The intuitive healer slid her hand under my tailbone and pressed on my stomach gently. She moved to the top of the table and cradled my head breathing deeply. I smelt something awful. I think it must be sewer or something dead under the floor boards. No, it’s coming from the healer, it’s her breath. I try to hold my breath so I won’t smell it. She finally moved to the bottom of the table and held onto my feet, “I see a being, it’s a boy” she said. “The spirit must be trapped in your face, that’s why your cheek is twitching. We need to move the spirit into your heart, focus on moving the energy into your heart.” For a brief moment I believed her. Is it the baby I’ve been so desperately trying to have, or is it one I’ve lost that I won’t let go of? But that thinking didn’t last long, I can’t wait to get out of here. The healer started to move back towards my face and pressed on my twitching cheek, oh no, I thought to myself, that smell, just hold your breath, don’t open your mouth, it’s almost over. “Today it’s $75” she said. “I offer a full intuitive healing session though you should come back for.” I gave her the $75 but felt ripped off and never went back.
Month: February 2015
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Baby Boy Homer also has a birthday in February, the 26th. He would be 28 years old. The nurse told me I needed to hold him before I left the hospital. She handed him to me all wrapped up in a blanket. His eyes were big and brown, his cheeks round and soft, but his skull was large. He had been born without a brain, at least that’s what my teenage mind remembers them telling me. He wouldn’t be able to live for very long. I wasn’t allowed to keep him anyhow, my mom said. She told me at the hospital she almost turned back home while I was being driven away in the ambulance. She didn’t know I was pregnant. No one knew. Baby Boy Homer died a ward of the state. I’m not sure where he spent his last days or how. I moved on with my teenage angst and we never talked about the pregnancy.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 