The raspy squeals of the crying infant brings Miguel out of his haze. He lifts his head up, aching body covered in sweat, his vision focusing on the wailing baby in the doctor’s hands. She’s covered in amniotic fluid, her head a cone shape, face red due to her distress—and yet she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. He panics slightly when the doctor hands her over to the nurse and she walks off to the corner of the room with her. He tries to get up, demanding to know what they’re doing, but is quickly reassured that they’re cleaning her up. And once she’s cleaned up, she’s wrapped in a blanket and handed over to him.
Miguel laughs happily, tears of joy trickling down his heated face. Her little hands are clenched into tight fists near her angry face, soft squeals leaving her tiny mouth. She blinks her eyes open, wincing from the light, but stares up into him. Soon, her crying ceases, and she just stares.
His heart fills with overwhelming love as his finger uncoils one of her little fists. She grabs his finger immediately and suqeezes it, and he smiles brightly, wiggingly her tiny hand.
“Welcome to the world, Gabriella,” Miguel whispers, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead. He nuzzles his nose against her head, taking in the newborn scent. He sighs, hugging her close, never wanting to let go. That one night of happiness felt like years of pure joy. He carried this bundle of joy in his womb for nine months. Spent nearly fifty hours in labor. And it took everything in him to push her out, feeling like he was going to be split in half. Now his daughter is in his strong arms, and he now sees how it was all worth it.
The countless mornings of running to the bathroom to throw up. Gabriella kicking his bladder and how he’ll waddle to the bathroom, legs squeezed together in an attempt not to piss himself. Or going to the store at random hours of the night to satisfy the weirdest cravings. Pickles dipped in chocolate. Oranges and hot cheetos. Peanut butter on steak. Absolutely the weirdest cravings. But here he is, crying in utter relief, happy to finally have his baby girl in his arms.
But don’t forget this is Miguel O’Hara we’re talking about.
And nothing good ever goes his way.
The next morning the doctor came in to check on Gabriella. Miguel watched with a happy smile as he did the routine check up. He kept the little crib close to his bed, as he felt he would go crazy if she was away from him. But he noticed the doctor’s frown when he checked her heartbeat. He checked it a couple of times before turning to Miguel, asking him if there was any history of heart disease in his family history.
Miguel didn’t know much about his biological dad. He knows he’s the product of an affair well into his adult years. He tells the doctor as such, and immediately asks if everything is okay with his baby girl. The doctor decided to run a few tests on her, and it turns out she’s suffering from a heart condition. There’s something wrong with her heart valves. Now, she’s able to live a normal life, but there will be complications. At six months old she’ll be able to receive a necessary surgery that’ll help release the burdern.
As much as Miguel didn’t like the idea of his baby girl going through such an invasive surgery, he knows that it’s the only way for her to live a healthy life. But for now, he’s going to indulge himself some father daughter time.
At home, he carries her around the apartment, giving her a tour of her new home. He shows her her little space in his bedroom, as he didn’t plan on them being apart until he feels comfortable enough for her to have her own room. Goodness, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for that separation.
Miguel holds Gabriella’s frail body in his hands, smiling down at her. “I promise to protect you always, mija.” She squirms in his hands, chewing on her hand that’s protected by a mitten. It’s just so she doesn’t accidentally scratch her face as most infants tend to do. He chuckles, kissing her cheek. “You are just too precious, did you know that? Oh, I’m so happy right now you have no idea.”
He spent countless sleepless nights tending to his infant daughter. His body ached every time he forced himself out of bed to feed her and change her. His eyelids felt heavy with every blink, his arms shaky as he holds her close to his chest and rocking her in the rocking chair. He sang a lullaby in Spanish as he burped her, patting her with enough force to pull the gas out of her stomach, but not enough to hurt her.
Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol,
arrorró pedazo de mi corazón.
Este niño lindo se quiere dormir
y el pícaro sueño no quiere venir.
Este niño lindo se quiere dormir
cierra los ojitos y los vuelve a abrir.
Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol,
arrorró pedazo de mi corazón.
Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol,
Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor.
Miguel’s chest rumbled as his accent came out, his tongue rolling with every syllable. It’s what his mom used to sing to him and Gabriel when they were little boys. And now he sings this to his daughter, his precious little girl who snores like a baby kitten. He places her back down in her crib only to wake up an hour later to tend to her once more.
As tired as Miguel is, he wouldn’t change these moments for the world.
Gabriella began to grow and become more expressive. Her little body became chunky, rolls on her legs and arms, another chin added. Her cheekys were red and chubby, squishing whenever she smiled. Miguel loved blowing raspberries into the rolls of her neck, laughing whenever she squealed and kicked her legs, little hands slapping him.
“Ow! Okay, okay, mija!” he laughed, holding her in his arms. “You didn’t have to hit papi, you know that, right?”
Gabriella flashed him a gummy smile, body wiggling in excitement. The rolls on her body jiggled, cheeks turning bright red, brown eyes twinkling. She squealed, chubby fingers reaching for his face. Miguel was growing a nice, hefty beard, right until she grabbed a handful and yanked it. For some odd reason, babies have inhuman strength, so she managed to rip out a tuft. Miguel hissed in pain, straightening himself up and rubbing his chin. Gabriella only laughed.
Miguel clicks his tongue, placing her in her bouncer and taking the hair clump from her tight fist before she made an attempt to eat it.
“You’re a very mean baby,” Miguel jokes, rubbing her head. She made a noise of distress of the hair being taken away, bouncing angrily and pounding her little fists.
“Bah bah bah bah!” Gabriella yelled at him.
“So much attitude already. I’m scared for the teen years,” Miguel chuckles to himself. He shaved his chin and wiped his face clean. When he went back to get Gabriella, she jumped backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape. Then, her bottom lip trembled and she began to cry.
Oh, she didn’t recognize Miguel without his beard!
“Baby, it’s me!” Miguel laughed, lifting her up from the bouncer and holding her close. Little tears streamed down her chubby face and he kissed them away. After feeding her, she became accustomed to him again.
His favorite moments with Gabriella were the mornings. After she hit a certain age of being able to lift her head up and roll around, Miguel allowed her to sleep in the same bed as him. He slept with no blanket, a hand on her back, snoring loudly. He made a pillow fort around the bed just in case she tried rolling off the bed.
During the early mornings, a hand would slap him away and he’ll be greeted by a smiling face, drool trickling onto him. Miguel would scoop Gabriella up in his arms and hug her, kissing her head. Not until he smelled the gift she left in her diaper and he’ll gag, getting up to change her.
Miguel bought a teddy bear onesie and nearly died of adorableness. Her little chubby face fit the onesie perfectly! He took her for strolls, bought her cute little outfits, attended every doctor appointment as well as the cardiac doctor to check the process of her heart. Fortunately, there’s no changes and she’s on track for surgery.
Miguel will admit her condition worries him. It wanders the back of his mind as he lived his day to day life with Gabriella. Sometimes, he’ll place his ear against her chest to listen to her heart beat, chancing the risk of her pulling his hair out. He doesn’t hear anything different, and she never looks like she’s in pain. As long as she’s okay, that’s all he cares about.
So, the question is, what went wrong?
Gabriella woke him up in the middle of the night with screeching. It wasn’t the type of crying he’s heard before. No, this one was gut wrenching and it brought fear to his soul. He immediately sat up and turned on the light, and noticed the slight tinge of purple in her cheeks. Miguel’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach and immediately rushed her to the nearest hospital.
The night was a blur.
A team of doctors and nurses surrounded her, attaching tubes and wires to her small body as she screamed, her little arms and legs kicking. He tried to get into the room to be by her side, because Gabriella needed him, but was escorted out of the room. He sat in the car closest to the door, rocking back and forth as he prayed to whatever god was out there to keep his little girl safe. For the next eight hours, he watched in horror as her little body swelled and seized, the doctors struggling to keep her stable.
Unfortunately, her brain began to swell, and eventually, the doctor took him aside to tell him the news.
Gabriella is brain dead.
Miguel’s ears began to ring as he slowly began to process this information. The world spun and he leaned against the wall to steady himself, his breathing labored. A knife ripped his heart apart, and he let out a gut wrenching scream, falling to the ground and pounding his fists against the floor. He screamed so loudly that it caught the attention of many. A nurse tried comforting him but he pushed her away. He pounded his fist over and over against the floor, curling into a ball and hugging his knees.
The pain tearing through his body is agonizing. His voice grows hoarse from his screams, settling for wailing and heaving. The pain of losing a child is something no one should ever have to go through. It hurt. It hurt so damn bad. He had to force himself off the ground to go be by his daughter’s side.
No, no this can’t be right. Just yesterday, Gabriella was laughing and wiggling on the ground, showing attempts of crawling. She beamed up at him with a jovial gummy smile, brown eyes twinkling and cheeks red. She slept peacefully against his chest, sucking on her thumb, twitching slightly in her restful slumber.
He carried her for nine months. He sacrified his time and his body for her. He gave up his sleep. He gave up what he wanted for her, because Gabriella gave him a life’s purpose. He always dreamed of being a dad. He always wanted a little girl.
And now she’s being taken away from him.
Gabriella is still breathing due to be on life support, but her body is limp and bloated, not a single thought in her head. She doesn’t look like a baby anymore. Her body tripled in size, her skin stretched and rubber-like to the touch. Miguel picked her up and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed, supporting her body in his hands.
Miguel fought against running away with her, as there’s no way he could pull the plug. He couldn’t lose her. Not yet. No way. He pulled her away from his body, cradling her body in his hands.
“Oh, my baby, I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his tears falling onto her swollen body. “I’m so sorry! I love you, I love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou—”
Miguel repeated those same words even as the plug was pulled, officially announcing her as dead. He refused to let her go for awhile, sitting on the chair in the room and hugging her close.
Miguel once held the world in his hands. He carried his only reason for living in his stomach, and birthed her. Every morning he got up. And every night, he went to bed. Miguel took care of a sweet little angel who eventually sprouted wings.
And now he holds her urn close to him in his bed. His tears soak his pillows as he wails sobbing, engulfing himself in grief. He still sees the little chubby baby sitting next to him with a jovial smile, bouncing excitedly and clapping her hands. But that’s a distant memory. A dream. Something he’ll never see again.
Miguel doesn’t think he’ll ever be okay. Even if years grow past. Even if he stops crying one day. He can busy himself with work. He can close his heart off to the world.
But one thing for sure, he will never be okay.
Ever.