Nancy didn’t stay long enough to hug her daughter. To nurse her at her breast. To sing her a lullaby.
She didn’t stay to watch her take her first steps, to hear her say ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’ for the first time. She wasn’t there to witness her growing into a young woman, to hold her through her first heartbreak, to guide her through the awkward, beautiful, painful stages of girlhood.
She didn’t stay at all.
Collins remembers the doctor’s words; it had to do with her blood pressure. He recalls abandoning his car in front of a supermarket, traffic be damned, running until his legs burned, until he found an Okada rider. The man had been heading homeward, but upon hearing that his wife was at the delivery ward, he gave him the fastest, scariest ride of his life. The rider charged nothing but wished him luck.
She had gripped his hand tightly, her fingers digging into his skin. With every ‘push’ from the midwife and every ‘squeeze’ of her grip, he knew the pain in his hands was nothing compared to what she was enduring. He couldn’t find the words to encourage her—hospitals, blood, suffering had never been his strength. That’s why he had chosen education over medicine, pharmacy, or even dentistry, despite everyone’s predictions. He had been the brightest student anyone had ever known.
He bowed his head and prayed, not for himself, but for their daughter. Their only child after seven years of marriage. The one who stayed, unlike the four before her, lost to unexplained miscarriages.
If only he could take away some of her pain. But this was her battle. All he could do was be there. And pray.
Then the baby arrived, crying as newborns do, announcing herself to the world. Collins had turned to Nancy, his voice thick with relief, telling her, “You did it.”
She had smiled a tired, beautiful smile and then, melted into the pillow.
He watched as they wrapped the baby in a soft cloth. He was still crying when the nurse placed their daughter in his arms. And when he turned to share the moment with his wife, she wore that same tired smile.
Her eyes never opened when they called her name.
They say men don’t cry.
But he cried inside, every day.
And kept his shoulders high for the only person he had left to live for.
Her name was Nancy, too.
