The Longest Morning

By: Aubrey Allison

After the longest night, when they left the apartment a mess of takeout boxes and didn’t bother to clean the puddle on the floor; when she knew to call the doctor but breathing was all she could think to do; when the time they had been preparing and waiting and ready for arrived but once it was time, all she felt was scared; when her mother sat in the waiting room with a level head, making phone calls to update those who cared, and sitting with her hands folded in her lap when there were no updates to give; when his mother stayed at their apartment but didn’t take her coat off in hopes her son would call and ask her to come as fast as she could; when his family miles away held onto their phones eagerly and showed each other the screens when any updates appeared; after her sister made a point to leave on an unplanned business trip but left the priest’s phone number and a short letter in mailbox 5B; when her boyfriend stayed dutifully by her side, squeezing her hand and agreeing with her when she yelled obscenities at everyone in the room, including him; when the doctor finally relaxed and smiled and said he would see them in a few days and she thought that she didn’t want his pity; after the sun began to stream in through the ugly, off-white vertical blinds and onto an arrangement of pastel daisies and a cheap teddy bear, its neck tied with a pale blue ribbon; after the nurse checked her vitals, told her everything looked good, adjusted the teddy bear tenderly and left them alone in the room, Rachael stared at the bundle in her arms and let the reality hit her over and over again – she’s a mom now.