It was then that Valerie
told me something that, no doubt, influenced her decision to keep the baby.
“Dr. Bill, there’s something I never told you. I didn’t want you to use this
information against me. I so much wanted you to be as neutral, as possible. My
mother…. almost aborted me. She told me this a couple years ago. It was before
my Dad and she married. They had a similar situation, and Mama was pregnant out
of wedlock.
The difference is my Dad
didn’t try to talk her out of keeping the baby, well me. Her parents, my
grandparents, pressured them some, and they considered doing it, but finally made
a decision that allowed me to live. How could I kill my own child when my
parents faced the same situation, and gave me an opportunity to live? As much
as I thought about it, as close as I came to doing it, I just couldn’t.”
Valerie’s counseling process
was considered short-term counseling, as was the therapeutic intervention I
offered to all my clients. It was designed to last 8-10 weeks, though I’d met
with a few clients for as long as a year, and others came in sporadically over
the course of several years. In the scheme of things, our sessions were a bit
different than those I usually conducted, as other than providing her
information, (which at times I asked her to write down in the notebook all my
clients kept) I allowed Valerie to bring those issues to the process which she
considered most pertinent any particular week. This sort of intervention seemed
to work out well in the case of clients who found themselves “in the midst of a
muddle.”
After three months had
elapsed, and Valerie had told both her parents and Sandover U. about her
pregnancy, we both concurred that she’d done enough in the context of
counseling. By this time, Valerie had been dismissed from Sandover, and an
off-campus girlfriend was allowing her to room with her for a few weeks. She
told me she’d remain in touch, as she had opportunity, but the next few months
seemed very uncertain. She would be returning home in a couple of weeks. Her
parents had agreed to take her in. They had been verbally demonstrative about
her pregnancy, until she told them about her diagnosis a few days after the
first revelation. Her mother paused, the phone was “dead air” for a moment, and
then her mother began to sob, and Valerie finally hung up the phone since her
mom seemed unable to continue. Her father called her later that evening, and it
was obvious he had also been crying. It was at this point that her parents’
demeanor changed altogether. They couldn’t do enough for her. They couldn’t
love or care enough for her.
“Come home, Valerie. Please
come home. We’ll beat this thing together. We can help you make a decision
about keeping the baby, or giving him up for adoption.”
Before my young client went
home, my wife and I took the opportunity to buy her dinner at a nearby
steakhouse. (As I previously inferred in this volume, I don’t conduct my
therapeutic intervention and relationship as clinical counselors were prone to
do). Valerie was in the second trimester by this time, and her swollen belly
seemed to contradict her thin frame. As I said goodbye to her that day, (and as
I write these words, I can still sense the emotions of that moment) she wrapped
her arms around me, and held on the longest time. I admit, I was a bit
embarrassed at this development; right here in front of God, my wife, and
everyone. But I wasn’t prone to deprive Valerie of her rightful expression of
joy and the closure recent weeks had accomplished. She was blessed… and she
knew it. I was blessed to have had the opportunity to intervene in the life of
this precious young woman. I whispered a couple sentences in her ear, (and what
I said that day, my readers, is none of your business) and kissed her on the
forehead.
I never saw or heard from
Valerie again. I can’t really account for that. I have never regretted having
had the privilege of intervening in her life. I had little doubt that, as long
as God gave her breath, she would make a difference in lives and live out her
own life the best she could, under the circumstances. But as the years sifted
into the proverbial hourglass of time, I thought about Valerie several times a
month. I might as well have forgotten my own mother or sister.
One spring day, it was
perhaps seven years after I finished my work with Valerie, I was at a local
garden center buying some perennials. I ran into Ms. Blair, the R.N., who had
referred Valerie to the counseling center. We hadn’t seen one another for quite
some time, as she and her husband had decided to attend church in a nearby
city, and I had lost touch. It was providential that we met that day.
Ms. Blair saw me first, and
hurried up to me. Rather than wearing the common expression which accompanies a
greeting, she looked pensive, as if dreading the news she was about to divulge.
“Bill, how are you and your wife?” I responded that I was quite well, “thank
you.” What she told me next shocked me to the depths of my very soul. “I have
news from Valerie. Well, not from Valerie exactly,.. but of Valerie. I received
a call from her sister a couple months ago. She and her parents had moved to
South Florida. She named her son, Christopher. He was born HIV Negative,… and
has remained negative.” When she said this, something inside of me smiled. I
couldn’t have been happier had Michael Anthony (of classic TV fame) walked up,
and told me he had an envelope for me with a million dollars in it. Her story
continued.
“It seems Valerie met a nice
guy, a Christian man, at a singles event at her church. They immediately hit it
off. After a short time, she divulged her HIV Positive status to Jim. It shook
him up for a short time, but they talked it through, as he knew he loved her,
and they continued to see each other. About a year after they met, they
married.”
“Jim loved and treated
Christopher like his own son, though he had two other children from a previous
marriage. Evidently Valerie had very good taste in men, as after a great deal
of training, and several promotions, Jim became City Manager for a very large
city in South Florida. Bill, I’m sorry to tell you that after a couple years of
marriage, Valerie began to develop skin infections, and experienced a bad
cough, and she was diagnosed with full-blown AIDS.
In spite of the medication
she had been administered for so long, she grew weaker. She died two years ago.
I’m so sorry. I know you
cared immensely. Her sister told me Valerie often spoke of your kindness to
her, and how grateful she was that you came into her life when you did.”
Well, my readers, I was
overwhelmed with grief. I could not have felt more momentary sorrow than if
someone had told me my own daughter has died. As I near the completion of this
chapter, and recount this portion of my story, tears well in my eyes.
As Ms. Blair finished, her
voice broke, “Her family surrounded Valerie, as she lay in the hospice room,
and she died peacefully. Her sister told me that just before she passed, she
took Jim’s hand, and the hand of her son, and joined them together. Jim
recently adopted Christopher, and Chris took his last name. Though the boy has
had a hard time, after the death of his mother, he is doing well now. He is
healthy and happy.”
I thanked Ms. Blair for
providing me her update. I never dreamed when I drove to the garden center that
day that I would receive such momentous news. Over the following months I
experienced my own private grief, as a result of Valerie’s passing. I would
have liked to have spoken to her a few times over the course of those hidden
years, at least hidden to me, and I would have liked to have spent a few
moments with her on that day she left us.
I have no doubt Valerie is
in a better place now, and I can only rejoice that her son is in the care of a
good man. And I suppose he must be approaching manhood now. Christopher might
well have remained a theory, a figment, a non-entity. But I rejoice that a
young man moves, and breathes, and lives today, as a result of a mother’s
willingness to spare his life, and this counselor’s good fortune to intervene
in the life of a precious young lady, who deserved a long and prosperous
journey, who left us far too early, but who bequeathed something rich and
tangible of herself to this world,… the life of her dear son.
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