Page 8 of When We Collide

My chest tightens when I see my tiny baby lying in an incubator, barely bigger than a doll, with tubes and wires attached to his delicate body. An oxygen mask covers its tiny face, making it hard to see the features underneath. His skin is wrinkled and translucent, showing the delicate veins and blood vessels beneath.

“Oh my God…” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from the image of my baby. Tears pour over and stream down my cheeksas I use my index finger and thumb to zoom in. “He’s so tiny and… and… lifeless.”

“Hey, hey, I know it looks bad with all the wires and IV drips, but I promise you, Jey, he is doing very well. His vitals are strong and steady.”

“I should be with him.” I cry as Oscar takes the phone from me and sets it on the bedside table before he turns his attention back to me. “I’m his mother, I should be there with him, holding him and offering him some form of comfort, not stuck in this room while he fights to stay alive all alone. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Oskie.” My body shakes with hoarse sobs that reverberate in the hospital room.

“I know,” Oscar answers and stands before he sits on the bed and carefully gathers me into his arms. “I promise you he’s not alone. I know it’s not the same, but Ashlyn and I have been close by keeping an eye on him ever since he was born and until you are able to go and be with him, we won’t leave his side, okay, I promise you.”

“I can’t lose him too, Oskie, I can’t.”

Oz presses his nose into my hair while his hand strokes my back soothingly. “You won't,” he whispers back fiercely. “You did everything you could to protect him and keep him safe inside you for as long as possible. He has the best possible chance of survival because of you. And before you know it, we'll be taking him home and you'll be holding him in your arms in his nursery, singing him that song you've been singing throughout your pregnancy until he falls asleep.”

Once the baby started to move and kick—especially at night—I would sing mine and Dean’s song to him and he’d stop almost instantly.

“The nursery isn’t even finished.” I sob woefully into his chest.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that, all right? Just focus on your recovery and getting back on your feet. Try and get some sleep.”

“I can’t.” I sigh, wiping away the endless stream of tears that continue to roll down my damp cheeks.

“Why can’t you?” Oscar questions pulling his head back to peer down at me.

I let out a frustrated sigh and meet his gaze. "My thoughts, they just keep racing, and whatever I do, I can't seem to silence them.”

“Hm, okay,” Oz utters in response, a thoughtful look crosses his handsome features. “Happens to me too, nothing a little distraction can’t fix. I brought you a couple of books and magazine, have you tried reading them?”

“No, I can’t focus enough to take anything in.”

“Music?” I tip my head back and look at him, “What?”

Whenever I was feeling restless and had trouble sleeping, I would lay my head on Dean’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, and he would quietly sing ‘In Case You Didn’t Know’ to me while playing with my hair. The memory hits me like a wave, filling me with a bittersweet ache.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t tell porkies, Pinocchio.” Oscar insists and playfully touches the tip of my nose with his index finger. “There’s something, tell me.” Sighing, I hesitantly explain to him what Dean would do when I couldn’t sleep. That was a Dean and me thing. It would be weird to now do it with his older brother. Even if they did sound alike.

Oscar's expression softens as he listens, understanding the significance of the memory. He smiles and sits in a position that’s more comfortable and gestures with his head for me to lay down.

“Thanks to you and Dean, I've memorized the song since it’s all I’ve heard since before your wedding and you’ve had it on repeat for months now,” he teases with a smirk.

“Oskie, you really don't have to—” I start to protest but he cuts me off.

“Lie down, Jeyla,” he asserts in a firm yet gentle manner that silences any further objections. With a nervous sigh, I comply and rest my head on his broad chest. The familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with fabric softener envelopes me and offers a sense of comfort and ease.

Oscar’s fingers gently weave through my hair, and for a while, I lie there in serene silence, attuned to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he softly sings the lyrics to the song. With my eyes closed, his voice resonates with a familiar warmth, almost indistinguishable from Dean’s. Though I know it will never be quite the same, in that moment, it’s enough to quiet the turmoil in my mind and cradle me into a peaceful slumber.

The three weeksfollowing the birth of my son and my subsequent surgery have been a turbulent whirlwind of emotion. After enduring ten gruelling days confined to bed, I am finally able to stand on my own two feet again. Though I am not fully recovered, the relief of being able to move without excruciating pain is immeasurable. And the greatest joy of all is being able to hold and feed my newborn son.

There are no words that can adequately convey the overwhelming emotions I experienced the first time I held him in my arms, breastfed him, or heard his tiny cries. Week by week, DJ—short for Dean Jr.—grew bigger and stronger, and after what felt like an eternity, we were finally allowed to take him home.

Those past six weeks had been a harrowing experience, filled with both trauma and agony. But now, the hardest part was behind us.

As a new mother, every day feels like a blur as exhaustion consumes me. I often lose track of what month it is, or even what day of the week. My days and nights have become interchangeable as DJ refuses to sleep for more than two hours at a time. It seems God has blessed my child with a set of powerful lungs. For the first month, I would sit up with him throughout the night as he cried relentlessly, as if he were about to burst a lung. Neither Oscar nor I got any rest. In tears, I lost count of how many times we rushed him to the paediatrician,convinced there must be something wrong with him. But after countless tests and scans, they found nothing abnormal.

As I sat on the floor of the nursery, tears streaming down my face, I could feel my sanity slipping away. DJ's cries pierced through my ears like sharp needles and my attempts to soothe him were futile.

One night Oscar walked into the nursery and found me on the floor with a screaming DJ in my arms, sobbing helplessly.

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