My Angel on Earth: Part III
My aunt asked Mom to make sure Eryka and Kinsley were safe. She said, “Belinda, kiss Kinsley on the back or the neck, that way I’ll know it’s you.” A mother’s instinct is often right. My aunt knew her own baby, Eryka, was struggling. Eryka had a challenging labor, suffering from pre-eclampsia, a rare condition in pregnancy characterized by high blood pressure. Due to these complications and Kinsley’s low heart rate, the doctors decided to move forward with an emergency C-section, which involved more complications. I won’t go into further details because Eryka’s husband, understandably, doesn’t like to relive this part of the story. Despite this scare, Kinsley arrived on this earth healthy and a little over four pounds with a birthmark on the back of her head–close to her neck. Thankfully, Mom was there. Eryka recovered later that day, and Mom passed away the next day. My aunt said that Mom had a smile on her face.
We could all attach so many different meanings to that parting smile. I’m sure part of it was Kinsley. Mom told Auntie Allyson in her final days that her job would be to watch over the kids from the other side. Eryka thought Mom held on long enough to guide her and Kinsley through the storm; she said Kinsley’s birth is a reminder that God’s plan is greater than our own. Auntie Allyson said that the birthmark is a sign from Mom and God. She also thought Mom held on one more day to make sure Kinsley had her birthday all to herself. I think she’s right. That’s how Mom was, always thinking about us kids. Uncle Eric, who I later found out was feeling uneasy about his granddaughter’s birth for a few days leading up to the labor (hence, the silent Black Uber), was grateful that Mom helped usher Kinsley into this world before she made her transition. Dad felt the same way. A few days before, Mom said to Dad, “Honey, I’m ready to take the walk. I spoke with Jesus.” Dad said she held on for Kinsley.
The entire family became overwhelmed with grief and gratitude. Another mix of emotions that was hard to process but I later realized are a meaningful part of being human. Grief and gratitude felt inextricable but not complementary. Like they’re not supposed to coexist, even though they often do. Our well of gratitude deepened because we had experienced such great loss. We all moved through these emotions together. Our conversations reflected this tension. Moments of guttural tears to impassioned reflections about the wonderful times we spent with Mom and words of gratitude for Eryka and Kinsley’s health. We were also all overjoyed when we saw the birthmark—a little divine sign that brought us comfort in our time of need.
Like Mom’s parting smile, we could attach so many different meanings to Kinsley’s birth. The one that stands out for me is hope. The prospect of Kinsley’s arrival allowed me to hope for kinder and brighter days. It allowed me to dream up all the ways I could reflect Mom’s love in my role as godmother to Kinsley. Kinsley would know Mom through me, Dad, Eryka, Auntie Allyson, Uncle Eric, and the rest of the family. I realized that my goddaughter is a sign of hope. Hope helps give life meaning when things don’t make sense. Hope helps you envision a better future when you’re facing a harsh reality. Hope helps you survive your darkest moments. Kinsley is hope. The day before I got my angel in heaven, I got Kinsley—my angel on earth.