“It’s not fair,” I said to myself in the darkness.
Mercifully, that’s the last I remembered of the night. The last time I had looked at the clock, it read 3:27. I awoke at 7 a.m. A miserable three hours sleep.
We were scheduled to be at the Family Readiness Center for our video teleconferencing with Greg at 9:30. This was to be our last regular contact until further notice. I knew how that went—it could be next week, or it could be months before we talked with Greg again.
I ironed a new tablecloth I had picked out for the kitchen table. It was bright and cheery. Something I desperately needed about now.
“How’d you sleep, Mom?”
I turned to look at him. There he was, for all outward appearances, the same boy who greeted me every morning of his life. But now, because of yesterday, he was different. Or maybe it was I who was different.
“Like a top,” I lied with a smile. It was a lie unless turning constantly qualified as a top too.
“Me too. I thought of you a lot before I went to sleep. Then I woke up thinking about today. How special it’s going to be.”
“Ronny, we have to talk. Sit down.” We each took our usual chairs.
“Mom, my mind’s made up.”
“You have to be reasonable. What you’re thinking can never work. There are so many other things involved that you have conception of.”
“Conception is the word of the day, Mom. I’m going to get you pregnant today and that will be that. You might have doubts today, but you’ll be happy the rest of our lives with a new baby. And Dad—it will change his life. Don’t you think he deserves to feel like a man with you again. Don’t you think I know that a lot of the risks he takes is so he can have that feeling about being as good or better than all the rest of the guys. All because of his wounds.”
Ronny was proving he was more sensitive and knowing than I had imagined.
“You father is as good as any man ever,” I affirmed.
“Yeah, but when he thought he made you pregnant, he believed that he had been given one last gift, something impossible that told him he was OK, a real man still and forever.”
“Ronny, you mean well, but—”
“Dad said I’m the man of the house, right?”
I didn’t reply.
“And that I have to fill in for him, right?”
“That’s just his way of talking.”
“And that I had to take responsibility? And what’s he always say? ‘Duty calls.’ Well, I see something that’s my duty, and it’s calling today. Today is you best day to get pregnant. If it doesn’t happen, we can’t wait until another month goes by and you look back and then think it would have been a good idea. We can’t!”
“Ronny, darling. You’re my son, not my husband. You have your own responsibilities, not something like this. You shouldn’t even be involved—”
“But, I am involved, and I’m going to do what’s right for the whole family. And that includes a baby who should be born in 9 months.”
“A mother and son can’t do that. It isn’t moral or legal or right in any way.”
“Dad’s putting his life on the line every day. If this will keep him safe, then it’s as moral and right and legal as it has to be!”