I look up to see Carson with tears streaming down his face. “She’s so beautiful, sis. I’m so fucking proud of you, Mack.” He squeezes my hand that’s strapped to the operating table.
Carse catches a few stray tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “She’s going to be okay, Mack.”
I silently nod my head in agreement. She has to be okay. My sweet girl.
After I’m out of recovery and the spinal block has worn off, Carson wheels me to the NICU to see mydaughter.
The NICU nurses assist us in donning the proper personal protective equipment, or PPE as they call it, to keep the baby safe from as many germs as possible.
Because of her breathing tube and the warming blankets helping regulate her body temperature, I won’t be able to hold her for at least a few days.
I was told I would be able to stick my hands through the two ports on the side of the incubator to touch her, though.
So when Carson wheels me right up to the side of my daughter’s incubator, I stick one hand through and place my pinky in her tiny hand.
I take her in. She’s bigger than I thought she would be at thirty-three weeks—though that shouldn’t surprise me, knowing how tall Griffin and I both are. She has the faintest dusting of hair on her head and eyebrows. Her small hand barely encompasses the tip of my pinky finger, though she’s able to grip it.
A girl. I wasn’t sure what I was having, but all this time, I pictured I’d have a little girl.
It isn’t until now, at this moment, when I’m touching her, and she’s in front of me, that a name finally comes to me.
“Cadence. After your Auntie Katie and your grandmother Catherine, who are both no doubt watching over you right now.”
Carson clears his throat before he rasps, “I love it. Do you have a middle name?”
I look over at him and think for a few moments before responding. “Aelia.”
“Aelia? Hmm . . . I like it. Never heard it before.”
I’m not surprised. It isn’t a very common name. I found it when searching for names with different meanings. The meaning of Aelia is “sunshine.” Even if Griffin doesn’t want to be a part of her life, a piece of each of us exists in her—Cadence Aelia.
“I think I’m going to call her ‘Cadey Cat’ if that’s okay with you,” Carson whispers.
“I think Katie would love nothing more than for her niece to have a piece of her.” Even as I say it, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to call her by that nickname. But I love that Carson wants to.
Hearing Carse call Cadence “Cadey Cat” makes me think of Griff again. My heart hurts with the realization that he doesn’t even know he has a daughter. Sure, I told him about my pregnancy, and even though he told me he wanted nothing to do with me, he still deserves to know she exists.
“Carse, I need to call him. I don’t have my phone. Do you have yours?”
Carson doesn’t even ask who I’m referring to—he knows as well as I do that Griffin needs to know this. He hands me his phone, and I take a steadying breath before I dial Griffin’s phone number. I’ve known it by heart since I was a teenager. It is only one digit different than Katie’s was.
The phone rings twice and then goes to voicemail. Great, he’s still rejecting Carson’s calls.
Instead of leaving a voicemail, I text him.
Carson:
Hey, this is Kenna. I know things were a mess when I left Boston, but I thought you deserved to know. I had a baby girl. Her name is Cadence. Please call me.
The NICU monitors create a symphony of noises that echo and haunt my every dream.
Cadence is hooked up to so many chords and tubes, I can hardly see her beautiful face.
This first week has been hard. It feels like every step forward is met with two steps back. Progress in the NICU is slow, and each day feels like an uphill climb—though I’m told that she’s doing incredibly well. My baby girl is a fighter, and it kills me to see her struggle.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when my phone chimes with a notification. I swipe and see it’s an update on Carson’s game. Today, he plays in the national semi-finals. The Frozen Four is here in St. Paul, and he’s playing against Griffin’s team, Emery University. Both teams have been so steady all season, and I can hardly believe I’m not there to cheer Carson on.
He told me yesterday he wanted to speak to his coach and not play today. Carse said he couldn’t bear the thought of playing when Cadence was still in the NICU, especially since her status differs so much each day. I told him that if he didn’t play today, I would tell the nurses that he needed to be removed from the approvedvisitor list.
