Cornwall Regional Hospital, St. James, February 20, 1970

When the child was born, one cold February night, it rained hail and brimstone. The sky danced with the neon lights orchestrated by the lightning arcs across its dark clouds. The thunder applauded with great clamor, shaking the Earth and instilling fear in every child.

The doctors quickly took it away from its mother’s arm and gently placed it in an incubator. They connected it to a respirator and placed the life tag notice at nine days. The tears flowed down the humiliated cheeks of an experienced mother.

She had been here four times before, although she never needed to rush to a hospital until now. All the others were homeborn, thanks to Cissy and the district nurse, Pamela Whitacker. They had delivered four bouncing babies, full of life and vibrancy.

She had watched as they crawled on their knees, toddled their first steps, and greeted their first word of pride – Mama.  They never needed emergency aid, not even for the common cold. Her children were pure and healthy, never touched by the epidemics of the townspeople.

When everyone else searched for help, she and Cissy were always there. Every time.

When Mama Birch lost her baby from a terrible fall, Cissy was there; they both solved it. Mama Birch had always been grateful since.

Then there was Meem. Rich and popular but beaten and ill-treated by her drunk of a husband. Every bruise was healed, every tear dried, and only those two words held common. Jem and Cissy.

Somehow, they were an inseparable pair of elves, sewing shoes for every broken shoemaker. Holding the torch for every welder gone bad. And shoulders for every wounded heart.

Life Flickers in a Cold and Deadly Storm

 

Here she was. Alone and forsaken by everyone. Her first night in a hospital as a patient. The first moment the needles were meant for her. The only time that she was not filling in the docket.  She felt forsaken, thrown, and tossed aside, and not even her partner was available.

She let them flow. Hot tears on a cold, rainy night.

Anchovy 8:00 p.m. February 20, 1970

The torrential rains continued, even though the thunderstorm had passed. The water rose steadily, and the stream in the front yard reached the first of two steps that led to the front door. The farmland below was full, and the water no longer passed freely. A small pond was born.

Bent land. Or that is what it was commonly called by the villagers. It was a private, free property that anyone could visit with no repercussions or legal onslaught. This was where the kids played, hunted, and picked the guavas, ackee, and oranges. It was a blessing in disguise.

Cissy tugged her rain cloak closer and flipped the hood over her head. She glanced one last time at the three kids soundly sleeping, undisturbed by the storm. She knew they would be safe, and even though she had never left them alone during the night, she had asked her Father for special protection.

She kept believing and trusting in Him. After all, she was once a Four Square Adventist chorister. She never missed a service and was always willing to help the pastor run his visits. Sometimes she still wished she were in Kingston, but violence was not her cup of tea.

She closed the door behind her as the heavy rain slapped the cloak against her body. She opened her floral umbrella and stepped out into the night. Fearlessly. Somewhere, someone needed help, and she refused to let her suffer alone.

The cold water reached her knees, and the current pushed against her feet, slowing her every stride. She moved on, ignoring the restless elements raging against her will.

Less than one block ahead was her mother’s house.  The lamp was already out. She hated sleeping with the lights. Were they sleeping or listening to the night? She fought the temptation to enter, if only just for a moment. Just to make sure that everything was fine.

She paused, wondering how her daughter was faring and hoping that the baby was a boy. She quickly climbed the steps, stopping only to remove the water from her sodden shoes.  The steps provided some rescue from the rain; at least it no longer bounced against her head.

She wiped her face, lowered the hood from her head, and dried her hair.  She fumbled with the keys, unable to hold them firmly in trembling hands. She tiptoed past the kitchen where Noel lay sleeping in a single bed.  He would leave for the city the following day and needed a good night’s rest.

She sighed in relief to find her mother snoring, laced in hugs with her great-grandchild, June. She pulled the cover a bit higher over them, before turning on her heels. Someone else was waiting.

Out in the Rains, Does Anyone Listen

Once again beneath the merciless rains, she walked up the slippery walkway that ended on the public road. Sliding and stumbling, until finally, she came in touch with the pavement.

Getting here was the easiest part. Getting transport to the city was a challenge. Firstly, it was late, combined with heavy rain and flooding. Most drivers preferred to stay home rather than risk their lives or damage their vehicles. To make matters worse, there were only a few private cars at that time.

Secondly, she had no money and would need to travel on credit. She was well known for her honor and philanthropy, even though when it comes to monetary issues, everyone forgets those values. Nonetheless, she was hoping that, given the situation, she could cash in on some of the goodness hidden in their humanity.

That was where God came into the equation. She always walked out in faith, letting go and letting God do the rest. There was that one time when she had no money and was stuck in the city. She went to retrieve her salary, but it was delayed until the following Monday.

She had whispered a prayer, reminding Him that she was now at a crossroads and could do nothing more in her power. She walked to the bus terminal and sat down amidst the crumbling people, busy and impatient to get to their destination.

A gentleman approached and asked how she was doing. He started reminding her of how she helped his wife when they were lost in Kingston. Although she had no memory of the incident, she was overjoyed when he offered to drive her home and meet her family.

He brought gifts for every one of her four grandchildren and gave her some money to make a good dinner for all. The visitor had stayed all afternoon, and after a banquet of a dinner, continued his journey home.

She winced at the thought of some tough guy attacking her on the dark, lonely street. This was not common on this side of the world. People were friendlier, and everyone knew each other. Yet sometimes, things can happen.

People get shot during a stroll by stray bullets; lightning strikes animals while they graze; dogs attack innocent passersby; and sharks bite surfers as they enjoy the sea.

There was one possibility. Devon Mathews. He was once family to her, but still uncle to her son Verly. He had a small truck and was always eager to help her. She had never denied his invitations but was always careful of his real intentions.

He may be her best shot tonight. She would have to walk a bit further, but someone was in need of her help. The house was covered with birthday balloons, dancing lights, and still had garbage scattered all over the ground.

The party must have been earlier today since even bits of food and bread formed part of the array. Seemed like the storm interrupted a grand celebration. The rain had made it worse, forming small heaps in different parts.

The gate was closed. It was locked with a padlock and chained from the inside. Climbing over the fencing was impossible and dangerous during a thunderstorm. The mesh was intertwined with barbed wire, and there were some rumors that it carried electric lines.

She turned back from the gate just in time to see a hooded horseman gallop by.  The animal’s hoof beats were drowned out by the rain. What emergency could be calling at this hour?

She walked back to the Bents Plaza, which was still under construction. It would shelter her from the rain while she figured out another plan. The hours filed away with the rain, and her feet ached from the long walk.

Lights flickered in the distance, and she whispered a prayer of hope. Whichever unfortunate spirit was behind that wheel would become her savior. Or her worst nightmare.

Are all Free Rides a Helping Hand in the Rain?

The pickup pulled up beside her, and Mr. Thomas rolled down the windows.

‘Get in, Miss Cissy. Where are you heading?’ She managed to enter the vehicle after struggling to close her umbrella. She finally closed it and slammed the door behind her.

‘Oh, good night, Charles! What a pleasure to see you. What are you doing out this late?’

‘I have to pick up Bobby at the gym. He’s training to be a fighter, you know!’ Cissy could not help but notice the pride in his voice. She had heard the news about Bobby’s ambitious bid to become a boxer. Her own grandson was a close friend of the kid.  They even played in the yard at times.

‘Well, jolly, how is he doing? Any fights yet?’

‘Not yet. He is ranked number four in his training bouts but won’t be before a month ‘til he gets a chance at some money.’

‘Is it costing a lot, for you and Elda?’

‘Not at all, Miss Cissy. They give him a small allowance, and the training is free.  But tell me, why are you up so late and basking in this horrible rain?’

‘It’s Jem. We had some complications, and she was rushed to the hospital at about two this afternoon.’

‘Oh, No! Sorry to hear that. But no need to worry, Miss Jem is as strong as they get. Not any type of weak woman.’

‘I know, but I can’t help but worry. Mother’s thing.  Plus, I believe she is going to have a son!’

‘Yeah, for old Zaro to play with, eh! Look, we’ll pass for Bobby, and then we will just leave you at the hospital, sounds good.’

She offered a sigh of relief and hoped he did not hear.  ‘I would be so grateful, Charles!’

‘Do you remember when I took Brenda to the clinic and Miss Jem left everything and attended to us? I will never forget that. I wish we had more people like that,  Miss Cissy.’

‘Say, how is she doing? Ever got the VISA?’

‘She is doing great. She is due to have a child soon. I hope it will be a boy too.  She did get the VISA, but her husband took off with another skirt.’

‘Don’t say…’

‘Yeah! I never did like that guy. Always so ‘hieghty – tighty’ and never has enough time to chat with us parents.

‘You are not asking me, but once I saw him in the super with another gal, and he was still with Brenda. He was walking hand in hand and stuff.’

‘How unfortunate. Poor girl. Tell her not to lose the faith; God will send her a good one.’

The rain came heavier, and the vehicle slowed even more. There was no hastening, at least not on this darkened highway.

 

Cornwall Regional Hospital, February 20, 1970 – 10:05 p.m.

The waiting room was surprisingly empty, being the aftermath of a freak storm. Just one young man lay sleeping on the wooden benches. The guard was busily chatting with the desk clerk. She was a wonder for her age, still had rosy cheeks, and a resounding smile that captivated even the most married man – all that without mentioning her beauty.

Most people just called her Babie.  She rose up from the desk and helped Cissy remove the cloak, and dried her face with a handkerchief. The water managed to pass the cloak’s protective layers and damped her hair and clothes.

‘Miss Cissy, I was not expecting you in this weather. How did you manage?’

‘Ah, girl. It’s hard and cold out there. I wonder how people like you survive. Say, Icey, you look splendid; how are you coping?’

‘Thank you, Miss Cissy. I am a bit heartbroken tonight. It seems that I may not become a godmother, after all…’

‘Wat do you mean, Icey? Did Neville say something? Don’t tell me that coot has been rounding off his mouth again!’

‘No. It’s not him. I know him all too well. As a matter of fact, right now he is with Wiley. He came to rent the cart, but Wiley did not think it a good idea, so they hired Marlon to take Jem over here.’

‘You don’t say. Does that mean poor Meem is alone with that baby? Poor girl.’

‘No, Miss Cissy, Neville paid Benny to stay with her. By the way, you were honored by them last week when they came to register the baby. They named it after you. The child is named Cissilin Hortense.’

‘Now, why would they do that, now? The poor child will be laden with an old woman’s name all her life.’ They both chuckled as they walked to the desk.

‘Miss Cissy, Jem did not do so well. They took the baby to observation, and she was hurt in the delivery.’

‘Oh, my word. Where is she? I’ve got to see her now!’

‘Wait, one second and I will take you up there. Hey, Barlow, can you give an eye while I take Miss Cissy up to Jem’s floor?’

 

She did not wait for an answer as they both hurried up the stairs to the second floor. Cissy was making a mess as the water flowed from her shoes and squeaked with every step she made. No one noticed, however. This was a place of pain, screams, and death.

This is where life starts, where life is repaired and restored, but here also are the beds of last breaths. She has been there before, too many times. Yet she was never a lover of hospitals. She preferred the homes, the warm beds of simple folks. Here was sophistication. Machines and apparatus that did everything faster, and sometimes even better.

But nothing like that personal, intimate touch.

‘Miss Cissy, what brings you here?’

A young, thin, seafaring apprentice came out to greet her. She took his extended hand and smiled as he kissed it.

‘Look at you, Kevin! So, it is Doctor Kevin now, right?’

‘Almost, last three weeks. Why are you out in this weather? Someone hurt?’

‘Hello, Kevin. No, it is Miss Jem; she is having a baby….’

‘Oh! Really? Mr. Neville must be so happy now! I know she is in good hands.’

‘Thanks, Kevin. How are Liza and the kids?’

‘Mom’s doing great. She won the ‘drop han’ last week. Miss Jem gave her a tip. So she is all happy.’

‘Liza, Liza, Liza! Always gambling. Isn’t true, Miss Cissy?’ They all burst out laughing. As they entered the maternity ward. Kevin joined them.

 

The maternity ward was nothing compared to the waiting room. There were no empty beds. Somehow, the romantic month had brought pain and joy to tons of families. The room was clean and laid out in a rectangular display of beds and cabinets. Most of the women were feeding their babies, others were waiting impatiently to receive the newborns, and still others were mourning their losses.

Jem was sleeping when the trio approached but quickly woke up when she heard the steps and chatter. Cissy sat beside her, and Icey massaged her hands while Kevin looked on.

“They took away my baby…it wasn’t breathing. It is not alright’

‘Don’t worry about that, Miss Jem, I am gonna take Miss Cissy over there to see what I can do.’ Keven gestured to Cissy, and she got up, looking at her daughter. She felt the frustration and anxiety that rip apart many women after birth.

‘I will be back, Jem. Be strong, now.’

‘I am gonna stay a few minutes more with her; I will have to get back to work.’

‘Thank you, Icey, you are such a darling.’

The Intensive Care Unit was housed in a small room with small glass-made cubicles with tiny cradles inside. There were only five babies that night, and all were connected to the respiratory machines and intravenous feeding units.

Each cradle carried an identification tag that explained the status, the reason, and the maximum number of days that the process of recuperation should take. Kevin spoke with the nurse on duty, and she was polite in her presentation, explaining and supporting Cissy as she talked.

The baby was diagnosed with three pulmonary infections – asthma, pneumonia, and bronchitis. The baby was unable to breathe on its own and seemed to have a collapsed pair of lungs. The hospital would keep it alive for a maximum of nine days.

Any one of these three ailments was enough to assure a miniature coffin, tears, and a place in Dove Cot cemetery. The doom of the triple diagnostics revealed itself on the brow and taut lips that trembled as she spoke.

‘What will happen to the baby after nine days, Nurse?’

‘I am sorry, Miss Cissy,  but the hospital policy is to pull the plug. You can always arrange to take it to a private clinic to continue testing.’

Kevin placed a foot backward as he balanced Cissy in his arms. He let her sob for a while as the nurse fought back her own tears. He swallowed hard as she wiped her eyes and turned away.

How life can throw an underhanded punch. Just a week ago, his mother was dancing with joy thanks to this mother. And today, she has lost her baby. Would someone weep for her? How had Cissy touched the life of this nurse? He had no idea, but she was crying, sharing the pain, hurting with the grief.

His own life had been blessed by a single phrase from this lady’s mouth. “Help him,” she had told her son. And four years ago, Verly Mathews had gotten a scholarship for him. Today, he was a doctor, holding this dear woman in his arms. Suffering with grief, he had no words to say.

How tough life can be.

Cissy straightened up. She dried her tears, and now she held him, placing her hands on his two shoulders. She stood back and looked him in the eyes. How much he has grown.  He was no longer a little lad. He was a man.

‘Thank you, Kevin. I will need a big favor from you. Can you help?’

‘Anything, Miss Cissy, anything at all.’

‘When you reach home tomorrow, go by Clara’s house and ask her and Dee to come and see me. Tell them it is urgent. If they insist, explain the situation. Please, Kevin.’

‘I will, Ma’am. Just one question. Should I have Dor send some clothes for you?’

‘That’s so sweet of you. If you don’t mind going all the way up there, I would be grateful.’

‘I will, Miss Cissy. And if you need anything else, I will be here all night.’

‘Thank you so much, Kevin. Your father would have been proud.’

 

Intensive Care Unit, CRH, February 21, 1970

‘Miss Cissy, Miss Cissy! Wake up!’

‘Dr. Henry! Oh, I must have fallen asleep.’ She sat up and stretched her muscles, yawned, and then stood up.

“I am so sorry about the baby. It had some complications, and it seems to be beyond our control. I already spoke with Miss Jem, and she will be able to leave this afternoon. She must be resting for about a week. Please see to that.’

‘Thank you, Dr. Henry, but what about the baby?  When can we take it home?’

‘I was hoping that there would have been some changes today. But there is no good news. If I am, to be frank with you, I was hoping and praying for a miracle.’

“Well, I never knew you cared so much about Jem. But that’s good news. Prayer is always helpful.’

‘Well, it is a lot more than that. Do you remember my son?’

Junior and God

‘Of course, everyone loves Junior. What does he have to do with our baby?’

‘Well, he does not believe in God. And yesterday, he was here when the baby was born. Do you remember how much he is fond of Miss Jem? He was so disappointed that God would do so much damage to one of His best servants.’

‘Yes, I know how they get along. So, now he is convinced that God is not real. Just what we need. Sometimes, I wonder why God does these things, myself.’

‘I Know Missy Cissy. To make matters worse, he is here attending the funeral of a friend. The kid used to preach in the college and died from a stray bullet a week ago. So, you see what I mean. I know God exists, but I wish He would help my son.’

‘Oh, Dr. Henry. I wish this was not happening in my home. It is more painful when the bullet hits home. Is Junior here with you?’

‘Yes. He will be leaving soon, though. He wanted to see if the baby lived. I told him that God would reach out to him.’

Fitz Henry became saddened by the loneliness of the problem. It was not his baby, but if it lived, maybe his son would start believing in God once again. He was only nine when his mom died of cancer. He had blamed God for the death. And now he wants to be an evolutionist. The Jamaican Charles Darwin.

‘Dr. Henry, why don’t you call Junior? I would like to speak with him. I believe we need his help.’

The elder gazed at her with admiration. What was she scheming now? Does she ever tire? Deep inside, he knew she deserved more than a death sentence for this boy. He wished he could inspire some sort of hope, something that she could hold onto. But he had nothing to offer.

Junior would not be rude, but he had become more resolved in his rebellion against God. Each opportunity had turned into a spear into a widening wound. Each loss was a new pound of hate and a new mile onto the widening crevice between his son and God. He hoped that he would at least listen to Miss Cissy.

“I’ll go get him. Miss Cissy, I am so sorry… He headed away as the tears rolled down her eyes once again. ‘Father… why are you hurting the only people left in my life? Are you trying to lose me too?’

Junior walked up the stairs, bouncing on his soft Hush Puppy boots. His father was standing at the end of the flight, drying his eyes. He was crying again. He wrestled with his own grief. Bottled up for too many years. He cried once. The time when she died. Cried too much.

He had learned one lesson from Cutty Shark: tears are valuable. God did not deserve them. He would never repeat them. Not for the work of this imaginary figure with a whip for his servants and deaf ears for their cries.

He had told his father many times. It is time to let go. No one else was listening. Just us, you and me.

He kept believing. Not even this week was sufficient evidence for this. Two tragedies, two innocent people. Clive was an aspiring pastor, studying, preaching, and trying to convince others that God exists. How did it end for him? A stray bullet took his life. Where was God?

When his mom died, the people came and filled their yard with noise and hungry mouths. He would have died if it hadn’t been for that young lady. She had entered behind him and followed him into his room. Somehow, she knew that he was not alright.

She had wrestled the knife away. She had told him of Zaro. Her prized son who refused to die. How he had moved between the machete swings of an angry and violent drunk. He did not hit the man, not even once. Yet, he was never hurt. They had called him Zaro. Lover of life.

They had become very close friends. She kept his secret, and he trusted her more each time that they talked. Finally, it became natural. He would sit by her chair after school until his father would leave for his night shift at the hospital.

Neville, Cutty Shark, had become his idol. The man was a realist. He honored God and prayed every night he went fishing and was the best storyteller he knew. They had kept him together. He healed one day at a time.

And how did God pay them. Snatching away the hope of their love. The boy child.

No more tears. He turned on his heels. He would return in a while. The child had passed away. There would be too many people crying.

‘Junior! Junior!’

He stopped, almost robotic, turning around without missing the stride. Michael Jackson would have hired him. He retraced his steps.

‘Yes, Dad.’ The soft, tenor of his voice made the world listen as he speaks. That sweet charisma flowed with all of its passion, carefully balancing each word.

‘Miss Cissy wants to see you.’

‘The child died, right?’

‘Why, does it even matter to you?’

‘So. God killed it too! That…..’

‘Junior! Don’t! Please don’t.’

‘Then answer me, is the child dead or not?’

‘Let’s go see Miss Cissy.’

‘Why were you crying, Dad? I know you. You have not cried since Mom. So, why now. Why do you want to keep up with this.’

As they walk towards the Intensive care Unit, he wished he could explain it. Show that God was still caring. Yet this time he did not know how to. Maybe, just maybe, Miss Cissy could. If there was anyone who could veil her suffering, it would be her.

She was leaning over the cradle, resting on the glass of the cubicles. Ignoring the warning. Her hands trembled, her lips moved softly, her eyes closed – Junior knew what she was doing.  They stood and waited. She continued.

The tears rolled down her cheek. Why was she alone? Didn’t the other families care about the babies in the other cubicles? Reluctantly, he walked over. He knew he needed to join her, but not in prayer and not while she was crying. Nonetheless, they drew closer.

‘Father..I have sent for my sisters but they have not arrived yet. Please hear me out, please let my case be presented before you. I can’t face this alone, not when the war is in my house. Please Father….remember Junior, how he suffers in your hands. Now you take from him the last ray of hope. Father… it is so hard. I am unable to see your purpose but I know it is well…somehow it is well.’

As the tears converted to sobs, both men held her up and she threw her arms around Junior’s neck and whispered…”I am so sorry, my child. I am so sorry.’

‘Doctor Henry, sorry, Dr. Henry. There is an emergency, sir.’

The doctor let go of Cissy and wiped his tears. More problems. Time to work.

‘What is it, nurse?’

“Did you unplug the McFarlane child?……’

‘What!’ His shout frightened the nurse.

“Yes, sir. It has been unplugged. The time said 6:17 a.m.’

The trio started at the cubicle. The baby was unplugged, its feet doubled back and its small left hand between them. The other carefully caressed its cheek.

The nurse opened the cubicle; the intravenous tubes were lying on one side of the cradle, and the respirator was enlaced at the upper part of the cradle.

Dr. Henry took the child out, kissed it and then handed it to Cissy. She cuddled it to her chest, kissed it, and then passed it to Junior. He took the baby and placed it on his shoulders and started walking. They followed. They knew where he was going.

They walked, cried, laughed, prayed. No words or sentences could express the joy; no Hiroshima bombs could unravel the news. The child was alive. Medicine had failed, and God had won.

It is not the crosses that we bear, but those that we are able to lay to rest that really matters. And just as life can send us burdens, it has its own ways of replacing then with triumph.

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