"I don't want to look at your vagina." I stated, shaking my head and backing away.
"You HAVE to!" She whined at me, spreading her pink fluffy robe.
"Nope. I don't give into peer pressure. You know that about me." I crossed my arms.
"PLEEEEEASE!"
"Whining while sitting on the toilet is never attractive you know..."
"Neither is being a BAD best friend! LOOK AT MY VAGINA! I have to know if it is ruined."
"Fine, But I am not poking or prodding. I am not getting closer then 4 feet AND I will not lie to you if you have a blown out vagina."
"Deal!" she exclaimed
"I cant believe I am doing this." I said as I took a peek. "You know, normal people don't look at other women's vaginas after they give birth. It's not natural."
"Well????" she asked after I stood up.
"That was the grossest thing I have ever seen."
"OHNO!" she moaned, throwing her head back like a warrior woman who's vagina was just slain.
"No, I mean, your vagina is fine. It looks like a normal vagina. I am quite impressed actually. But in reality.... vaginas are sorta gross."
"You would be a horrific lesbian." Melanie stated while she dressed.
"DUH!" I replied.
Samantha was named after Molly Ringwalds character in 16 candles, Samantha Baker.
Her mom, Melanie, would call her Sammy Baker Davis Jr. and Sam would laugh and laugh.
When Samantha was born, I stayed the night at the hospital as opposed to her father. I will never forget the nurses faces when she walked in and I was spooning Melanie. Both of us highly opposed to leaving Sam in the NICU without us.
"They said only two could stay. We are the two that matter." I told the nurse. She shook her head and walked out.
Melanie and I hurried down to the NICU and scrubbed up to our ears. Both with laughter in our hearts. BOTH of us so excited to hold the little girl that lay behind the thick glass walls.
When she was placed at her moms breast, I rubbed her cheek and Melanie Mumbled "Please tell me why MY daughter looks just fucking like YOU!"
"Because Jesus is smart." I replied and chortled when Melanie socked me.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes."She is my wish come true Laurie."
It made me cry, because I know that it was the truth. I looked away to stay my tears and that is when my eyes landed on her plastic crib with her name emblazened on the side. SAMANTHA LAUREEN
"You named her after me?" The tears flowed freely then.
"Of course I did. You are her aunty. I hope it will help her grow up to be like you."
It touched my heart in more ways then I can say, even now....especially now.
1 year ago....
"Tell me what you want me to cook for you, when I break out of here Aunty."
I smiled at Samantha and shook my head. "Can you make your mommas mexican food?"
"Yes I can! .... Even better then her" She whispered out of the side of her mouth, like she thought her mom could hear her from whatever corner of the streets she was hiding out in.
"Then that will be amazing."
Sam nodded and smiled, then she sat back against her hospital bed.
15 minutes later Brandee and Emma excused themselves and I had to become the big bad wolf and make the little girl with cancer cry.
"I already know what you are going to say aunty." Samantha started.
My throat tightened, but I cleared it. "I don't think you do love."
Samantha sat back and tilted her face. Waiting to hear what I had to say.
"I am going to speak to you like the young woman that you are and I understand that the things that I have to say will not be easy for you to hear. But it is my job as your Aunt .....to say them."
"Okay Auntie."
"You are not being taken care of Sam. Your grandmother is doing everything in her power to keep Cameron in school and to take care of you and she loves it. YOU are a blessing to her."
Samantha smiled and nodded her head.
"Your mom should be here Sam."
"I know."
"She is too busy doing other things. And when I say other things I mean drugs. You know it and I know it."
"I know it aunty" she whispered....and then tears dripped down her face.... like a faucet had been turned on, and that faucet was led by her heart.
Samantha loved her mom SO MUCH.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, her mom would wake her up with homemade biscuits and gravy and the sound of music in the house.
Melanie was a wonderful mom.
She was into the church and she loved baking at Christmas time.
But that was before.
"Your grandmother is worried about your mom. Your mom is only worried about herself. SOMEONE has to worry about SAM. Someone has to take care of YOU.....Sometimes being a parent means being an asshole."
Samantha laughed through her tears.
"I am going to be an asshole Sam." and my tears joined her tears.
I hated doing this. I felt like I was grasping hope from her and stomping it into the ground. Hope was all she had.
Hope that her mom would walk through the door.
Hope that her brother would too.
Hope that things would calm down at home and her mom would become what she once was.
I was the harbinger of reality.
Hope killer.
There was no easy way to say it.
"I am taking you Samantha."
"What do you mean aunty?"
"When you leave here, you will come home with me and I am going to take care of you."
At first I saw relief etch her face....and inevitably.....worry. "But what about my mom?"
I wanted to sigh, but I held it in. "Your mom knows that the best place for you is with me....she has agreed to sign the papers love. I want to say I am sorry, But I try my very best not to lie."
The tears flowed freely then.
Big streams of tears, hitting her IV lines and my shoulder as I held her to me and prayed for the strength that it takes to be strong in the face of true desolation.
"This isn't forever sweetheart. This is only until you are strong enough." I whispered into her ear.
"Aunty, there is no place I would rather BE then with you. But what about Cameron? What about my mom? Who is going to take care of THEM?" she sobbed then. Into my shoulder and into my hair.
There it was. Her own fears displayed.
Not for herself.
But for them.
A few days later I was asked to step back, that her mom was ready to be there. I let Sam know that I was here and held HOPE that she would get the mom that she needed so very badly...I was happy (and worried) for Sam. Sam was hopeful (and worried) for her mom....
Samantha was 16 years old when she died.
I looked at her laying in that hospital bed, and all I could see was the little girl who used to wave her arms up at me "Auntie Low-lie, I hold you me!"
The way she jumbled the words made me laugh every single time, and inevitably I would scoop her up and hold her close to my heart while whispering how naughty she was.
She was a perfect little girl who excelled in school and tore through novels with the same ferocity as I do. She found strength in the words of others.
I have been angry at her mom for over a year. She was my best friend for 17 years. She was once an AMAZING mom, and excellent wife but always and even then...a lost soul.
Now I pray for her. I pray that she finds peace....
I have found peace for stepping back, when I should have insisted on moving forward.
Peace, Not in Sam's passing, but instead in her life. Her short but bright life.
Samantha laughed loudly and loved deeply.
She formed beliefs and forged friendships.
She wanted to be a hippie living amongst the wild things and making her own clothing.
In someways the death of Samantha cemented my belief in God.
Of course he took her.
Of course he did.
How could he not ease her suffering and implant her in a world surrounded by golden towers and perfect angels. She is one of them herself.
Laugh loudly.
Judge softly.
Go for it.
Love.
Forgive.
Samantha still lives.
She resides in the hearts and the minds of those who were lucky enough to love her.
