One Moment

For people all over the world, there is that moment - that perfect, indescribable moment - when not only are there no words to say what must be said, but no words at all, about anything. There is only the air around you, the sounds you no longer hear, the stillness of everything. The beating of your heart. Words have abandoned you, because they are just as afraid of this feeling as you are, and slightly less enamored with it. They are wonderful, bold things, but they have no courage sometimes. So they leave you to yourself and your moment. Partially because of their fear of the indescribable, partially because they know, oftentimes better than you do, that you don’t need them anymore. Not now, possibly never again, if this lasts forever, as you are sure it will. You know this not from any naivete, nor because it’s true in the sensible denotation of the phrase. Your sureness is somewhere in the gray area; you only feel it. And you don’t take it for granted - the wordless promise on your lips that you will have this moment forever; no, it’s endless, is all, and to you, that is a fact.

In a way, you’re right. Even when it’s over, the words and the certainty of an unsure future coming back to you, the wonder will stay with you. It will have flooded your heart, your lungs, your mind, until you are drowning in it, and it never drains out all the way. It will take certain things from you, but it will guide you also. It will comfort you. That moment will stay with you forever, then. Only it will be inside of you instead of out, but all the same it will leave you awe-stricken and drowning again. You will have to shake yourself awake.

You will wonder all the time how no one else feels it, until you realize that it is tucked away in your heart. Everyone else, too, has their own moment, and is adrift on their own sea of magical, speechless awe. You can’t imagine, at first, that this could be true. How can someone understand that wonder you feel every day? Then you see it in their eyes, or in the way they move and speak.

Or perhaps, one day, you even share another perfect, indescribable moment with another person. You both turn to each other, the words gone from both your lips as wave after wave of feeling hits you. You take each other’s hands and hold on tight so that you will not get washed away. Or, if you are fortunate, you are washed away together, so that you can find your way back and never have to let go of that moment, or each other.

Naomi was born on the same day, June 12, as her mother, Leyna. In a hospital room painted blue, rain pouring outside. The wind of the storm threw a tree at the window again and again. No one could be sure what kind of tree it was because of the darkness outdoors, but it might have well been a dogwood. Either way, it didn’t matter. Elizabeth was back in June 12, 1994. Everything was the same, except for the woman in the hospital room and the year. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to her husband, Mark, listening to the storm outside and in the other room, she was suddenly thirty years old again. Excited, terrified, praying to the Lord amidst the jumble of words in her head.

Leyna had been Elizabeth’s first child, and Naomi would be her first grandchild. She would make three living generations of women, strong women. Or so Elizabeth prayed, holding Mark’s hand. That Naomi would grow up to be strong, that she could find a way to be strong. Elizabeth did not doubt her daughter’s strength; Leyna had proven herself since the day she was born. Elizabeth thought of the moment she arrived, kicking and screaming, her eyes wide and determined. Elizabeth squeezed Mark’s hand tighter. Gently, he pulled away. “One would think that you were the one having the baby,” he said, smiling at her. But she knew that he felt the same as she did - that it was their baby - because it was, wasn’t it? Their baby girl, in the blue hospital room with the maybe-dogwood tree, crying out, holding her own husband’s hand as Elizabeth had held Mark’s. Their baby, Leyna, the girl who they had named. Now she had named her own daughter. It was all confused. Elizabeth felt almost as if she was in a dream, floating in a peculiar fashion between that day and this one, the lines blurring. She wanted to wake up, to realize where she was, to be there for her Leyna. Leyna, who was thirty, as Elizabeth had been, not a tiny newborn.

“Would you like some coffee?” Mark stood.

Elizabeth’s mother, she recalled, had been holding a cup of coffee the day Leyna was born. She had promptly dropped it coming into the hospital room, rushing to hold her new granddaughter, and no one had bothered to clean up the mess.

“Yes, I would.”

“Cream and sugar, I expect?” Mark knew so many things about her now that she had not yet told him thirty years ago. He smiled that warm smile of his that she knew so well now, that she had not yet grown used to in 1994. They had been young, in love, but not so deeply accustomed to each other in any way. They had looked at older couples, like Elizabeth’s parents, and hadn’t even dreamed of being like them. It all had seemed so far away - and yet here they were. Things had changed so much. Everything was different, in one way or another, and yet Elizabeth still couldn’t shake that dream-like feeling of familiarity.

“No, just plain black. I need something to wake me up.” Mark nodded, looking a little surprised, then walked away.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, examining the walls, the ceiling, the floor, searching for something that would tell her that it was not the day Leyna was born. Something clear and tangible that would say “it’s all different; don’t worry.” That it was a new, if very similar in many ways, day.

There was a painting on the wall. A few posters promoting good hygiene. But these could have been in any hospital, including the one Leyna had been born in. Elizabeth’s tired mind couldn’t tell the difference. Finally her eyes found a clock, ticking steadily towards midnight. If only it would hurry up, so that the day would be June 13, and all this awful confusion would go away.

“Your coffee, ma’am.” Mark tore her attention away from the clock to his twinkling brown eyes. He handed her the cup and eased himself back into his chair, grimacing. He had back pain now. He was old. They both were, Mark being sixty five and Elizabeth, sixty. No longer were they the inexperienced, nervous young people that they had been all those years ago.

Mark rested his dark hand on top of her pale, trembling one. Elizabeth remembered suddenly how, in the days leading up to her Leyna’s birth, she had often spent her time imagining how her daughter’s skin would look. In her mind, it had always been a perfect blend of her colors - her and Mark. And it had been, in the end; like coffee with cream and sugar. Her hair was a wild tangle of black. People always looked at the two of them together strangely in stores or on the street. Leyna had a fiery spirit and had glared right back, but Elizabeth didn’t care. She loved her pale skin with Leyna’s dark, like she had loved it with Mark. Loved knowing that Leyna was her daughter, even though to everyone else it didn’t make sense. It had been almost like a delicious secret. All her’s.

Being a mother had never really made sense to her anyway, the wonderfulness and peculiarity of it, so the staring seemed like a small thing.

The clock showed fifteen minutes until midnight. Elizabeth sipped her coffee, winced at its bitterness, and waited.

At twelve minutes till midnight a nurse walked by them and went into the blue hospital room. No one came out. The waiting continued in strained silence now.

At nine minutes, Mark stood, stretching his arms and back. “I’m going to use the bathroom.” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Alright.” She said. But her heart was racing and she quickly added, before he left, “hurry back.” She didn’t think she could stand a moment of this awful quiet waiting without him. She was more nervous, she realized than when she had had her own child. She heard the dogwood rapping against the window and each knock shoved her further back into memories of that day in 1994. A tiny, wrinkled baby Leyna in a blue room on a rainy night. The dogwood slammed against the window to the blue room where Leyna was now having her own child. Elizabeth could not reconcile the two. She wished the noise would stop.

“I will,” Mark smiled. She could tell that he understood how she felt, even if he perhaps didn’t feel it, too. Mark hadn’t always understood her the way he did now, of course. He hadn’t always known the right thing to say or do in her times of need or sadness. His methods for comforting her or his attempts at being there for her had not always gone the way they should have. But they had somehow worked out the kinks in their marriage over the years - at least most of them. It seemed that they were in some sort of sweet spot right now. They were happy. Elizabeth hoped that grandchildren would not change that; then again, Leyna’s arrival had not hurt their marriage, so why would Naomi’s be any different? They had settled into a committed routine that made both of them happy, and Naomi perhaps would change that for a while. But she, like all the other changes in their lives, was just a little disturbance. A pebble thrown into a pond. She would make ripples for a while, then she would just become part of their lives.

Six minutes till midnight. Mark came back from the restroom and winced as he sat down. He never complained about it, but Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if he should see a doctor. She worried for him sometimes. It seemed like such a small worry in comparison to the other ones in the hospital at the moment, though. She took a sip of her coffee and, upon discovering that it was cold and that she was now wide awake, threw it away.

Four minutes. Elizabeth realized that she had not yet said “Happy Birthday” to her daughter. They had had a sort of celebration planned, of course, but those plans had obviously been canceled. Naomi had come a week early. Elizabeth knew that now there were more important, urgent matters at hand, but all the same she felt a pang of sadness. When had she ever not at least called Leyna to talk to her on her birthday? When had she ever not told the story of the day she was born?

It was a dark and stormy night… she would say, smiling. Leyna loved hearing those words.

Three minutes. There were muffled cries from the blue room. Leyna was yelling. The nurse was yelling. A muddle of confused, anxious words from the other side of the door. Elizabeth almost felt like yelling, herself, just to cover up the noise. Mark squeezed her hand gently, just to let her know that he was there with her, and everything would be alright.

Two minutes. The clock ticked on endlessly. Elizabeth watched it, almost entranced. Nothing disturbed it. Nothing made it go faster or slower or change course. All it was was a clock, used to the many impatient worries of the hospital. It was the one patient, steady thing in the room. It had time. That was all it had, and it used it wisely, one second at a time.

One minute, it said.

Suddenly, Elizabeth's trance was broken. One minute and it would no longer be Leyna’s day. Elizabeth’s day. Her moment of wonder, perfect speechlessness. It would be a new day. Leyna would be a mother, and Naomi would be the new light in Leyna’s world. Her own perfect moment to be cherished forever. And Elizabeth would be a grandmother, having all of the duties and responsibilities that came with that. She didn’t know what that meant. She realized suddenly that perhaps she wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready for Naomi or all that would come with her.

But she didn’t feel it in the way that she had when Leyna was born - she had felt nervous, but excited and ready for the uncertainty. The only thing that she hadn’t expected had been those waves of wonder that hit her so suddenly. But they had been wonderful and she had loved the feeling. It had comforted her, somehow. Like everything would be alright. Like, if Leyna, a tiny, crying baby could make her feel that way, what would Leyna the child, the teenager, the adult do? It was an anticipation that she felt that day in 1994. This was more akin to dread.

Dread that she would somehow lose that precious happiness that she felt with Leyna because of this new baby. That it would be passed on to Leyna to be had with Naomi, and Elizabeth would be left with nothing. She felt as if she was going to lose something, and the most frightening thing was that she wasn’t sure what. Maybe her moment, and all the ones that followed it, would be lost to her, because it would no longer be unique. No longer her’s. Even if Naomi was born June 13, and the rain stopped, and the tree outside wasn’t a dogwood at all.

How can you even think that? She thought to herself. It won’t be like that. Leyna is still your daughter. And Naomi is your granddaughter and you will love her.

But she was afraid, all the same. Afraid of her world changing; changing to something out of her control. Something where Leyna was somehow no longer her’s.

Silently the clock’s hands passed over midnight.

Suddenly, the door to the blue room burst open. Leyna’s husband appeared, grinning a grin too wide for his entire self, let alone his face. Mark stood quickly, not even wincing at his bad back, and Elizabeth slowly followed.

“She’s here. Naomi,” he looked as though he could hardly believe the news he told. He turned and went back into the room, Mark and Elizabeth trailing behind.

Leyna, dark skin shining, held a baby as tiny and wrinkled as she had been. Her face was scrunched up, her head in a slightly conical shape. There was no going around it - she was ugly. But she was perfect, too.

Leyna reached out a hand to Elizabeth. “Mom,” she said, smiling dazedly. “It’s like she was waiting for June 13. For her own day.”

Grasping her daughter’s hand, Elizabeth’s dread disappeared. The lines between the day in 1994 and today became suddenly clear, and everything else with it. Elizabeth looked at Naomi’s tiny face for a moment, then at Leyna’s. Her daughter, grown, a mother, and still completely her’s. What had she been thinking all this time? This was a new day, a new life, a new love. And she could still be a part of it.

Elizabeth watched as all the words in the room left. She held Leyna’s hand and smoothed back Naomi’s already wild hair. The rest of the room faded until it was just her, her daughter, and her granddaughter. All of them inexplicably and wonderfully together.

Later, Elizabeth would put this moment next to the one from so many years ago, like two photos on a shelf. Next to each other, similar but not confused.

But for now, holding her daughter’s hand, Elizabeth let the wonder carry her away, not once letting go.