“Sydney, no.”
“No, please don’t say anything. I want him to have a name. I want this baby to know that I loved him no matter what. I need to name him.”
Sierra seems to understand and then waits. I think of what Declan would say if he knew he had a son. So many years ago, we played the name game, and there’s only one name for this baby. I close my eyes, imagining what he might look like. I hope he has the Arrowood eyes, green with little flecks of gold and a dark black rim around the outside, making the green brighter. I imagine him to have puffy cheeks like I had when I was a baby, and then I give him a smile that would make me weep.
I want the name to be something, to mean something, and I also want it to remind my son of who he is no matter who is in his life.
“Can you get me a piece of paper?”
My sister looks confused and then walks over to her purse and grabs a notepad. “I carry it around in case the boys need it.”
I open the notebook and find a picture of the boys holding who I assume is Sierra’s hands. The sun is a bright yellow and there are clouds above them. They’re all smiling, and the ache in my chest grows.
She’s their mom.
They love her.
I might never have drawings of a boy holding my hand. I might never know the joys of motherhood. However, if something happens to me, I know that my sister will love him like her own.
From what the doctor explained, I am the one at greatest risk, so I have to make sure my wishes are clear and that they will be carried out.
I, Sydney Hastings, of sound mind and body, write this as a letter to supplement my last will and testament. This will act as my medical directive. I grant all medical decisions if I am incapacitated to my sister, Sierra Cassi. These are my wishes to be followed out by her.
If I should die, I want my son to be named Deacon Hastings-Arrowood. His father is Declan Arrowood, and my hope is that he will assume parental responsibilities, but if he should choose not to, then custody is to be awarded to Sierra and Alexander Cassi.
If I do not pass, I would like to remain on life support until the time that my child can be safely delivered. Once that passes, I would like to be removed from all machines and allowed to pass on.
If the decision of life comes down to either my unborn child or me, the decision should be to save the child.
I look back to my sister. “Can you go get the doctor and a nurse please?”
“Sure, but why?”
“Just, please do it.”
She will never understand this, and I need to be sure it’s legal.
A doctor I don’t know and the nurse who is assigned to me enters “Is everything okay?” The nurse asks.
“Yes, I’ve written a medical directive that I need witnessed by you both. Please read it first, and then I will read it aloud and sign it. You both will need to sign as well.”
My sister gasps. “What? No! Stop thinking like this.”
I hand the note to the doctor first, and a look of understanding passes between us before he turns his attention to my directive and I turn to my sister. “I am thinking like a mother, Sierra. I am thinking like a person who knows exactly what I want. You may not decide the way I have, but before I go in there, you need to know what I want and that I’m making the decisions you will never want to make on my behalf. It’s because I love you that I’m doing this.”
My sister drops into the chair at the side of my bed and lets her head fall to the mattress as she cries. What I’m asking of her is incredibly hard and unfair, but Sierra would save me instead of this child, I know it, which is why I needed to say it.
I have to know that the baby Declan and I made will survive. It’s the only option in my heart.
The doctor nods and hands it to the nurse to read. When she’s done, she gives it back to me.
I read it aloud.
Tears stream down my face as my sister sobs harder with each word. Sierra has always been the strong one, but not even she can withstand this heartache. Both of us fear the worst, but I’m prepared for whatever. I’ve lived. I’ve loved. I’ve been broken and mended. I want my son to be what people remember of me.
“I need the pen, please,” I say as I finish. The doctor hands it to me. “Thank you.”
“You know the likely outcome is that you will all be fine, right?” he says.
“Yes, but the lawyer in me needs to know that, no matter what, all will be good.”
Sierra sits up and stares at me with bloodshot eyes. “Please, don’t fucking die.”
I smile at her because, even through the pain, she makes me feel hope. “I won’t.”
“Then all this is just a formality,” Sierra says as I sign the paper.
The witnesses do the same, and when they turn to leave, the nurse’s eyes are wet as her lips attempt to lift but never quite make it.
She climbs onto the bed beside me, like we did as kids when we felt sad or alone. When I felt worthless, Sierra was the only other person besides Declan who could help me find value in myself.
“It’s going to be fine,” she tells me.
“I know.”
“All that was just … pomp and circumstance.”
“Yup.”
Sierra lifts her head. “The baby will be fine.”
“I know he will.” No matter what, I believe my son will be okay. Declan has a great capacity for love, and I believe in my heart he’ll do
