A Moment’s Hesitation

The pen is shaking in her hand. The ball-point is hovering just above the line that signifies an irrevocable decision, one of the most difficult she has ever had to make. She can feel all the eyes in the room on her, weighing down her hand, willing her to hurry up and sign away a small piece of her soul. She sees the expectant smile on the the woman’s face, and the slight indifference in the woman’s husband’s. Perhaps he wishes he could hurry this along because he has more important things he could be doing at this time.

She inhales deeply and closes her eyes, trying to block out the entire world. She wonders if she is just being selfish. She wonders what kind of person would just give something like this up. How did it even come to this? A joyous occasion for most, is today, a gut-wrenching trial for her. Her mind drifts back nine months, to a night of passion, inspired most likely, by a generous amount of alcohol provided in a club by a sweet talking stranger. She recalls a moment of rapture when he asked if she wanted to get out of there; a moment of desire as he slowly undressed her and let her clothes fall to the ground; a moment of lust as she held him in her hands; a moment of euphoria as they writhed together in pleasure; a moment of wondering if this could be love; a moment of realization when she awoke in the morning alone.

She saw the child for the first time, the only time, in the hospital nursery this morning. She had marveled at the enchanted bundle being handed to her, the closest thing to an angel she has ever believed in. The sleeping child wriggled slightly in her arms. She glanced down at the child’s face, trying to soak in something she would be able to hold onto forever. The corners of the child’s lips were curled into a mock smile. After this moment, she would never be able to kiss those lips, or hear the sound of the giggle they will emit for a tickled belly. Above those lips, the button of a nose she will never get to rub against her own when performing an Eskimo-kiss. The child’s eyes were now opened, and in them she saw the innocence of a new life, a life that did not ask to be conceived, a life, her mind interjected, that has been cruelly given the curse of living. Because of this curse, the child will now have to experience pain and heartbreak, and there is nothing that she can do to protect against it. Then, from somewhere further down, came another thought. Yes, there will be pain and heartbreak, but there will also be love and laughter. There will be a joy that will ultimately protect the child from being broken by the curse, a richness that can only be found by experiencing everything that life has to offer.

As she stared deeper, she began to see something else. She saw her own reflection staring back at her. She saw the piece of herself that had been planted in this child, a part of herself that will keep them connected forever. For the first time, this was not just a child; this was not just a package she had been holding onto for someone else. This was her child, her flesh and blood, her fingerprint on an imperfect world.

She opens her eyes again and doesn’t see the couple sitting in front of her. Instead, she sees the future she is giving her daughter. A future that she will never be able to provide on her own. A future of security, of a loving father and mother, of a beautiful home with a white picket fence, a future most people can only dream of. She no longer feels as if something is being taken away from her, but that she is giving a gift that will be so much greater than the curse could ever be.

The pen hits the paper, and she signs, knowing that what she does is not for selfishness. What she does, she does for love.