1108 (40) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 51

40
2014

... I plan to write about fear, which, for sound reason in the aftermath of Janet's death, narrows my mother's comfort zone, so that after giving birth to Lauren, it's easy to understand why Mom can't leave her infant's side, day or night, for many months—until finally, my father convinces his sweetheart to go out with him, one evening ...

2002

       Imagine the fancy footwork Dad has to do before Mom consents to leave my baby sister, Lauren, and four-year old me in Aunt Sari’s care, so my parents can enjoy some one-on-one time, together.  Later, upon returning to the apartment, Mom finds Aunt Sari fast asleep on the living room couch—so spinning 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, several times, day and night.  Upon feeling no intake or release of air and—as Lauren does not stir 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 slug into the narrow slot of the phone box—and after dialing 0 in rotary fashion, we watch my father pacing anxiously, back and forth, waiting impatiently for the operator to 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 relates that his baby's not breathing.  Then, reciting our address, my father hangs up and runs back to my mother and sister.  Upon seeing Lauren—whose long lashed, hazel eyes have not yet opened—lying limp in Mom’s terrified arms—terror, gripping my parents' minds and hearts tightens, vice-like, unbearably, as their eyes interlock pleadingly ... Please God ... Please God ... Not again!

Though you might think to hear me say:  I can't fathom the frantic nature of my parents' terror—that would not be true for several reasons:  On more than one occasion, Will and I had sound reason to rush precious infants to the hospital in fear for their lives … And once, upon spying one of our beloved sons slumped against a wall, sinking toward the ground while fighting to inhale life sustaining breath, I had reason to think clearly while rushing to seek emergency medical care—again …

As to the fickle finger of fate—who's to know if or when history will repeat itself or not …