... I plan to write about fear, which arising in the aftermath of Janet's death, narrows my mother's comfort zone, forbidding her from leaving her baby's side for months after Lauren's birth—and rightfully so—until finally, my father convinces his sweetheart to go out with him, one evening ...
Imagine the fancy footwork Dad has to do before Mom consents to leave Lauren and four-year old me in Aunt Sari’s care, so they can enjoy some sweetheart time, together. Later, upon returning to the apartment, Mom finds Aunt Sari fast asleep on the living room couch—so turning herself around, she walks into her bedroom, leans over the crib and looking lovingly at her beautiful, dark haired baby, places her hand on Lauren's back, as is her habit. Upon feeling no intake or release of air and—as Lauren does not stir, at all, when gently shaken—Mom screams—
“No! No! Not again! Jack! Jack!”
—At this, Dad drops whatever he's doing, rushes in—takes one look at Mom's stricken face and Lauren's pale, lifeless form— and dashes to the telephone table in the front hall where, fumbling frantically, he deposits a five cent slug into the narrow slot of the phone box—and pacing anxiously, back and forth, he waits impatiently for the operator come on the line. Upon hearing Dad's urgent pleas for emergency help, the operator connects his calls, first to the fire department, then to the family doctor—because the last time this happened, Dad had been cautioned to call for help rather than driving to the hospital in such an alarmed and distraught state, himself.
Voice shaking with fear, Jack recites our address, hangs up and runs back to his wife and child. And seeing Lauren—whose long lashed, hazel eyes have yet to open—lying limp in Mom’s terrified arms—terrifies Dad, as well.
Though you might think I'd say: I can't fathom the depth of their terror—that would not be true ...
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