My neighbor, Doris Greene, came over one day to talk to my mother. She looked scared and excited at the same time, a strange combination for her. She is the mother of a sixteen year old son, Fred, and an eight year old daughter, Yochabell. Doris had just received a phone call, one that changed her life that instant. She found out that at age thirty-eight she is expecting another child. She spent every spare moment preparing for the baby. She bought a crib, rocking chair and changing table for the nursery. She also bought bottles and toys and books. She painted the nursery light yellow. The color of the walls was nice and bright, but not so bright that you felt blinded walking into the room. It made me feel like I was lying in the sun on a nice spring day, one with a gentle breeze. A day like that doesn’t come around often, but when it does you savor every moment of it.
When the due date neared. Doris’ husband, Fred, asked Doris would ask her every day, “Do you have your bags packed for the hospital yet?” Every day she would reply with the same “Yes I have my bags packed.” The tone in her voice when she would reply to him grew more strained everyday. The sweet humor had subsided and irritation had begun to settle in. Fred knew that he had to go to New York on business the first week of December. He told Doris that he would find a way out of it, but she insisted that he needed to be at the meetings himself. She assured him that everything would be fine, that he would be home with plenty of time left till the baby’s arrival. Fred reluctantly left for New York.
On December 8, 1993 at 11:20pm Doris’ water broke. Her husband had reluctantly gone to New York on business for the week, leaving their son Fred to be the man of the house. Fred, her son, ran to our house and rang the doorbell in the most obnoxious manner. He just kept ringing the doorbell until I finally answered the door. When I answered the door he told me “My mother’s water broke”, I immediately ran to my parents’ room to inform them of the news. My mother put a pair of shoes on, grabbed her bathrobe and car keys, and told me to watch Doris’ kids while my mother took Doris to the hospital. We stood outside and watched as my mothers pale blue station wagon disappeared around the bend in the street.
My mother called around 10:00am, she said “Doris just had a son. His name is Joshua Lee Greene. He is 8 pounds 7 ounces and 21 inches long.” The Greene’s house was very happy and very different for several months after Joshua’s arrival. The whole house was different. Baby toys and big kids toys alike were all over the floors where could have walked safely once before. There was always a pile of dishes at the once empty sink. Doris was always so happy, but the 3am feedings were beginning to show on her face. There was always coffee in the pot, the coffee pot itself being a new investment. Doris stayed home from work until summer break started for us, that way we could watch Joshua while mom and dad were at work. Doris said “I don’t want just anyone to watch my baby. I think it would be best if only family and close friends were to watch him. I can trust them to take good care of him.” I think maybe she had seen one too many reports on nannies abusing the children they watched.
Over the summer, Fred and I took care of Josh and Yochabell, while his parents were both at work. We often went into the backyard to let Yochabell go swimming in the above ground pool behind the house, while Fred and I would take turns watching Josh. We would take Yochabell and Joshua to the park and on occasion we would take them to the beach or the skate rink. It was really nice to have a pool in the backyard for Yochabell to go swimming in, also Fred and I. It got pretty hot that summer. We all welcomed a jaunt in the pool. Yochabell loved to go swimming, she especially liked when Fred or I would play games with her in the pool. I suspect that was mainly because she was once again the center of attention. She was the baby of the family until Joshua came along. I don’t think that she resented Joshua being born or anything. I think she really enjoyed having a baby brother to help take care of. She just wanted some of the attention she received when she was the “baby” of the family.
One warm, sunny June afternoon, however, Yochabell and I were playing around in the pool while Fred was inside bathing Joshua. The doorbell rang, and when Fred went to answer the door, he left Josh in his bathing tub with about an inch of water in it, not thinking anything of it.
A few minutes later, Fred came storming outside, hysterically crying and screaming. A look of terror covered his face as he proceeded to tell me “I … I, Josh , he’s … he’s not breathing.” Fred looked like he was going to be sick, right that moment.
I did not want to believe it, however, when I went inside to Josh’s tub I found Josh laying face down in his tub. I checked for a pulse and could not find one, nor could I find a breath. Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation did not help either. I began to feel ill as I thought about what had just happened. We were responsible for Joshua’s care. We had messed up, and it was not something we could simply apologize for. We couldn’t fix this. We couldn’t even begin to fix this if we tried. Joshua lost his life that day because of our neglect.
I went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, almost as if I were on auto-pilot. I dialed 911. I answered all their questions, not even thinking twice as the words came out. I said to the person on the other side of the phone “The baby isn’t breathing, I tried CPR. I don’t know what else to do.”
When I went to pick up the phone to call Doris, I remember the phone feeling as if it weighed 10 pounds. Once I finally moved the receiver to my ear it was time to dial the phone. I could hardly dial the phone though. My fingers felt like they were made out of silly putty, they seemed incapable of pressing the keys. Somehow I managed to dial that phone number. As the phone rang on the other end, part of me hoped that no one answered the phone. I felt overwhelming guilt due to the fact that Josh was my responsibility as well and I was not there when I should have been. When Doris picked up the phone I could barely get the words to my lips in order to convey this tragic message to her. My lips trembled as the words passed through them. I don’t remember what I said to her that day. It was as if my mind and body were in two different places that afternoon.
Two days later was Josh’s funeral, all of the family had shown up. And of course there was plenty of family there. South American families are known to be very tight knit, all of the family shows up for everything. Fred and I tried to hold back the tears as we stood in the hallway, just past the bathrooms, in attempt to avoid confrontation by the family. Neither one of us wanted to talk about what had happened, even worse was the thought that someone might hold us responsible for what had happened. That is not to say that we did not think we were to blame, we just didn’t want to hear it.
Fred and I have never talked about that day back in June of 1994. We have both simply tried to move on past that, maybe even to forget that it ever even happened. I know that I can’t make that day disappear, but I don’t like to think about it. Maybe that is not a good thing to do, to just pretend like it never happened. We are not the only ones though, no one talks about it, and no one talks about Joshua anymore. It is almost as if he was not born that December, but we all still remember him. It is just that there are no signs of his existence in the house and no one ever mentions him. The picture that was taken at the hospital has been removed from the wall. The yellow walls have been repainted white, simply because we had some extra white paint in our garage.
Painting the walls of the nursery white was therapeutic. It was such a clean fresh color, one that made me feel as if everything had been wiped clean. The pain and guilt finally began to subside little by little with every brush. The paint did not erase all the memories, pain or guilt that we all felt. The paint merely helped the process to begin.
It is a time that and a place that has since been forgotten by many, but still lingers on in the hearts and minds of two families. Since that dreadful day we all went back to our normal lives. All of our parents had gone back to work shortly after the funeral. That fall Fred and my sister went back to high school, my brother went back to middle school, Yochabell went back to elementary school, and I went back to college. We have continued on with life, maybe only because we know that life will go on without us if we allow it to.