Grace, Peace, and Pizza Pt. 3

This is the last of 3 parts.

 

“It’s what works best for us. Neither of us wanted the kids in day care and my wife makes quite a bit of money. She got laid off a year ago but is back to work now. I’m doing this to help get us out of the hole.”

            “Ah, money problems. At least they’re fixable. Nothing too bad.” Mr. Smith said looking away. Rob didn’t reply. Money problems may be fixable, but that didn’t make them any less oppressive. “Well, you’ve got quite a life my friend. Sitting around in your underwear watching Maury all day, delivering a few pizzas at night, nothing painful in that,” Mr. Smith said still looking away. The kitchen had grown considerably darker as night began to fall and the storm worsened again

            “Who does this guy think he is?” Rob wondered to himself. He had paid his dues in emotional anguish and knew that the story would shut this guy up. He thought for a moment about telling him, knowing he could best him, get one up on him, but that didn’t sound like living out grace and peace. Instead he tried to change the subject. “Everybody has a tale of woe. What do you do for a living Mr. Smith?”

            “What, did they cancel The View?” Mr. Smith asked with a smirk, refusing to change the topic. “What pain do you have?”

            Grace and peace, Grace and peace, Grace, and peace—but Rob could handle no more. “You think I don’t have pain?” Rob said with his eyes narrowing as his hands turned to fists under the table.

            Mr. Smith shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Like you said, everybody has their story. Most of them are nothing, things everybody goes through, but now, when everyone is supposed to feel empowered or validated, these mundane little things are elevated as triumphs of the spirit rather than the commonplace events that they are.” Mr. Smith looked at Rob, “I’m sure you’re no different.”

            Grace and—“You asked earlier how I became an at-home dad. Several years back, when my wife got pregnant with our first child, we were beyond excited. I took time off from work to go to all of her O.B. appointments, I couldn’t wait. Apparently my wife has a small pelvic bone structure so the doctor said it would be best if labor was induced a couple weeks prior to the due date.” Rob looked away from Mr. Smith down to his hands where he was fidgeting with his fingers. Mr. Smith turned his head as well, looking towards the hallway that led out of the kitchen.

            Rob continued, “So finally the big day arrived. We went to the hospital, got checked in, my wife got changed into her gown, and the doctor started an I.V. with pitocin, the drug that instigates labor. Things got ugly for a bit, but after my wife got the epidural, the labor was not nearly as long or as horrible as everybody led us to believe.” Mr. Smith chuckled silently.

            “I’ve heard women do that to each other."  Mr. Smith said. Rob though of not continuing the story, but he had already come too far.

            “So then we started with the pushing. My wife got the hang of it after a few pushes and in less than an hour, the baby was born. She was beautiful. She had good size, all her fingers and toes, everything looked great, until she cried or rather, tried to cry.” Rob had told this story several times, always with the intent of not making the listener feel uncomfortable. This time was different; He had wanted Mr. Smith to squirm. But Mr. Smith just sat there, staring at the hall.      

            “So, her cry sounded wrong,” Rob continued. “I don’t know how to explain it except to say that it was not robust or vigorous, or anything it should have been. The doctor handed her to my wife, but within seconds, neonatal specialists were in the room and the baby was taken to I.C.U., I followed feeling very confused.” Rob didn’t want to tell the story anymore reliving it was something he did frequently, but telling someone else was always more difficult. “Turns out, she had a couple of heart defects and had to be transferred to U.C.S.F. where they had this big time pediatric cardiologist. She was born on a Friday night and the surgery to rewire her heart was scheduled for Monday morning. We stayed with her as much as we could, feeling helpless, useless.” Rob’s eyes were starting to burn a little.

            “Anyway, so Monday morning her anesthesia team came to get her and took her to the O.R.” Rob stopped talking as he remembered seeing her small bassinet wheeled away by a team of doctors feeling like he was going to collapse in the hospital hallway, leaning against the wall for support. “So for twelve hours, we sat in the waiting room until they finally brought her back up from surgery. The doctor told us everything had gone pretty well and that we could see her in half an hour or so. An hour later they said there was nothing they could do. She wouldn’t stabilize. They didn’t know why, but they knew they could not save her. They cleared all the other parents out of the I.C.U. ward and led us back to where she was and we stayed with her until the end.” Rob paused for a moment. “Before her surgery, a doctor told us that even under the best circumstances, a parent would need to be home with her. She would frequently be tired and need medication on a regular basis. Aside from that, the colds and stuff that run through day care centers would be hard on her,” Rob said with a sigh. “So my wife and I talked about it. She was making considerably more than I was and had outstanding benefits; the choice was obvious. When our next child was born healthy, we couldn’t justify putting him in daycare just because he wasn’t sick. So here I am. That’s pretty much it.” Rob reflected for a bit when he had finished. It wasn’t the story he had wanted to tell. Sure everything he wanted to say was there, but it wasn’t the story as he remembered it. It occurred to him, as he remembered the confusion, pain, emotional tumult, and ultimately the love that surrounded these few days, that this time in his life, along with all the other times that profoundly affect us, are bigger than the means available to describe them.

            Mr. Smith turned and looked at Rob. “What did you do when you were in the room with her?”

            “I can’t tell you that. It was the only time the three of us every spent together as a family and it will remain forever private.”

            “I’m sorry for your loss, and for—well, for pushing you into talking about it,” Mr. Smith said. Rob shook his head and lightly shrugged his shoulders as if to say no problem as he wondered where that damn tow truck could be.

            “Dad, what’s taking so long? I’m almost finished with my pizza and you haven’t even started yet.” A child had appeared from the hallway Mr. Smith had been staring down while Rob told the story. She flipped on the light switch flooding the room with fluorescent light. “Who’s that?” she asked, noticing Rob.

            “He’s the pizza guy, sweetie,” Mr. Smith replied. “His car won’t start so were waiting for the tow truck. Is the pizza good this time?”

            “Yeah, it’s great! That’s why I always say to call Rocco’s. Did you make it?” she asked, addressing Rob.

            “No, but I’ll tell the guys who did that they did a good job on it.”

            “Okay. Dad, I want to start the movie.”

            “Just a couple more minutes, honey. Go ahead on back and I’ll be there in a minute.”

            “Okay,” she said, and skipped off to the living room.

            “Her mom died a few years ago,” Mr. Smith said. “Cancer. Monday nights were family nights, I try to maintain that tradition for her.” From outside the two could hear a diesel engine rumbling and both got up to head out. 

            “I’m sorry for your loss as well, Mr. Smith.”

            “Like you said, everybody has their tale. So I’ll be ordering again next week. If you can get the pizza here while it’s still hot, I might think about tipping you.”

            “I’ll do what I can, sir.” They walked outside where the tow truck driver was already in the process of hitching up the Neon.

            “Well, see ya,” Mr. Smith said as Rob climbed into the tow truck.

             Rob sat down and turned to face Mr. Smith before saying, “Grace and peace, sir.”

Reviews

[LongTale]

A grumpy old man with a heart of gold. I love it. The transition seemed a bit forced, but the concept is great.
Style note - being specfic is always better. Rob describes the reason his wife has to be induced as, something about her bone structure." If he was as involved as he says he was, he would know the specific problem. He knew about pitocin, I'd expect him to know everything else.
You mention that the pain wasn't as bad as expected and then make fun of how women talk about the pain of childbirth. I haven't been through this myself (Nor have you, right?), but I know enough women who have to know that they will be angry at you for that passage. Many mothers are big readers and I don't think you want to risk alienating them for no good reason.