Calling Me Home

by Julie Kibler

“Sometimes babies come at the wrong times, but they can still be blessings if they are welcomed and loved.”

“You love that boy of yours, Dorrie. And you’ll love any child he brings into this world, no matter how or when it happens, you hear?” The thought of being a grandmother at age thirty-six was almost more than I could take. But Miss Isabelle said it as if I had any choice about whether I’d love my own grandchild.

THE HEART IS a demanding tenant; it frequently makes a strong argument against common sense.

I wished I could climb inside her memories beside her. I wanted to see the things that still gave her happy thoughts after so many years.

What did they do with babies with unexpected characteristics? Perhaps a physical defect—a cleft lip?—or exotically turned-up eyes that hinted at lifetime supervision. Or a baby with dark skin, born to a young white girl. What happened to those babies?

One wedding was in bitter January. The second was in late, bright spring. My mood had been spring the previous January, and was January that spring.