It’s Mirinda’s Birthday Again

Today is Mirinda’s birthday. I am behind on the FIFA posts because my house decided to vomit all over my plans and budget and mood, which was already in the pits of hell. Mirinda is my daughter who passed away a day after she was born.

I was think yesterday about how my sanctimonious mother-in-law marched into my hospital room and didn’t bother to say hello, I’m sorry, or anything like that. She just glared at me and said, “I knew you were going to kill that baby.”

She was mad because I’d been taking care of her, Don’s nephew’s boys while his wife was in the hospital having a baby, my nearly blind father-in-law, his brother who decided to visit and “help.” He was no help. Vicky insisted I bring Bill up to the hospital to see her twice a day to see her. That was a chore in itself since he was blind. I’d have to leave him at the door and then try to find a parking place and hustle back with my seven-month pregnant belly. Though I’d tell him to stay right there, he’d invariably wander off looking for the door and I’d have to rescue him before he got ran over. I finally had to tell her I could only bring him once a day.

She had gall bladder surgery and they told her she could go home after two days. She refused and stayed a week. “Why should I go home where I have to wait on other people when I can stay here and people wait on me?” They finally forced her to leave.

When she came home, she brought all her hospital menus and showed me what she wanted to eat. I was supposed to replicate what the hospital had cooked. She was supposed to have no salt. I tried. I cooked the meal without salt for her. Added salt for everyone else. Cub, Bill’s brother ate at different times than Vicky and Bill did, so I was cooking six meals a day. Don was on the road as he was a truck driver. He finally said I was cooking three meals a day and if they didn’t want to eat what I cooked they could do without.

The meals without salt had no flavor, so Vicky had to grab the salt shaker and add flavor.

On top of that, I had animals and a huge garden at our place I was tending, so I was exhausted.

I finally begged Don to get me out of there. Our anniversary was coming up on July 12^th, so he told everyone we were going to Ruidoso for our anniversary to relax. Ruidoso is in the mountains and has great horse racing.

His mother threw a fit. What was she going to do? I had no business traveling in my condition. All sorts of excuses why I shouldn’t go.

We went for four glorious days and I was extremely happy. Then, on the seventeenth, I was trying to catch up on my garden and started canning pickles. My water broke in the middle of the night when I picked up a case of canning jars.

The doctor induced labor and Mirinda didn’t make it.

The funny thing is, I knew something was wrong. I called Don’s cousin one day and said, “I think something’s wrong. Something feels off. I think I should call the doctor.”

She laughed. “Stop being a baby. Grandma Weathers used to pull a one baby on a cotton sack while she was pregnant and picking cotton. Toughen up.”

So, I didn’t call the doctor. I toughened up and tried to be a Weathers.

It was all my fault, of course, because I went to Ruidoso. I already felt like it was my fault. If I had told Don no, I wasn’t taking care of Bill after I had told Vicky for weeks not to put off that surgery when she knew Irene was so close to having her baby. It was my fault for painting Bill and Vicky’s house. I tried cleaning it, but the walls were so dirty, it was easier to paint it. It was my fault because I shouldn’t have been canning. I never regretted going to Ruidoso because I had been about to lose my mind in Odessa. I felt so guilty, I tried to get the hospital window open to jump out.

Now, I had confirmation. It was my fault.

My friend Debbie was with me. She told her to get out.

I determined to commit suicide the first time that night. I didn’t take the sleeping pills they gave me. I got dressed and looked for my car keys. Lanny, Don’s nephew had them. I didn’t have enough money to call a cab. I called Lanny. “I need my car keys. I’m going home.”

Lanny came to the hospital. I was so happy to see him. He told the nurses I was trying to leave. They took me back to my room, gave me a shot and kept me more heavily sedated after that.

If I were in Odessa, I’d go to the cemetery and trim around her grave. I’d put fresh oasis in the vase and a bouquet I’d made. Salmon colored roses and butterflies, baby’s breath. I’d collapse over the warm grave and cry until there were no tears left. I’d apologize to her. I’ll cry anyway and apologize anyway. I have been all day.

And now, I will abandon my plan to figure out what is leaking in my house. My hot water heater, I think. I tried to turn off the water to it so I could drain it, but the idiot who hooked it up didn’t put a separate cut off to the hot water heater. If I turn off the valve, it cuts off the water to the whole house.

And Will just called. They are going to a music festival. Can I kid and dog sit for a few hours? I’m happy to.

After all, life goes on.