone else.