To Live or Die in Our World
Danielle was thirty-eight and happy. She was in her seventeenth year of a marriage that was her contentment. And she was the mother of eleven marvellous children. The contemporary figure-obsession told girls to watch out because multiple pregnancies could be disastrous for their waists. Of course, a man who cares for a woman rapidly loses the perception of her physical charm in favour of her presence. And a man more interested in physical forms rapidly swerves his attention from woman to woman. In other words, petrifying slimness is to no avail. It attracts many but keeps none. And Danielle cared not for the matter.
Still, she had been in for a shock when we entered our new home six years ago. Previously we had only facial mirrors and a long slim one. When Danielle happened to look herself in the latter, she instinctively pulled her stomach in and the mirror showed a mature woman whose figure still had something of its youthfulness. It was satisfactory.
* * *
As they did every year since the grand father's retirement, Danielle's parents went for a month in Florida and a few weeks in Virginia during the coldest part of winter. Then my face-to-face muteness was replaced by my written volubility. Each week, I sent them the family journal. The first time the Quebec Nordiques beat the Montreal Canadians we rejoiced by letter. And the first time the Nordiques didn't make it to the playoffs, I sent them the local joke: What do the Montreal baseball team, the Expos, and the Nordiques (hockey) have in common? They both don't work in the winter.
This time, the letter was long. I wrote both to Danielle's parents and to my mother (who was recovering from a leg broken leg after having been hit by a car):
Friday 9 March
Dear great grandparents,
A computer allows one to write similar letters to different people at the same time. That's what I did last week, with plurals in one case and singulars in the other, with a personal note to each. This week, the letter will not be similar: it will be identical.
I still have fourteen papers to mark on love and sex. But they can wait their turn.
First, thank you very much for the birthday gifts you sent Danielle and me. We added them together to pay for a honeymoon in Quebec City from the coming 19th to 21st.
Tuesday, I handed in papers to a first group of students in Ethics. For comment, I noted that some of the students put their money on cold hearts instead of staunch personalities. In effect, they say: "If a child is not wanted by his parents, it ought to be killed." The fixed point is a cold heart and the variable is the child's life. I wondered whether it might not be possible to reverse this with the child being the fixed point that summons the generosity of heart of his conceivers, notwithstanding their initial coldness, their heart being the variable. Our world works as if people were commodities instead of beings that should be respected. Of course, there should be creativity, invention, imagination and usefulness. But these are made to help people and not to use people. — Regularly, some student brings up the case of the raped girl whose consolation should come from the abortion of her evidently unwanted child. An yet, is a victim cured by assimilating with the aggressor in destroying the second victim of the aggression? Wouldn't the first victim, the mother, find a stronger cure if she expressed solidarity with the second victim? The best answer to lack of love is a stronger love. Indeed, the beginning of the end of a psychological trauma happens when the sick person is finally able to stop focusing on oneself and starts caring for somebody else. It's a difficult to teach such a lesson to a world running away from the cross of love and believing in resurrecting without dying.
This week we made a big change in our household. Mireille passed from crib to bar-bed. Johanne left her room in the basement and bunks above Mireille. Thus Mireille will have a girl companion and Johanne will have a relatively private life for a few months, her baby sister not being able to bother her much. And Johanne took care of Mireille a few times and they have proven to be good companions. Since Christine is often gone, because of baby-sitting and meetings and such, Johanne now does some chores Christine did at her age. Marie, who was above Mireille, now shares Isabelle's room. This is the first time in their eight years that the twins will be in the same room. Their separation at school and their independent living these last years should have taught them enough autonomy for the future. Marie is in the bottom bunk and Isabelle is on top in Johanne's former bed. The twins didn't like being on different storeys in the house. This is fixed. To give Johanne greater privacy, Richard went to the next room with Jean-Paul, who took the upper berth and sent François downstairs in Philippe's bed, while Philippe took the berth above François. Thus the rivalry between François and Jean-Paul is lessened, the former being accustomed by the twins to losing. François gains some self-confidence and learns to command Richard, gaining thus a measure of importance.
My mother — these are news for the Southern vacationers — says because of her accident one leg is shorter than the other, necessitating special shoes, to which she shall have to get used. If Saint Ignatius of Loyola is a precedent, this might be a divine call to sainthood. Ignatius was momentarily immobilised by a leg broken by a cannon ball and during that time learned to give his all to the Christ the King rather than to earthly kings. And he went on to conquer the world for Christ. The Lord always has his own ways of leading us from the assurance of our limited reasonable love to his unlimited unreasonable love.
Our times and my students can't seem to be able to put this infinity into their idea of love. Once, when I said abortion was never acceptable, a girl-student answered angrily: "What if your daughter became pregnant?" She was sure she had the last word. Which was logical from the viewpoint of her standard: people's usefulness for her. I answered that, should my daughter ever become pregnant, I would stand by her to offer a good life to her child. She must have thought I was lost somewhere on Cloud Nine. Yet, someday, this idea might still make it to her heart. Who knows, except for God? And Danielle gave a similar answer to Christine when she had asked, in her bad days, what we should say if ever she became pregnant. Danielle said: "I would be saddened that you had missed the beauty of love, but I would try to help you and your child in your lives."
Our friend Nancy, in Quebec City, appears to be getting better. Only two of the five ganglions extracted were cancerous and the radiologist doesn't see any sign of cancer on the other side. She is presently taking five weeks of preventive treatment rather than curative. Of course, no doctor would risk saying she is cured, but the medical institution appears to be optimistic. Her husband is certainly more assured than on the weekend of the operation. — He and I mainly talked about the miracle computer just brought out by Apple: the Macintosh. He saw it two days ago and I saw it yesterday. This is one of the rare occasions where reality beat imagination. The same way my present computer sent the typewriter to forgotten land, the Macintosh would send my present computer to oblivion. But, for that, I would have to win the lottery. This week-end, the 6/49 is worth four million. Why not give it a modest try? After all, it helps our poor government…
Nancy's illness had a beneficial effect upon souls. The week after her operation, I went to Mass five times on week days. Faith moving a mountain. And Christine finally made a comeback to the Lord, that Danielle had been hoping for with painful impatience these last two years. You remember Christine previously made a marvellous comeback to her parents. But the Lord seemed to be absent from the changeover. Nancy's illness allowed Christine to lay her sacrifice at the foot of the Cross, a sacrifice to which you three are also invited to participate: she offered to God the birth of her child conceived in October.
So you see, the "great" grandparents of the beginning was not a mistake. You are now great grandparents. And Danielle and I are grandparents far before the age you were. For the moment, our daughter believes it best for her child to be put up for adoption. Many couples desire to give a home to a child, and are frustrated by abortionists. And our grandson or granddaughter would invariably suffer from the ambiguous situation of being raised by his grandmother in the presence of his mother. For the moment, Christine has needed a change of clothing, but no public announcement has been made. We learned about her situation this Tuesday. We plan to bring friends gradually into a support network for our daughter before the news breaks… which is inevitable in a small community such as ours. Christine hopes to be able to finish the four fifths of her school year and then to take her final exams in August. We'll address that question in due time. For the moment, we are going step by step. New dress bought on Thursday. A couple in Quebec City told the same day. More clothing to be bought tomorrow. Helen, Christine's confirmation godmother, will be told tomorrow. We encouraged Christine to tell her teacher of catechetics, a woman of strong faith and kind heart. I must meet the father to put before him our decisions and to ask him to withdraw from the matter. Even though he was sent to the dogs some months ago, he is still roaming about offering to take the child in with his parents (who know nothing at all of what is happening), and he once offered to pay for an abortion. The poor fellow is not old enough to carry this weight by himself and doesn't get good advice to react intelligently. At least, he was the first to tell our daughter not to abort their child, even if he wavered afterwards.
So, you see that the Lord is not a theorist. He makes us practice what we teach. And he opens our hearts to infinity: and your hearts too.
Well, we wish a healthy and saintly limp to a limping great grandmother and holy holidays to the great grandparents down South. We wish you the Lord's peace as it has been given to Christine and to us. The job now is to make sure a small child will be given a loving home and be put on the right road towards eternity where we hope to be able to hug him hard.
* * *
With her mother, our daughter had gone to the hospital clinic to see a doctor for an infection. The doctor mentioned to the mother — the grandmother, that is — that her daughter — the mother, that is — was four months pregnant. Then he criticised the daughter — who was the mother — for having waited so late, because it would have been easy to get rid of the miscalculation in its first months.
This explained our daughter's changeover.
That night, I was having one of my usual insomnia attacks, inherited from my maternal grandfather by way of his daughter who is my mother. I turned and tossed. That is when my wife told me.
Strange to think that one's fifteen year old daughter, sleeping downstairs in her bed, carried a child inside her. Quite disconcerting. But I guess we had unconsciously been expecting it. The last two years hadn't exactly been up to expectations.
She hadn't become a sex free-wheeler. She had fallen in love and in bed with Prince Charming. Inasmuch as she hadn't become a sexual free-wheeler, her feelings had unconsciously eased her towards a child her body was made for.
Her parents and herself had now been reconciled for a few months. So we could all three care for the future of the child she carried. Danielle had explained to me that our daughter had rejected an invitation to kill her child from what the adult world calls social services. In our home, a child was a call of love and not of death. Our daughter had understood by herself that she was unable to give this child the family atmosphere he needed. So, even before we talked the matter over, the child had been the mother's first care. And he so became for his grandparents.
Of course, our daughter had been terrified of our reaction. She had kept this fear inside her during the first four months. Bishop Sheen said in one of his speeches: "Before sinning, the Devil presents himself as our friend and God appears to be our enemy. The Devil says: «You want it. Don't let yourself be unhappy. Have fun. Be yourself. Let yourself go.» And God appears to be the party-breaker when he insists that we hold back and become responsible. But after we have sinned, after we have broken loose and become unhappy, the Devil becomes our accuser and God is our refuge. The Devil says: «See what you have done. You are now dirty. You can't do anything good. Despair.» And God tells us: «Come on. Get up again. Be forgiven and let us go again upon the right road.»" Danielle had kissed her daughter and offered her our support.
Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep. At six, a half-hour before reveille, I went to our daughter's room and woke her: "Mother tells me you are with child. Congratulations for not having killed him. I am proud of you."
Then I went to get the older of her brothers and took him to see his sister: "Your sister is pregnant," I told him. (Surprise and doubt) "She carries a child that she will deliver and who will be entrusted to the care of adopting parents. She needs our affection and support. Now, kiss your sister." Which he did.
The same happened with Johanne, Claude and Philippe. Danielle explained the matter to the younger children during the day. The family stood solidly with our eldest daughter.
* * *
He was immensely disappointed by our meeting. What I said did not coincide with his dreams. But he was unsure enough to play seduction instead of opposition. He was interested in my ideas and my writings. His charm made me sorry for the sad state of his life, but nobody mattered where the future and the happiness of our grandchild was at risk. I remained inflexible on the point of our meeting.
As for our daughter, she did not ever want to see this young man again. He had already got the message. I confirmed it. But, I allowed him to ask me for news of the mother and child. Thereupon, he was dismissed.
* * *
"Look," I said. "People who have a heart will be on your side. And those who will despise you will simply prove that their judgement has no value. They do not even care for you. You will simply be the day's gossip. And that gossip will be replaced by another one, as these things go. Fulfil your undertaking with assurance and serenity."
But she was froth with anguish and did not want the news to break. Not right away. Not now. Later.
We had to negotiate every confidence and the permission for every support we sought for her. She trusted her catechetics teacher. The lady was kind and gentle and firmly rooted in her faith. You must see her, we said. You have to start building an area of human warmth that will help you on your endeavour.
She found the strength to tell her teacher. But good hearts are not all of one mind. We were surprised and troubled when her teacher insisted that our daughter run away and hide in Quebec City, to a home for pregnant girls. Yes, to run, our daughter thought. Run away from the world that had wounded her. (To be more exact, from the world where she had wounded herself.)
We didn't agree. We believed it best for her to face up to people, to carry through her ordeal instead of repressing it. Since she would have to live with it for the rest of her life, it would be better to face up to it than to continuously break mirrors. And would it not be better to have the support of people who loved her rather than to seek support of people she knew not? That's what we felt.
Better to think it over.
* * *
I went down to Denis' office and gave him the news. Straight. There's no subtle way to tell the unthinkable.
He was incredulous and shocked: "It can't be!"
"It is," I answered. "I'm a grandfather."
"But how could this happen to you?" he asked with compassion after a moment's reflection.
"Do you know anyone who is better prepared than us to accept a child?" I asked him with some amusement seeing his all so sincerely conventional reaction.
"Well, er, no. But it's awful."
"Not really. We might say that the child had some luck. He could have come into a family that was out to destroy him."
After the run of emotions, Denis was ready to change the subject and mechanically inquired if anything else was new.
"Yes. Nancy, in Quebec, has cancer."
His heart quickened. But he smiled when I quipped: "I'll be back when I have other news to share."
* * *
Danielle had spoken with open heart with her daughter. The father was muted by emotion. So I did what I best did: I wrote. I wrote her a letter to express my innermost feeling. I gave her the letter before leaving for Quebec, knowing that she would find consolation in it. She did:
Monday 19 March
Dearest daughter,
In grade one, one of the first questions in our catechism was: Why did God create man? The answer was: Man was created to know, love and serve God in this world and to live happily with him in eternity.
The burning thirst you have for happiness, like us all, comes from that. We have been created for happiness, for an eternal and infinite happiness. Each of our passions is an signpost indicating the Passion which devours our heart, our body and our mind. But happiness cannot be found in ourselves. That is why, in ourselves, we find only dissatisfaction. Therefore we roam the world trying a variety of experiments seeking out a happiness we want to fit into our lives. But happiness does not exist by itself. Happiness is what we feel when we have in us that which gives happiness. We can no more get the taste of happiness without what gives it than we can get the taste of chocolate ice cream without eating the ice cream. Happiness is not something. It is the product of something. Rather, it is the product of someone.
Now, there is only way for someone to come into our life: it is to open ourselves, to open our eyes, heart and mind to that person, to welcome him in and to give him the first place. It is to get ourselves out of the way in order that he may speak; it is to think of "you" before "I". Otherwise, "I" comes before "you", and "you" are only an interior decoration of "me". "You" then gives way before "me", finally leaving only a void where the "you" thing was used by "me". "You" becomes the tragically impersonal "him" that we use when speaking about someone behind his back. To welcome someone in ourselves, we therefore have to acknowledge his presence, to have the knowledge of him, to accept him, to give him priority, thus to love him. That is working up to our true happiness… serving him.
Dear child, the deepest part of your being is your heart, your mind, the person you are, vibrating and expressing yourself by your mouth, your gestures, your actions. But you and I know that neither your mother nor I had the power to produce, by ourselves, the miracle of life and presence that you are, that you have been from the start and that you will always be. You were born of us, but, infinitely deeper, you were born of He who is Life Himself, who is all heart, an infinite mind, the Word and the action, and of whom one generous word is your own being, same as for us. God is the Love by whom we were engendered and through whom we can love each other. He is the Love who has loved us from the start and who allows us to love him in return. He is all the love we have in the most intimate and most personal of ourselves, and He is ever more intimate and personal than we shall ourselves ever be. It is thus evident that He should first welcome us into him that we may welcome Him into us. And He is the first person we must know, love and serve, allowing us to be filled with Him in eternal happiness. — Our first catechism was telling the truth.
Why is such a loving God so invisible and far from us? In fact, He is not far away. He is very near. He is nearer to us than we ourselves can be, as we are the breath of His mouth, the throbbing of His heart, the intimacy of His mind even before we ourselves can breath, have a heart beat or a thought. We are always a mystery for our own self whereas He sees us in the complete nudity of our being… without any indecency, without any shame, because each part of us is dressed by His loving stare. But He remains at the distance we put Him. We have all had the experience of being deaf to the most evident solicitude from someone else. A person could speak to us, express heart-felt words, and yet we only hear the words of our own mind. It is the same for us and God. Could He do more? He broke away from the hearth of divinity and took the face of the incarnate Son to be with us, proving that His infinite power is willingly enslaved to seek our happiness, to invite us to welcome His Love in our intimacy. He has endured our silence, our selfishness. He has died in us and suffered from everything that comes from our selfishness. He shed all of Himself so we could find our place in His heart. He has resurrected, because life crosses the death of self. He has sent us the burning fire of His love, the Spirit that unites the Son and the Father in a devouring Passion. And, at all times, He sends us men and women who have welcomed Him into themselves and who are the witnesses of His Love. — Our part is to break our silence and to welcome Him. Of course, you know as well as I do that we do not have in us the strength to do so. That is why He has given us men sacrificed who can reconcile us to Him by receiving our confession, and He has also left us the invisible but effective presence of His own sacrifice within the Eucharist, so we may find in His own loving strength the strength we need to love Him. And when we pray to Him, He always accepts to give us the strength to utter a first "yes" that gives Him entry into us.
Daughter dearest, you are now naked before the Lord. Welcome Him and, through Him, take us all into your life. But first realise, my child, that your child — son or daughter —, our grandchild, is similarly before the Lord, thirsting for the same love for which you are thirsting, as truly as you, as naked as you, as weak as you, and, in his dark chamber, as fearful as you. Never pray, "Please Lord take this child out of my way so that I may be happy". Pray instead, "Weak and afraid, I beg of You, God of Love, to help me welcome this child with the same love that You have for him and to offer him to You with all the love of my heart." Indeed, we can never seek to be "me first" and be happy.
There is no doubt that you have learned this in a very painful way, tearing your heart open and also the hearts of those you love and who love you. But what has happened no longer matters. How your child was conceived matters not, because he is now unconditionally present and we welcome him unconditionally as we also welcome you unconditionally. — Should we decide, you and we, to give our child up to a generous couple, ready and able to care for him with a true heart in their hearth, it is not because we reject him but because we love him. We want the best for him. This child is not garbage to be thrown away, any more than you or we. He is adorable within the Lord's love. And it belongs to us to lovingly give him up to a caring love. We can do it. You can do it. In Jesus' Love.
What will the coming weeks and months be like, when our child will leave the secrecy of our home and grow in the sight of everybody? I do not know. There are two possibilities, both legitimate. We can look at the possibility that you leave our home and avoid the pain of public reprobation. And there is the possibility for you to stay in the warmth of our home and face up to a cold world.
Whatever our common decision, you must find within your humility the power of total love and the rightful pride of bringing into the world a child who is now a loved one. Do not reproach him his weakness. Carry it with him. In the same way, I believe you should not hide in secrecy the truth of your being. An ill does not go away because we try to forget it. A sickness is cured by accepting it and going beyond it towards Life. I believe we should allow our friends, your friends, a chance to express their generosity. Ill pride alone, a false pride that would eat up your soul, would allow you to consider this generosity as a humiliating commiseration and a contempt of yourself. You have seen that neither your mother nor I, nor any of those who already know of your plight, have tried to measure you on an impersonal scale of value and esteem. We love you, and many more are ready to do the same. We are rightly proud that you have kept and that you carry a child that you wish to give to love for now and for eternity. We wish to uphold your courage with ours which exists only by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. What a loss it would be, my child, if you did not allow an invasion of love through the fear of the emptiness of some who are heartless. The worst misfortune is to allow a contemptible contempt run over true love.
Daughter, you are afraid. So are we. So Our Lord, who took upon Him each and every one of our tormented lives in the Garden of Olives, and was terribly afraid of the price of life. He prayed that the cross be taken from him. We are allowed the same prayer. But it must come with the other prayer, "Your will and not mine". We must not forget that the will of the Father is our deepest happiness, rooted in the present and reaching into eternity. Let us love as Jesus does. Mother Teresa searches into the garbage heaps of Calcutta to rescue babies that have been thrown away and to give them love. You are not a garbage pail. In you lives a baby to be loved. In Jesus' love, be rightly proud of this child and you shall find there the same unexpected joy that you rightly saw in you mother's eyes the day of your confession.
Yes, dear, I am proud of you and I will never hesitate to bear witness in your favour and show this pride before the tribunal of the world… because, in this world, those who live by love will recognise love, those who suffer from solitude might regain love and those who would grind love away have already been vanquished for all eternity.
My daughter, these are words I felt the need to write to you, for my lips have some difficulty to express what dwells in my heart.
Love,
Dad
* * *
Danielle and spouse were waiting for the Voyageur bus to take them to Quebec City. Danielle's parents jealously held on to their house, but had finally accepted to let their daughter and son-in-law use it in their absence, along with an abundance of instructions.
It was snowing. The bus was late. It was cold. Time passed. We began to be hungry, because we had expected to eat lunch in Quebec City.
Then we heard the bus wasn't coming. The weather was too bad.
Should we go back home? The baby sitter was there and we wanted our vacations. "Let's go to a motel in La Pocati re." After all, we just wanted to be together and that could be anywhere.
With the day off in La Pocati re, we figured we could tell what was happening to someone in authority at our daughter's school. Whatever the future would be, this would have to be done.
The director of discipline received us in the usual polite manner he took when parents came to talk about their child.
"It's about our daughter."
"Yes?" he said with composure.
"She's pregnant."
His face dropped. He hadn't expected that one. We added: "We would like to know the school policy on this matter."
"I told them this would happen someday," he repeating over and over. Then he said: "That's just the point. There is no school policy on this matter. I told them this would happen someday."
He finally regained his composure and assured us of his full collaboration. He would speak to the school directors and would press for collaboration and help for our daughter in her ordeal.
Then motel, love, peace and replenishment.
* * *
The victim whose secret had been betrayed was shaken and did not ever want to go back to school. The girl student and the hospital employee were sternly rebuked for their indiscretion. But this development was necessary.
As foreseen, many youth and adults in her school supported our daughter. Not only did the school authorities allow her to finish her school year, they even allowed her to do the last part at home. Every one of her teachers promised home work and private assistance. And she would get private exams. And her school year would be secured.
Of course, it happened that a teacher wondered aloud that the guilty party had not been expelled. To which, our daughter's public defender, her teacher of catechetics answered bluntly:
"We kept the two girls who killed their child in order to save face. Why should we expel the one who was brave enough to respect her child's life against the gossip?"
Ending of the school year was tough, because the child also was an added drain to his mother's strength. But her results had always been well into the eighties, and remained there. This was helped by having nights that were no longer shortened by escapades.
* * *
In support of his daughter, her father took her out to the restaurant once a week. Whatever other customers might have thought, they were old enough to keep their remarks to themselves.
One of Danielle's friends asked her: "Do you know what people are saying about you?"
"No," said Danielle. "And I do not want to know."
"Oh. Well, anyway, you can be sure that I take your side."
"Thank you very much," my wife said.
* * *
To run and hide was now senseless. Everybody knew about our daughter's condition. So her teacher suggested she see a social worker to work out the legal process of adoption. We had no experience or practical knowledge in the matter.
The woman social worker was neutral, open to whatever option the young mother chose. So she became, after the home and the school, a third source of support for our grandchild's mother.
At their first meeting, the social worker had our daughter tell her story. She had all the symptoms of a child forsaken by her family. Therefore, the woman was surprised to hear her reject the classical analysis of the situation. No, it wasn't her parents' fault if she was in this situation. No, her parents did not quarrel. No, she hadn't been beaten, despised or left on her own. No, the atmosphere in her home was not aggressive. No, she wasn't misunderstood and tyrannised. No, it wasn't because of her parents that she didn't take the pill. They would not have allowed her to take it, but she herself did not want it. She refused to drop her femininity, at whatever cost. No, parents were not forcing her to let her child live. She could, on her own, understand that her child had the right not to be killed. No, her parents were not forcing her to put her child up for adoption. She wanted her child to be happy and knew she couldn't give him the home he needed.
Did this mean that she thought the same things as her parents? Yes. But she did not think them because they also did. She thought the same things because what they thought happened to be true.
Whence her escape and her condition? Well, she had wanted to live her life the wrong way. But it was not a reason to stay crooked all her life.
Each week, the social worker would be a refuge where our daughter could open up and be respected. — Had she chosen to kill her child, she would have got the same compassion and approval. But it was a valuable help.
* * *
And it gave our daughter something to do before the birth of her child.
Her mother had ample childbirth experience from which to profit. Superficial respiration and total relaxation had to be learned. They had to become reflexes, because the excitement of childbirth and the vigour of contractions didn't give time to think out self-control. The point was to offer no resistance to the bodywork that tried to push the baby out. Essentially birthpains come from fighting the contractions, from pitting muscle against muscle.
"I can practice respiration with you," the grandmother told the young mother, "but I cannot relax for you. You have to learn that by yourself."
Our daughter didn't like that part. She preferred to let others do most of her own work. So she did her respiration correctly, because her mother was helping. But she was rather sloppy in practising her relaxation. Her mother insisted. But the daughter kept putting it off.
In the last lapse of the pregnancy, the summer sun was heating us up pretty well. So we bought our first air conditioner: in any other condition, a foolish expense for our short summer in the North of North America. "Blessed transgression," in the coolness of home. Bygones were bygones: we were bringing a child into the world, and grateful for the sweet temperature he gave us.
* * *
The pinches were regular all morning and kept up during the afternoon. At six, it was decided that the time was ripe. Mother and grandmother took a taxi to go to the hospital where our daughter was admitted in the private room we had ordered so that she could escape being looked upon as a strange animal.
The contractions got stronger but were ineffective. At two in the morning, the doctor decided to hurry the process by rupturing the amniotic sac. Then things got moving. The jolts became violent and painful. The mother had not sufficient practice in relaxation and was fighting her travail. The grand-mother encouraged her on and breathed rhythmically with her.
Later she commented: "I definitely prefer going through childbirth myself than to help someone else go through it. I can do my own but I feel so useless being incapable of wanting and suffering in someone else's place."
The two to three hours that followed were hard and painful. The new mother would have wanted to bypass the difficulty, but there was no way around it. She had to make it till the end. Her head was swirling and she moaned. But, then it was over.
A terrific sense of well-being surged inside her, forgetting the pain. She felt marvellously light and Stéphanie made her first cry. Christine was filled with a tremendous joy as she heard and saw her beautiful baby girl. Her own daughter. The daughter for whom she had endured so much. An adorable baby babbling.
Stéphanie was put into the grandmother's arms who instantly gave it to a wearied but happy mother brimming with pride and joy. Truly, this child was worth it all.
Then Christine was transferred to a hospital stretcher and taken to her room. Danielle carried her granddaughter to the nursery. She held her gently against her, then gave her to the nurse.
She came home after a sleepless night. It was 6:30. Time to rise. Father (grandfather) received her with relief: "Mother's here. She can dress the youngsters."
And he went on to prepare breakfast as usual.
Mother dressed the youngsters, took breakfast with the rest of the family giving them the news. Then she called our family helper to the rescue and telephoned the good news to the great-grandparents.
At ten, she finally went to bed. At eleven, a heartless dad woke her up to prepare lunch and to be with the family, assuring her that she would be able to recuperate on the days following thanks to the family helper. He was proven right.
* * *
Adopted children are unhappy like all children at some time in their adolescence when they cut the ties with their parents (natural or adoptive). Their temptation is to imagine compatible parents, which never exist. That temptation is simply founded upon the common ill of the age, which they, likewise, recognise when they have matured into adulthood. And then they are grateful for the peaceful years of tender youth they received. The girl-student conceded.
This was the peace Christine and we were happy to give to Stéphanie.
* * *
She came home on Friday. Stéphanie remained in the hospital for another day and would then be taken to a public nursery to allow, according to the law, the mother some time to think over her decision. If the mother persisted in her decision, then her daughter would be put up for adoption.
The father called the grandparents. He pleaded for the permission to see his child. The request was proper and we considered it did not affect the child's future. So we intervened in his favour and he was given the permission to briefly take his daughter in his arms at the hospital nursery.
* * *
It had to. Same for the young mother's and the family solidarity. The social worker phoned to tell us that the child's father wanted to keep the child. He was willing to go to court to have his paternity recognised and his rights implemented. Love was for him a form of consumption. He wouldn't give priority to the child's needs.
This was utterly aberrant. He wasn't even legally mature. He had no home to offer to the child.
The social worker explained that the age for parental rights precedes the age of legal maturity, that a mother has priority over the father but that the father could have priority rights over adoption. After all, would this not appear as a case of a mother abandoning her child? Wouldn't a father then have the right to care for the child? He might not win the challenge, but then he might.
Imagining Stéphanie without a proper home was heart-rending. Of course, our daughter would win if she decided to keep her baby. And we would do our best to give the baby a good home. But the tensions surrounding the child would be painful.
The uncertainty lasted two weeks, during which the new grandmother lost another three pounds.
Then a mother's love had the last word. Our daughter, fifteen years old, found strength in her motherhood and decided to confront the young man who still terrified her. She would meet the father. The social worker organised the meeting.
"It's a miracle," commented the social worker, after the meeting. The expression had only a secular meaning. The father was withdrawing his threat. He would abide by the mother's choice.
* * *
The law gave another advantage. The natural mother was allowed to meet incognito the adoptive parents and could then reject them. We had a certain apprehension, but practice proved the wisdom of the principle.
Stéphanie's adoptive parents had been on a waiting list for ten years. This was the last year they were allowed to be on the list, because the father would soon be forty-five, the legal age limit to become an adoptive parent. The father and the mother radiated with happiness and love for their new child when they met the young mother. They swore with emotional sincerity that they would give all the tender loving care they could to her child. They saw our daughter cared very much that her daughter would get a true home and they promised they would do all they could to fulfil her goal.
So our daughter came back with a remaining memory of these happy parents. Now, every evening, Stéphanie's name is added to our list of prayer intentions. May God always watch over her.
Truly, Stéphanie was worth all our suffering.
* * *
"I heard people at the store talking about your daughter and her child," said he. "They were saying you are cruel to have forced your daughter to give up her baby. They were saying it's inhuman to separate a mother and her child."
We expected that.
Grandmother Danielle explained: "First of all, it was Christine who decided to give a home to her daughter. We only encouraged her in her generous gesture and supported her throughout. Also many people have understood this and are supportive. Next, we couldn't care less for senseless gossip. The happiness of a child carries more weight in our judgement."
For my part, I exploded as I always do when the good of a child is compromised: "Think of all those adults who sterilise themselves because they are too cowardly and immature to have a child and these people would want a young adolescent to be stronger than an adult! …But they are logical. The do not have the courage to deprive themselves of some comfort to make way for a child and they do not have the courage to imagine that a young girl could have the courage to sacrifice her maternal emotions for the good of her child. Well, we are not following a logic of cowards."
Our daughter had the courage of her sacrifice and was sustained by the certitude of having given Stéphanie the best chances for happiness.
* * *
"Never, she answered. I will never take contraceptives. I will never cease to be a woman."
The social worker shrugged and respected her free choice.
In our new bedroom, the wardrobe's sliding doors were full-length mirrors. Danielle was passing in front of them when she was surprised not to recognise the figure they sent back. She came back and confronted the stranger. The width definitely outdid what she expected. With some worry, she asked her affectionate husband whether her magnitude affected him ill. But, he was used to seeing the whole of her everyday and had never known the censored version of the old mirror. "I'm satisfied with my investment," he answered. "My capital invested in you has grown." It was a variation of the fellow who said he had paid for a small car and was happy to have seen it evolve into a large car."
The hustle and bustle of everyday life didn't give Danielle time for further worry about something for nothing. Yet, at the end of this year, she was to have gone back to the slimness of her youth… whilst her dear sweet man would gain a noticeable waistline. She would lose her appetite and he would increase his tendency to snack.
Because…
* * *
As they did every year since the grand father's retirement, Danielle's parents went for a month in Florida and a few weeks in Virginia during the coldest part of winter. Then my face-to-face muteness was replaced by my written volubility. Each week, I sent them the family journal. The first time the Quebec Nordiques beat the Montreal Canadians we rejoiced by letter. And the first time the Nordiques didn't make it to the playoffs, I sent them the local joke: What do the Montreal baseball team, the Expos, and the Nordiques (hockey) have in common? They both don't work in the winter.
This time, the letter was long. I wrote both to Danielle's parents and to my mother (who was recovering from a leg broken leg after having been hit by a car):
Friday 9 March
Dear great grandparents,
A computer allows one to write similar letters to different people at the same time. That's what I did last week, with plurals in one case and singulars in the other, with a personal note to each. This week, the letter will not be similar: it will be identical.
I still have fourteen papers to mark on love and sex. But they can wait their turn.
First, thank you very much for the birthday gifts you sent Danielle and me. We added them together to pay for a honeymoon in Quebec City from the coming 19th to 21st.
Tuesday, I handed in papers to a first group of students in Ethics. For comment, I noted that some of the students put their money on cold hearts instead of staunch personalities. In effect, they say: "If a child is not wanted by his parents, it ought to be killed." The fixed point is a cold heart and the variable is the child's life. I wondered whether it might not be possible to reverse this with the child being the fixed point that summons the generosity of heart of his conceivers, notwithstanding their initial coldness, their heart being the variable. Our world works as if people were commodities instead of beings that should be respected. Of course, there should be creativity, invention, imagination and usefulness. But these are made to help people and not to use people. — Regularly, some student brings up the case of the raped girl whose consolation should come from the abortion of her evidently unwanted child. An yet, is a victim cured by assimilating with the aggressor in destroying the second victim of the aggression? Wouldn't the first victim, the mother, find a stronger cure if she expressed solidarity with the second victim? The best answer to lack of love is a stronger love. Indeed, the beginning of the end of a psychological trauma happens when the sick person is finally able to stop focusing on oneself and starts caring for somebody else. It's a difficult to teach such a lesson to a world running away from the cross of love and believing in resurrecting without dying.
This week we made a big change in our household. Mireille passed from crib to bar-bed. Johanne left her room in the basement and bunks above Mireille. Thus Mireille will have a girl companion and Johanne will have a relatively private life for a few months, her baby sister not being able to bother her much. And Johanne took care of Mireille a few times and they have proven to be good companions. Since Christine is often gone, because of baby-sitting and meetings and such, Johanne now does some chores Christine did at her age. Marie, who was above Mireille, now shares Isabelle's room. This is the first time in their eight years that the twins will be in the same room. Their separation at school and their independent living these last years should have taught them enough autonomy for the future. Marie is in the bottom bunk and Isabelle is on top in Johanne's former bed. The twins didn't like being on different storeys in the house. This is fixed. To give Johanne greater privacy, Richard went to the next room with Jean-Paul, who took the upper berth and sent François downstairs in Philippe's bed, while Philippe took the berth above François. Thus the rivalry between François and Jean-Paul is lessened, the former being accustomed by the twins to losing. François gains some self-confidence and learns to command Richard, gaining thus a measure of importance.
My mother — these are news for the Southern vacationers — says because of her accident one leg is shorter than the other, necessitating special shoes, to which she shall have to get used. If Saint Ignatius of Loyola is a precedent, this might be a divine call to sainthood. Ignatius was momentarily immobilised by a leg broken by a cannon ball and during that time learned to give his all to the Christ the King rather than to earthly kings. And he went on to conquer the world for Christ. The Lord always has his own ways of leading us from the assurance of our limited reasonable love to his unlimited unreasonable love.
Our times and my students can't seem to be able to put this infinity into their idea of love. Once, when I said abortion was never acceptable, a girl-student answered angrily: "What if your daughter became pregnant?" She was sure she had the last word. Which was logical from the viewpoint of her standard: people's usefulness for her. I answered that, should my daughter ever become pregnant, I would stand by her to offer a good life to her child. She must have thought I was lost somewhere on Cloud Nine. Yet, someday, this idea might still make it to her heart. Who knows, except for God? And Danielle gave a similar answer to Christine when she had asked, in her bad days, what we should say if ever she became pregnant. Danielle said: "I would be saddened that you had missed the beauty of love, but I would try to help you and your child in your lives."
Our friend Nancy, in Quebec City, appears to be getting better. Only two of the five ganglions extracted were cancerous and the radiologist doesn't see any sign of cancer on the other side. She is presently taking five weeks of preventive treatment rather than curative. Of course, no doctor would risk saying she is cured, but the medical institution appears to be optimistic. Her husband is certainly more assured than on the weekend of the operation. — He and I mainly talked about the miracle computer just brought out by Apple: the Macintosh. He saw it two days ago and I saw it yesterday. This is one of the rare occasions where reality beat imagination. The same way my present computer sent the typewriter to forgotten land, the Macintosh would send my present computer to oblivion. But, for that, I would have to win the lottery. This week-end, the 6/49 is worth four million. Why not give it a modest try? After all, it helps our poor government…
Nancy's illness had a beneficial effect upon souls. The week after her operation, I went to Mass five times on week days. Faith moving a mountain. And Christine finally made a comeback to the Lord, that Danielle had been hoping for with painful impatience these last two years. You remember Christine previously made a marvellous comeback to her parents. But the Lord seemed to be absent from the changeover. Nancy's illness allowed Christine to lay her sacrifice at the foot of the Cross, a sacrifice to which you three are also invited to participate: she offered to God the birth of her child conceived in October.
So you see, the "great" grandparents of the beginning was not a mistake. You are now great grandparents. And Danielle and I are grandparents far before the age you were. For the moment, our daughter believes it best for her child to be put up for adoption. Many couples desire to give a home to a child, and are frustrated by abortionists. And our grandson or granddaughter would invariably suffer from the ambiguous situation of being raised by his grandmother in the presence of his mother. For the moment, Christine has needed a change of clothing, but no public announcement has been made. We learned about her situation this Tuesday. We plan to bring friends gradually into a support network for our daughter before the news breaks… which is inevitable in a small community such as ours. Christine hopes to be able to finish the four fifths of her school year and then to take her final exams in August. We'll address that question in due time. For the moment, we are going step by step. New dress bought on Thursday. A couple in Quebec City told the same day. More clothing to be bought tomorrow. Helen, Christine's confirmation godmother, will be told tomorrow. We encouraged Christine to tell her teacher of catechetics, a woman of strong faith and kind heart. I must meet the father to put before him our decisions and to ask him to withdraw from the matter. Even though he was sent to the dogs some months ago, he is still roaming about offering to take the child in with his parents (who know nothing at all of what is happening), and he once offered to pay for an abortion. The poor fellow is not old enough to carry this weight by himself and doesn't get good advice to react intelligently. At least, he was the first to tell our daughter not to abort their child, even if he wavered afterwards.
So, you see that the Lord is not a theorist. He makes us practice what we teach. And he opens our hearts to infinity: and your hearts too.
Well, we wish a healthy and saintly limp to a limping great grandmother and holy holidays to the great grandparents down South. We wish you the Lord's peace as it has been given to Christine and to us. The job now is to make sure a small child will be given a loving home and be put on the right road towards eternity where we hope to be able to hug him hard.
* * *
With her mother, our daughter had gone to the hospital clinic to see a doctor for an infection. The doctor mentioned to the mother — the grandmother, that is — that her daughter — the mother, that is — was four months pregnant. Then he criticised the daughter — who was the mother — for having waited so late, because it would have been easy to get rid of the miscalculation in its first months.
This explained our daughter's changeover.
That night, I was having one of my usual insomnia attacks, inherited from my maternal grandfather by way of his daughter who is my mother. I turned and tossed. That is when my wife told me.
Strange to think that one's fifteen year old daughter, sleeping downstairs in her bed, carried a child inside her. Quite disconcerting. But I guess we had unconsciously been expecting it. The last two years hadn't exactly been up to expectations.
She hadn't become a sex free-wheeler. She had fallen in love and in bed with Prince Charming. Inasmuch as she hadn't become a sexual free-wheeler, her feelings had unconsciously eased her towards a child her body was made for.
Her parents and herself had now been reconciled for a few months. So we could all three care for the future of the child she carried. Danielle had explained to me that our daughter had rejected an invitation to kill her child from what the adult world calls social services. In our home, a child was a call of love and not of death. Our daughter had understood by herself that she was unable to give this child the family atmosphere he needed. So, even before we talked the matter over, the child had been the mother's first care. And he so became for his grandparents.
Of course, our daughter had been terrified of our reaction. She had kept this fear inside her during the first four months. Bishop Sheen said in one of his speeches: "Before sinning, the Devil presents himself as our friend and God appears to be our enemy. The Devil says: «You want it. Don't let yourself be unhappy. Have fun. Be yourself. Let yourself go.» And God appears to be the party-breaker when he insists that we hold back and become responsible. But after we have sinned, after we have broken loose and become unhappy, the Devil becomes our accuser and God is our refuge. The Devil says: «See what you have done. You are now dirty. You can't do anything good. Despair.» And God tells us: «Come on. Get up again. Be forgiven and let us go again upon the right road.»" Danielle had kissed her daughter and offered her our support.
Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep. At six, a half-hour before reveille, I went to our daughter's room and woke her: "Mother tells me you are with child. Congratulations for not having killed him. I am proud of you."
Then I went to get the older of her brothers and took him to see his sister: "Your sister is pregnant," I told him. (Surprise and doubt) "She carries a child that she will deliver and who will be entrusted to the care of adopting parents. She needs our affection and support. Now, kiss your sister." Which he did.
The same happened with Johanne, Claude and Philippe. Danielle explained the matter to the younger children during the day. The family stood solidly with our eldest daughter.
* * *
The unexpectedly expectant father of our grandchild was summoned to my office at college. He was fantasising. He imagined our daughter, his beloved the previous months, giving birth to their child he would visit regularly. He would occasionally change the baby's diapers, and take him for walks, and he dreamed of all the virtues of the woman who had kicked him out of her life. As so many people of our times, the good and needs of the child came second to his own satisfaction.
He was immensely disappointed by our meeting. What I said did not coincide with his dreams. But he was unsure enough to play seduction instead of opposition. He was interested in my ideas and my writings. His charm made me sorry for the sad state of his life, but nobody mattered where the future and the happiness of our grandchild was at risk. I remained inflexible on the point of our meeting.
As for our daughter, she did not ever want to see this young man again. He had already got the message. I confirmed it. But, I allowed him to ask me for news of the mother and child. Thereupon, he was dismissed.
* * *
Our daughter had little taste to have people know about her condition. We had to guide her into trust and unveiling. In a world that admits children only in as much as they are considered beneficial and that kills them secretively when they are a bother, courage was necessary to accept the coming of a child that was terribly bothersome. Couldn't she take pride in the quality of her act? But she was so sensitive to peer pressure as to have derailed her youth for some time and could not manage to be indifferent to public opinion.
"Look," I said. "People who have a heart will be on your side. And those who will despise you will simply prove that their judgement has no value. They do not even care for you. You will simply be the day's gossip. And that gossip will be replaced by another one, as these things go. Fulfil your undertaking with assurance and serenity."
But she was froth with anguish and did not want the news to break. Not right away. Not now. Later.
We had to negotiate every confidence and the permission for every support we sought for her. She trusted her catechetics teacher. The lady was kind and gentle and firmly rooted in her faith. You must see her, we said. You have to start building an area of human warmth that will help you on your endeavour.
She found the strength to tell her teacher. But good hearts are not all of one mind. We were surprised and troubled when her teacher insisted that our daughter run away and hide in Quebec City, to a home for pregnant girls. Yes, to run, our daughter thought. Run away from the world that had wounded her. (To be more exact, from the world where she had wounded herself.)
We didn't agree. We believed it best for her to face up to people, to carry through her ordeal instead of repressing it. Since she would have to live with it for the rest of her life, it would be better to face up to it than to continuously break mirrors. And would it not be better to have the support of people who loved her rather than to seek support of people she knew not? That's what we felt.
Better to think it over.
* * *
Denis and Pauline, Philippe's godparents, were close to us. We dared reveal our secret.
I went down to Denis' office and gave him the news. Straight. There's no subtle way to tell the unthinkable.
He was incredulous and shocked: "It can't be!"
"It is," I answered. "I'm a grandfather."
"But how could this happen to you?" he asked with compassion after a moment's reflection.
"Do you know anyone who is better prepared than us to accept a child?" I asked him with some amusement seeing his all so sincerely conventional reaction.
"Well, er, no. But it's awful."
"Not really. We might say that the child had some luck. He could have come into a family that was out to destroy him."
After the run of emotions, Denis was ready to change the subject and mechanically inquired if anything else was new.
"Yes. Nancy, in Quebec, has cancer."
His heart quickened. But he smiled when I quipped: "I'll be back when I have other news to share."
* * *
Danielle and I had already planned a three day trip to Quebec City, for some heart-to-heart intimacy, as we did one or twice a year. It came at a good time. We would fill our tank with love and adjust mutually to the situation.
Danielle had spoken with open heart with her daughter. The father was muted by emotion. So I did what I best did: I wrote. I wrote her a letter to express my innermost feeling. I gave her the letter before leaving for Quebec, knowing that she would find consolation in it. She did:
Monday 19 March
Dearest daughter,
In grade one, one of the first questions in our catechism was: Why did God create man? The answer was: Man was created to know, love and serve God in this world and to live happily with him in eternity.
The burning thirst you have for happiness, like us all, comes from that. We have been created for happiness, for an eternal and infinite happiness. Each of our passions is an signpost indicating the Passion which devours our heart, our body and our mind. But happiness cannot be found in ourselves. That is why, in ourselves, we find only dissatisfaction. Therefore we roam the world trying a variety of experiments seeking out a happiness we want to fit into our lives. But happiness does not exist by itself. Happiness is what we feel when we have in us that which gives happiness. We can no more get the taste of happiness without what gives it than we can get the taste of chocolate ice cream without eating the ice cream. Happiness is not something. It is the product of something. Rather, it is the product of someone.
Now, there is only way for someone to come into our life: it is to open ourselves, to open our eyes, heart and mind to that person, to welcome him in and to give him the first place. It is to get ourselves out of the way in order that he may speak; it is to think of "you" before "I". Otherwise, "I" comes before "you", and "you" are only an interior decoration of "me". "You" then gives way before "me", finally leaving only a void where the "you" thing was used by "me". "You" becomes the tragically impersonal "him" that we use when speaking about someone behind his back. To welcome someone in ourselves, we therefore have to acknowledge his presence, to have the knowledge of him, to accept him, to give him priority, thus to love him. That is working up to our true happiness… serving him.
Dear child, the deepest part of your being is your heart, your mind, the person you are, vibrating and expressing yourself by your mouth, your gestures, your actions. But you and I know that neither your mother nor I had the power to produce, by ourselves, the miracle of life and presence that you are, that you have been from the start and that you will always be. You were born of us, but, infinitely deeper, you were born of He who is Life Himself, who is all heart, an infinite mind, the Word and the action, and of whom one generous word is your own being, same as for us. God is the Love by whom we were engendered and through whom we can love each other. He is the Love who has loved us from the start and who allows us to love him in return. He is all the love we have in the most intimate and most personal of ourselves, and He is ever more intimate and personal than we shall ourselves ever be. It is thus evident that He should first welcome us into him that we may welcome Him into us. And He is the first person we must know, love and serve, allowing us to be filled with Him in eternal happiness. — Our first catechism was telling the truth.
Why is such a loving God so invisible and far from us? In fact, He is not far away. He is very near. He is nearer to us than we ourselves can be, as we are the breath of His mouth, the throbbing of His heart, the intimacy of His mind even before we ourselves can breath, have a heart beat or a thought. We are always a mystery for our own self whereas He sees us in the complete nudity of our being… without any indecency, without any shame, because each part of us is dressed by His loving stare. But He remains at the distance we put Him. We have all had the experience of being deaf to the most evident solicitude from someone else. A person could speak to us, express heart-felt words, and yet we only hear the words of our own mind. It is the same for us and God. Could He do more? He broke away from the hearth of divinity and took the face of the incarnate Son to be with us, proving that His infinite power is willingly enslaved to seek our happiness, to invite us to welcome His Love in our intimacy. He has endured our silence, our selfishness. He has died in us and suffered from everything that comes from our selfishness. He shed all of Himself so we could find our place in His heart. He has resurrected, because life crosses the death of self. He has sent us the burning fire of His love, the Spirit that unites the Son and the Father in a devouring Passion. And, at all times, He sends us men and women who have welcomed Him into themselves and who are the witnesses of His Love. — Our part is to break our silence and to welcome Him. Of course, you know as well as I do that we do not have in us the strength to do so. That is why He has given us men sacrificed who can reconcile us to Him by receiving our confession, and He has also left us the invisible but effective presence of His own sacrifice within the Eucharist, so we may find in His own loving strength the strength we need to love Him. And when we pray to Him, He always accepts to give us the strength to utter a first "yes" that gives Him entry into us.
Daughter dearest, you are now naked before the Lord. Welcome Him and, through Him, take us all into your life. But first realise, my child, that your child — son or daughter —, our grandchild, is similarly before the Lord, thirsting for the same love for which you are thirsting, as truly as you, as naked as you, as weak as you, and, in his dark chamber, as fearful as you. Never pray, "Please Lord take this child out of my way so that I may be happy". Pray instead, "Weak and afraid, I beg of You, God of Love, to help me welcome this child with the same love that You have for him and to offer him to You with all the love of my heart." Indeed, we can never seek to be "me first" and be happy.
There is no doubt that you have learned this in a very painful way, tearing your heart open and also the hearts of those you love and who love you. But what has happened no longer matters. How your child was conceived matters not, because he is now unconditionally present and we welcome him unconditionally as we also welcome you unconditionally. — Should we decide, you and we, to give our child up to a generous couple, ready and able to care for him with a true heart in their hearth, it is not because we reject him but because we love him. We want the best for him. This child is not garbage to be thrown away, any more than you or we. He is adorable within the Lord's love. And it belongs to us to lovingly give him up to a caring love. We can do it. You can do it. In Jesus' Love.
What will the coming weeks and months be like, when our child will leave the secrecy of our home and grow in the sight of everybody? I do not know. There are two possibilities, both legitimate. We can look at the possibility that you leave our home and avoid the pain of public reprobation. And there is the possibility for you to stay in the warmth of our home and face up to a cold world.
Whatever our common decision, you must find within your humility the power of total love and the rightful pride of bringing into the world a child who is now a loved one. Do not reproach him his weakness. Carry it with him. In the same way, I believe you should not hide in secrecy the truth of your being. An ill does not go away because we try to forget it. A sickness is cured by accepting it and going beyond it towards Life. I believe we should allow our friends, your friends, a chance to express their generosity. Ill pride alone, a false pride that would eat up your soul, would allow you to consider this generosity as a humiliating commiseration and a contempt of yourself. You have seen that neither your mother nor I, nor any of those who already know of your plight, have tried to measure you on an impersonal scale of value and esteem. We love you, and many more are ready to do the same. We are rightly proud that you have kept and that you carry a child that you wish to give to love for now and for eternity. We wish to uphold your courage with ours which exists only by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. What a loss it would be, my child, if you did not allow an invasion of love through the fear of the emptiness of some who are heartless. The worst misfortune is to allow a contemptible contempt run over true love.
Daughter, you are afraid. So are we. So Our Lord, who took upon Him each and every one of our tormented lives in the Garden of Olives, and was terribly afraid of the price of life. He prayed that the cross be taken from him. We are allowed the same prayer. But it must come with the other prayer, "Your will and not mine". We must not forget that the will of the Father is our deepest happiness, rooted in the present and reaching into eternity. Let us love as Jesus does. Mother Teresa searches into the garbage heaps of Calcutta to rescue babies that have been thrown away and to give them love. You are not a garbage pail. In you lives a baby to be loved. In Jesus' love, be rightly proud of this child and you shall find there the same unexpected joy that you rightly saw in you mother's eyes the day of your confession.
Yes, dear, I am proud of you and I will never hesitate to bear witness in your favour and show this pride before the tribunal of the world… because, in this world, those who live by love will recognise love, those who suffer from solitude might regain love and those who would grind love away have already been vanquished for all eternity.
My daughter, these are words I felt the need to write to you, for my lips have some difficulty to express what dwells in my heart.
Love,
Dad
* * *
Danielle and spouse were waiting for the Voyageur bus to take them to Quebec City. Danielle's parents jealously held on to their house, but had finally accepted to let their daughter and son-in-law use it in their absence, along with an abundance of instructions.
It was snowing. The bus was late. It was cold. Time passed. We began to be hungry, because we had expected to eat lunch in Quebec City.
Then we heard the bus wasn't coming. The weather was too bad.
Should we go back home? The baby sitter was there and we wanted our vacations. "Let's go to a motel in La Pocati re." After all, we just wanted to be together and that could be anywhere.
With the day off in La Pocati re, we figured we could tell what was happening to someone in authority at our daughter's school. Whatever the future would be, this would have to be done.
The director of discipline received us in the usual polite manner he took when parents came to talk about their child.
"It's about our daughter."
"Yes?" he said with composure.
"She's pregnant."
His face dropped. He hadn't expected that one. We added: "We would like to know the school policy on this matter."
"I told them this would happen someday," he repeating over and over. Then he said: "That's just the point. There is no school policy on this matter. I told them this would happen someday."
He finally regained his composure and assured us of his full collaboration. He would speak to the school directors and would press for collaboration and help for our daughter in her ordeal.
Then motel, love, peace and replenishment.
* * *
It had to happen. The news of our daughter's pregnancy broke out at school. A girl had learned it from a hospital employee and was only to eager to explain to her girl friends why our daughter had suddenly changed from tight jeans to an elegant dress.
The victim whose secret had been betrayed was shaken and did not ever want to go back to school. The girl student and the hospital employee were sternly rebuked for their indiscretion. But this development was necessary.
As foreseen, many youth and adults in her school supported our daughter. Not only did the school authorities allow her to finish her school year, they even allowed her to do the last part at home. Every one of her teachers promised home work and private assistance. And she would get private exams. And her school year would be secured.
Of course, it happened that a teacher wondered aloud that the guilty party had not been expelled. To which, our daughter's public defender, her teacher of catechetics answered bluntly:
"We kept the two girls who killed their child in order to save face. Why should we expel the one who was brave enough to respect her child's life against the gossip?"
Ending of the school year was tough, because the child also was an added drain to his mother's strength. But her results had always been well into the eighties, and remained there. This was helped by having nights that were no longer shortened by escapades.
* * *
Her brothers and sisters had to face the impertinence of some schoolmates. There was the one who suggested their father was also the father of their sister's child. After all, wasn't he the maniac who just couldn't stop getting his wife pregnant? But her brothers and sisters didn't enter into these conversations. They were firmly mute outside the home and supportive of their sister inside. Remarkably, none of them ever blamed their older sister for the mockeries they sustained by her fault. Their solidarity was faultless.
In support of his daughter, her father took her out to the restaurant once a week. Whatever other customers might have thought, they were old enough to keep their remarks to themselves.
One of Danielle's friends asked her: "Do you know what people are saying about you?"
"No," said Danielle. "And I do not want to know."
"Oh. Well, anyway, you can be sure that I take your side."
"Thank you very much," my wife said.
* * *
To run and hide was now senseless. Everybody knew about our daughter's condition. So her teacher suggested she see a social worker to work out the legal process of adoption. We had no experience or practical knowledge in the matter.
The woman social worker was neutral, open to whatever option the young mother chose. So she became, after the home and the school, a third source of support for our grandchild's mother.
At their first meeting, the social worker had our daughter tell her story. She had all the symptoms of a child forsaken by her family. Therefore, the woman was surprised to hear her reject the classical analysis of the situation. No, it wasn't her parents' fault if she was in this situation. No, her parents did not quarrel. No, she hadn't been beaten, despised or left on her own. No, the atmosphere in her home was not aggressive. No, she wasn't misunderstood and tyrannised. No, it wasn't because of her parents that she didn't take the pill. They would not have allowed her to take it, but she herself did not want it. She refused to drop her femininity, at whatever cost. No, parents were not forcing her to let her child live. She could, on her own, understand that her child had the right not to be killed. No, her parents were not forcing her to put her child up for adoption. She wanted her child to be happy and knew she couldn't give him the home he needed.
Did this mean that she thought the same things as her parents? Yes. But she did not think them because they also did. She thought the same things because what they thought happened to be true.
Whence her escape and her condition? Well, she had wanted to live her life the wrong way. But it was not a reason to stay crooked all her life.
Each week, the social worker would be a refuge where our daughter could open up and be respected. — Had she chosen to kill her child, she would have got the same compassion and approval. But it was a valuable help.
* * *
My doctoral thesis was finally moving again. The first director was replaced by a new one. The latter was satisfied with the work done. He asked for some finishing and a bibliography. The first draft of my thesis went back to prehistoric times when there had been typewriter. I could now put it on computer before putting on the final touches. I borrowed a second computer from college and got the help of my two older children during the summer holidays. They didn't understand much of what they were copying and slipped in some mistakes, but it was easier to correct them than to copy everything by myself.
And it gave our daughter something to do before the birth of her child.
Her mother had ample childbirth experience from which to profit. Superficial respiration and total relaxation had to be learned. They had to become reflexes, because the excitement of childbirth and the vigour of contractions didn't give time to think out self-control. The point was to offer no resistance to the bodywork that tried to push the baby out. Essentially birthpains come from fighting the contractions, from pitting muscle against muscle.
"I can practice respiration with you," the grandmother told the young mother, "but I cannot relax for you. You have to learn that by yourself."
Our daughter didn't like that part. She preferred to let others do most of her own work. So she did her respiration correctly, because her mother was helping. But she was rather sloppy in practising her relaxation. Her mother insisted. But the daughter kept putting it off.
In the last lapse of the pregnancy, the summer sun was heating us up pretty well. So we bought our first air conditioner: in any other condition, a foolish expense for our short summer in the North of North America. "Blessed transgression," in the coolness of home. Bygones were bygones: we were bringing a child into the world, and grateful for the sweet temperature he gave us.
* * *
Monday, July 30th. Christine felt small contractions. Was this it? Not yet, her mother told her. When in doubt, it's not the right time. When the real contractions come, there is no doubt left. But it could be the beginning of the end of her pregnancy and the beginning of the beginning of the baby's life in the world.
The pinches were regular all morning and kept up during the afternoon. At six, it was decided that the time was ripe. Mother and grandmother took a taxi to go to the hospital where our daughter was admitted in the private room we had ordered so that she could escape being looked upon as a strange animal.
The contractions got stronger but were ineffective. At two in the morning, the doctor decided to hurry the process by rupturing the amniotic sac. Then things got moving. The jolts became violent and painful. The mother had not sufficient practice in relaxation and was fighting her travail. The grand-mother encouraged her on and breathed rhythmically with her.
Later she commented: "I definitely prefer going through childbirth myself than to help someone else go through it. I can do my own but I feel so useless being incapable of wanting and suffering in someone else's place."
The two to three hours that followed were hard and painful. The new mother would have wanted to bypass the difficulty, but there was no way around it. She had to make it till the end. Her head was swirling and she moaned. But, then it was over.
A terrific sense of well-being surged inside her, forgetting the pain. She felt marvellously light and Stéphanie made her first cry. Christine was filled with a tremendous joy as she heard and saw her beautiful baby girl. Her own daughter. The daughter for whom she had endured so much. An adorable baby babbling.
Stéphanie was put into the grandmother's arms who instantly gave it to a wearied but happy mother brimming with pride and joy. Truly, this child was worth it all.
Then Christine was transferred to a hospital stretcher and taken to her room. Danielle carried her granddaughter to the nursery. She held her gently against her, then gave her to the nurse.
She came home after a sleepless night. It was 6:30. Time to rise. Father (grandfather) received her with relief: "Mother's here. She can dress the youngsters."
And he went on to prepare breakfast as usual.
Mother dressed the youngsters, took breakfast with the rest of the family giving them the news. Then she called our family helper to the rescue and telephoned the good news to the great-grandparents.
At ten, she finally went to bed. At eleven, a heartless dad woke her up to prepare lunch and to be with the family, assuring her that she would be able to recuperate on the days following thanks to the family helper. He was proven right.
* * *
The following days, Danielle and I visited our daughter. She, like us, was taking in good memories of the happiness given by the child. We knew that the separation would be heartrending but we also knew that the child would be much happier with a father and a mother of his own. A girl-student once objected: "Adopted children are unhappy and try to find their natural parents."
Adopted children are unhappy like all children at some time in their adolescence when they cut the ties with their parents (natural or adoptive). Their temptation is to imagine compatible parents, which never exist. That temptation is simply founded upon the common ill of the age, which they, likewise, recognise when they have matured into adulthood. And then they are grateful for the peaceful years of tender youth they received. The girl-student conceded.
This was the peace Christine and we were happy to give to Stéphanie.
* * *
That Thursday, the father reappeared. He phoned. He had promised to stay away. But he couldn't. The voice unearthed terrors in the mother whose courage was in her child. She did not want to hear him. She never wanted to see him again. She was leaving the hospital the next day and would find refuge home where no one could reach her without her own consent.
She came home on Friday. Stéphanie remained in the hospital for another day and would then be taken to a public nursery to allow, according to the law, the mother some time to think over her decision. If the mother persisted in her decision, then her daughter would be put up for adoption.
The father called the grandparents. He pleaded for the permission to see his child. The request was proper and we considered it did not affect the child's future. So we intervened in his favour and he was given the permission to briefly take his daughter in his arms at the hospital nursery.
* * *
The will was strong but the body suffered from the blow. Danielle had lost twenty seven pounds. She had gone down from one hundred and fifty-five pounds to one hundred and twenty-eight pounds: slimmer than at her wedding. Her normal weight had then been about a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Now she slipped into an old pair of pants she had at sixteen. At a class reunion, her girl friends of old marvelled at her slim waistline. But those who knew her recently were horrified to see how much she had lost weight. The body had been hit, but the morale stood its ground.
It had to. Same for the young mother's and the family solidarity. The social worker phoned to tell us that the child's father wanted to keep the child. He was willing to go to court to have his paternity recognised and his rights implemented. Love was for him a form of consumption. He wouldn't give priority to the child's needs.
This was utterly aberrant. He wasn't even legally mature. He had no home to offer to the child.
The social worker explained that the age for parental rights precedes the age of legal maturity, that a mother has priority over the father but that the father could have priority rights over adoption. After all, would this not appear as a case of a mother abandoning her child? Wouldn't a father then have the right to care for the child? He might not win the challenge, but then he might.
Imagining Stéphanie without a proper home was heart-rending. Of course, our daughter would win if she decided to keep her baby. And we would do our best to give the baby a good home. But the tensions surrounding the child would be painful.
The uncertainty lasted two weeks, during which the new grandmother lost another three pounds.
Then a mother's love had the last word. Our daughter, fifteen years old, found strength in her motherhood and decided to confront the young man who still terrified her. She would meet the father. The social worker organised the meeting.
"It's a miracle," commented the social worker, after the meeting. The expression had only a secular meaning. The father was withdrawing his threat. He would abide by the mother's choice.
The child could have a home.
* * *
The law allowed Christine to put down conditions as to what kind of adoptive parents she wanted for Stéphanie. They should be practising Catholics and the mother should stay at home. In other words, she wasn't putting her daughter up for day-care.
The law gave another advantage. The natural mother was allowed to meet incognito the adoptive parents and could then reject them. We had a certain apprehension, but practice proved the wisdom of the principle.
Stéphanie's adoptive parents had been on a waiting list for ten years. This was the last year they were allowed to be on the list, because the father would soon be forty-five, the legal age limit to become an adoptive parent. The father and the mother radiated with happiness and love for their new child when they met the young mother. They swore with emotional sincerity that they would give all the tender loving care they could to her child. They saw our daughter cared very much that her daughter would get a true home and they promised they would do all they could to fulfil her goal.
So our daughter came back with a remaining memory of these happy parents. Now, every evening, Stéphanie's name is added to our list of prayer intentions. May God always watch over her.
Truly, Stéphanie was worth all our suffering.
* * *
At that time, my colleague Denis, came to lunch.
"I heard people at the store talking about your daughter and her child," said he. "They were saying you are cruel to have forced your daughter to give up her baby. They were saying it's inhuman to separate a mother and her child."
We expected that.
Grandmother Danielle explained: "First of all, it was Christine who decided to give a home to her daughter. We only encouraged her in her generous gesture and supported her throughout. Also many people have understood this and are supportive. Next, we couldn't care less for senseless gossip. The happiness of a child carries more weight in our judgement."
For my part, I exploded as I always do when the good of a child is compromised: "Think of all those adults who sterilise themselves because they are too cowardly and immature to have a child and these people would want a young adolescent to be stronger than an adult! …But they are logical. The do not have the courage to deprive themselves of some comfort to make way for a child and they do not have the courage to imagine that a young girl could have the courage to sacrifice her maternal emotions for the good of her child. Well, we are not following a logic of cowards."
Our daughter had the courage of her sacrifice and was sustained by the certitude of having given Stéphanie the best chances for happiness.
* * *
"I hope you will now take a contraceptive," the social worker told our daughter.
"Never, she answered. I will never take contraceptives. I will never cease to be a woman."
The social worker shrugged and respected her free choice.
