Holding On (Dialogue)
When I first held you that February
day in 2002 I knew that I opened my arms to a loving baby boy. The doctors and nurses wheeled your mother
into the delivery room. I watched as the
doctor pull a bright light over her abdomen.
Swiftly the doctor ran a knife across Tosha’s stomach as this revealed
red, brown, and orange colored flesh inside her stomach. I thought to myself what are they going to do to her.
I always thought babies exited the mother’s body through the vagina but
this procedure was different. The doctor
answered what I thought was a silly question, “why did you cut open her
stomach” to which he replied “she cannot have a vaginal birth.” Oh,” was the only response I could make as
the doctor informed me “it would be too risky.”
“Can
I hold him” I said to the nurse who rushed you to the waiting blankets.
“Ma’am now you’ll have to wait outside.”
I exited the delivery room and watched
outside the small window as they carried you to a container and placed your
little body inside. Covered in a white
blanket with thin blue stripes, I knew that inside I had been given my first
great-grandson. You didn’t know me but I
knew you. We played together even when
you were still in your mother’s womb.
As the months progressed until the day
you were born I imagined that I would hold you for the first time. I did.
I watched as the doctors and nurses brought you into my world and placed
your thin dark body into a warm blanket.
Maybe the doctor held you two feet in hand, upside down, and spanked
you. Doctors do things like that to see
if you have a voice. I don’t remember
because I was too overjoyed. I was
saying under my breath, hand him to me, hand him to me right now.
Your birth brings our family into
its fourth generation:
Great-grandmother, Mary Jean; grandmother, Linda; and of course your
mother, Latosha. Anyway, I knew that in
a few moments I would hold you and say to myself, “Gramma loves this little
boy.” I left the delivery room knowing
that I would forever hold you in my arms.
When I was allowed to receive you from the nursery I gently pushed your
cart, for lack of a better word, around to your mother’s waiting arms. I placed
my right hand behind your head with my left hand on your bottom so as to get a
good look at you even though you could not see me; I felt that my loving
presence would embrace your little body.
I held you until your mother said, “Can I have my son?” She had to ask for you because I did not want
to give you up. “What is his name, I
asked her.” She said, “Kolin, Kolin
Brooks Rowell.” With a name like Kolin
Rowell I immediately laughed and said, “Colin Powell.” “No,” your mother said, “Kolin Rowell.” I thought, oh! What kind of name is
that? People will call him Colin Powell. For many months I continued to call you Colin
(co-lynn) until I realized I had my own Kolin (ca-lynn).
Now you are two years old and able
to run through each room of my two-bedroom apartment. I mean literally run from the living room to
the kitchen and in and out of the rooms where we sleep. I turned off the lamplight while singing “Rock a bye baby on the tree top.” As I pulled you close to me the word, “go to
sleepy little baby” floated from my
lips. Out when the light and I held you
close to my body so that sleep would come to you. “Simmer down Kolin,” was all I could say as
you gathered up your toys. The excitement
of playing with hockey sticks, footballs, all kinds of toys thrilled you. I wanted to sleep, “can I go to sleep now” I
says in a soft voice. Then, as you
drifted off to sleep I carefully placed your limp body into my bed. As I laid you down your big eyes opened and
your face emitted a glow as if to say “thank you Gramma for making me go to
sleep.” I couldn’t help picking you up
once more to let you know that I thank you for being in my life. As I lay you down you drifted off to sleep
until 5:00 a.m. in the morning when you awoke to another round of swiftly
running throughout the apartment. Even
though Gramma was tired from last night I awake refreshed and ready to run the
course of the apartment with you. After
about two hours you began to wind down.
I took you into my arms; placed myself on my sofa and rocked you back
and forth until you fell asleep again.
Eleven years old I still hold you in
my arms. Great-grandmother now a
sixty-year old undergraduate student majoring in English/Creative Writing at
the University of Alabama at Birmingham I still find time to shoot a few hoops
(basketball) with you. When you
aggravate your four year old sister, London and your eight year old brother,
Sephan, I chase you through the house, running up and down the stairs, in one
room and out the other. I’ll bet you
didn’t expect that from a great-grandmother, Ha! I’ll bet you don’t even think of me as a
great-grandmother? After the chase
subsides we sit beside each other and laugh about who won.
“Let’s do it again gramma.”
“I have to go to work.”
“I wanna play.”
“Maybe later.”
I hold on to the dream that I will be alive to
see you fulfill your dreams and attend a University because great-grandmother
has paved the way.
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