Free Infinity's Daughter by Jeremy Laszlo Page B

holding my finger with his tiny hand, and my mother at her window, waiting in tears for no one to arrive, swept over my mind. I began to sob then, and Adelle pulled my head onto her breast. My shoulders shook, and my belly moved quietly up and down with my breath. I could only hope that the child inside of me was detached enough, as I was, to not feel my pain.
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered to Adelle through my tears.
    “No,” she said, “you have nothing to apologize for. It will all get better in time, trust me, dear, I have hope for you, it will all soften in time…” She held me and rocked me there, on the little floral couch.
    And that was when I realized. My enemy was time. It was not the flu, it was not my father’s carelessness. It was not my father’s curse. I was running against time. Trying to fight something that I could not overcome, even as I had traveled against it. Time was harboring me, and watching me get beaten down, over and over, in a cyclical manner. But time had no concern; it had no schedule and no remorse. As I lay there with my head in Adelle's lap, I began wishing that it would all just stop. That time would vanish, everything would cease to change, and I could simply exist.
    A few weeks later, in the chilling winter months in the dark of the city, I gave birth to my second child. A beautiful little girl who we named Susan Kay.

1914
    Adelle’s wisdom proved to be true. Little Susan Kay quickly became the light of my life. In the year 1914, Susan turned four the same year that our nation recognized Mother’s Day as a national holiday for the first time. Quite frankly I had forgotten about it until that time, and tried not to think of it each year as May rolled around, for the pain of picturing my mother, sitting alone in her house each year without me, hoping that my father was lucky enough to be there with her.
    But that year, in 1914, little Susan had learned of Mother’s Day. I expect it was Sam who told her. I woke up to find her dancing at the foot of my bed, with a little bundle of flowers and waving a card around. Her giggles woke me up, and she gasped and closed her mouth, cupping her hand over it when she saw me stir. “Sorry, Mommy!” she whispered. I smiled and motioned for her to come nearer. “Happy Mother’s Day,” she said, “You’re the best mommy in the whole world, I love you.” A smile spread across her little face, and she reached out with the gifts in both hands, her soft little cheeks rosy with delight.
    “Susan,” I smiled, completely overjoyed, “What is this?”
    Susan clasped her hands together and twisted back and forth nervously, waiting for my approval. I heard another noise, and saw Sam standing in the doorway, smiling ear to ear.
    The bouquet was tied with a little purple ribbon. It held daisies, baby’s breath, and some lovely soft pink roses. The card was hand-made, from the stationery we had in a little desk in Sam’s office. The cover of the card was a stick-figure family standing on a grassy hill under an enormous yellow sun with a smile on its face. The inside of the card read, in crooked and timid handwriting, I love you Momy, Your the best , with little pink hearts floating around the slanted characters. The biggest smile I could manage spread across my face, and modest tears of joy welled up in my eyes. I hadn’t been so happy in years. The joy that my daughter brought to me, in her good health and happiness, could not be explained. And on that first Mother’s Day, in 1914, I knew that Adelle’s words had rung true. My pain and my tragedy had opened up to unimaginable joy once again. I would hang onto it as long as I could. Susan was my everything and we were inseparable.
    My baby was a gorgeous little girl. She had Sam’s golden tresses, which fell in curls across her face and down to her shoulders. Her hair was light and elastic, and the curls jumped up from her shoulders and tickled her cheeks whenever she was