Her umbilical cord uncut, still tethered to me, her eyes found mine across the room. They were watery green, large, full of ancient wisdom, and as I stared into them, that was the last time I belonged to myself.

I stared straight into her eyes and hers remained transfixed on mine. She had a glint of recognition. 

Like she was saying, “So this is you?”

“You who called me forth into existence?”

“You, whose heart beat was my daily song?”  

“You whose blood provided me with hydration?” 

 “You who nourished me with your flesh and bones?”

“You whose emotions I felt in my cells as they formed?” 

“You whose every joy and sorrow is engraved into my neural pathways” 

“Yes, I whispered in gentle response.  The words barely audible to anyone but myself. 

“She’s not crying!” Yelled the nurses in a harsh chorus. Instantaneously, the doctor severed our connection and whisked her away. Slaps on her back…thump, thump, thump. 

 After which she is placed on a cold metal table, lined with a thin hospital blanket. The suction equipment that resembles stuff of alien movies is wheeled over. Her face is covered in a mask as oxygen is pumped into her lungs.

I’m surprisingly calm as the chaos goes on around me. I know she’s not gonna leave me. We belong to each other. And I know if she leaves, then so must I. And I’m not ready to leave, so she must stay.