I sat in the passenger’s seat, as we began to travel from our small home town of Stuttgart, AR. It was early that morning, so very few people were on the road. I kept my head turned to the right, looking out of the window at the cotton fields, and miles of plowed land. My children’s father was driving. The silence between us was louder than any argument we had ever had. It was like getting on a bus and sitting next to a complete stranger. I rubbed my hand up and down my stomach. A light stream of tears ran down my cheeks. I felt unsure, confused, ashamed, and afraid. We hadn’t told a soul. No one knew but us, and God. We were headed to Little Rock to have an abortion with our second child. The closer we got to our destination, the more disconnected I felt. Then out of nowhere, my children’s father pulled on the side of the road, and said, “I can’t do this. I wasn’t raised like this.”
What he meant was, we both were brought up in families, and a time in society where abortions were frowned upon. Despite our upbringing, we both had thought terminating the pregnancy would be the right decision for all of us. I wasn’t even of legal age yet, and we already had one child together. He had several from previous relationships. No matter the blame; the atmosphere me and their father shared was unhealthy, and at times toxic. So having another child at that point just seemed unimaginable.
We went ahead and did the unthinkable, and decided to keep this little life that had invaded our lives. The minute we agreed to keep him, is the moment I fell in love with him. We all had become spellbound over this new entry into the journal of our world. Even our oldest son, Jalen, who was only a year old at the time would touch my stomach, and say “ba bruda;” his rendition of Baby Brother.
The summer of ’96 was long, hot and sticky. I went into labor that morning, and gave birth to my second baby boy on a Saturday, June 22nd. I didn’t have to think at all for a suitable name. I knew my baby would have the name Carrington long before he was born, or even conceived. It’s what I had planned to name my child since I was a child myself. I got pulled away from the name by family with my first child, but not with my second born. He would get the name he was meant to have; the name I longed to give my baby since watching one of my favorite childhood TV shows; Dynasty. The lead character, Blake Carrington was everything; intelligent, strong, wealthy and powerful. I had fallen in love with that name; or maybe I had fallen in love with what it stood for. Either way, my boy’s life would be destined.
Carrington was so beautiful. He had a head full of cold black, straight hair. His forehead was even hairy. He was deep almond complexion, with a big bright smile. Carrington was the friendliest baby I had ever seen. When he wasn’t smiling, Carrington’s father thought he held his lips pushed out like he was about to “sip” from a cup; giving birth to the moniker he would forever be known as; Sip.
We would only experience Sip’s life changing presence for twenty three -blink of an eye- years. He was born, and he was loved. He lived and he loved. Then he was taken. He didn’t just die. There’s a grave difference. Sip was taken out of this world faster than he was born into it. When I think about life without his presence, the manner in which he was taken, and the catastrophic circumstances surrounding Sip’s death, my mind briefly diverts back to when he was the child I almost didn’t have.
What if I had gone through with the abortion that twenty three autumns ago. What if I never had the chance to know and love Sip. What if I never birthed this son I later lost. Why would chance have it that a child I chose to bring into this world, someone else would come along shortly and choose to take him out of the world. Would it have been better to never have known Sip, than to love him so deeply - then lose him just twenty three years later; so abruptly and so brutally.
Although the pain is piercing, and the devastation at times feels deadly; I’d still chose to give birth to this child that was mine. I would always take those short twenty three years I had him on this earth; in my life. I would choose his smile over the warmth of the sun, and the light of the moon. No winter wonderlands, nor sunsets over the oceans could compete with not even one more gaze into his eyes. If I had to do it all over, I would choose to have Sip 1000 times. I would choose his life again and again, before I would ever consider mine.
