I am haunted by an elephant. He hovers over my shoulder wherever I go. He follows me in the school hallways, sneaking along without anyone batting an eye. How can one hide a two-ton animal in plain sight? You simply can’t. The effects of such a presence leak into every aspect of your life. Even invisible ghosts have visible consequences.
It was the middle of June, and we were gathered together in the ultrasound room. After everything that had happened the previous winter, we needed some good news. Miscarriage has a way of breaking even the strongest heart, but this moment would be our redemption. The nurse jiggled my mother’s stomach, trying to get a better view. We had told her how much we wanted a boy, and she was anxious to find out if she would get to make our dreams a reality. We laughed to release the tension in the room, held each other’s hands in anticipation.
“Well, Momma, it looks like your wish came true!”
Our joy filled the sterile room, rang loud down the hall and settled around us. My sisters giggled and jumped. My dad shed a few tears. I was there behind the camera, grinning from ear to ear. Everything God had told me that night the first baby passed away was finally happening. He had promised me this brother and he was following through.
The nurse brought out a basket filled to the brim with stuffed animals. One would have the honor of holding my brother’s heart beat in its chest.
“We’ll let Dad decide since it’s a boy!”
“I think we should get the elephant because they both have a trunk.”
That’s the conversation that changed my life. A single, slightly euphemistic statement that brought my phantom elephant to life. I didn’t know it at the time, but soon every time I saw one of those massive creatures, my heart would swell with love and grief.
July came with more doctor visits, just-in-case check-ups and ultrasounds. When we went as a family, my sisters and I laughed in the back of the room, guessing at what formless blob on the screen was our brother-to-be. We joked about how the baby sat cross-legged like a true Indian and how his little hands covered his face. We left that day blissfully unaware of the error in my brother’s DNA, completely ignorant to the malformation in his organs.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later that the doctor called my mom to tell her about Trisomy 13 and the chances of her son’s survival. The practically impossible had happened to him. His thirteenth chromosome had been repeated by some mistake in his DNA replication. He was growing and growing with the wrong instructions from his cells. The wrong pattern was being used, creating a body that wasn’t meant to live.
“You’d be lucky to have a couple of minutes with him.”
My parents brought us into the living room one day soon after that. They told us to sit on the couch. They needed to talk to us about the baby. We sat down in a row, wondering what was going on.
“The doctor said that he isn’t expected to live.”
Then it was our turn to hear about Trisomy 13. We cried together as a family, something that became a regular activity in the coming months. I was broken and lost. How could this be the plan God had for us?
School started that August, life’s lame attempt at normalcy. It was my ninth grade year, the last year of junior high in my town. I was supposed to be on top of the world. Of course, I wasn’t. I was too afraid to tell my friends I had a dying brother at home. So I lived my freshman year alone. I went through the motions of school, and came home to despair. Some days my mom would be so down that none of the normal motherly chores would be done. She’d just be sitting around the house crying, almost always crying. She had begun grieving her baby the moment the diagnosis reached her ears. The rest of us seemed so far behind in the process.
My mother wasn't like me. Her friends knew what she was going through. Soon, people sent elephants of their own. My elephant wasn't the only one in the room anymore. Compassion drove our friends to great lengths to support us. They sent us gifts from across the country, found trinkets to show their love. Their elephants brought mine some company, but it still wasn't like having support of my own. They knew my mom, not me. If only I had been a little braver, then maybe we wouldn't have been as lonely, my elephant and me.
Months passed, and my loneliness consumed me. I cried silently most mornings, trying not to draw attention to my grief while desperately wishing for someone to notice. I walked to class with my elephant in tow, two-tons of hurt weighing down on my soul. I wore elephant bracelets on my wrist as a physical acknowledgment of my sorrow. One day out of nowhere, a friend asked what they were for. I smiled, so grateful for that tiny spark of hope.
“They’re for my brother. He has Trisomy 13, and they don't think he’ll live.”
“Oh, I think I’ll get one, too.”
One simple sentence, and suddenly a pet elephant didn’t seem like such a difficult thing to have.
December was fast approaching, bringing my brother’s due date with it. But it was only November, and I told myself I still had time with him. My elephant was getting antsy; breaking down became more common. It was the 10th when my dad picked me up from school. I got in the car and instantly felt the thick gloom in the air. He turned to me with fear and sadness in his eyes.
“It’s time.”
We got home and told my sisters that Mom was being induced. We’d get to meet our brother in the morning. They must have forgotten about the doctor’s words because they jumped and hollered without a care in the world. I stared at my mother’s face, her uncertainty as clear as day.
“Please, no. Not yet.”
I prayed. We were supposed to have a little while longer.
That evening I rode to the hospital with my parents as the family elephant dutifully followed the car. My sisters had stayed behind with our grandparents, who would bring them in the morning when the doctors were supposed to begin inducing. We waited in our room as nurses busied themselves around us. As the sun set, we laid down and slept on the rigid hospital couch. My elephant curled up in the corner. We would need our strength for the next day.
I was the last of the three of us to wake up that morning of November 11. I was about to get in the shower when my mom yelled for my dad.
“Get the nurse! Something just fell out!”
They ushered me out of the room, and told me to wait with my aunt who had just arrived. I left in my pajamas with greasy, unwashed hair and sat in a standard hospital chair. We waited until the nurse came and took me back to the room.
"They sent me to get her."
I walked in, more nervous than I had ever been in front of any other boy. That is until I saw his face. My parents had told us he wouldn’t look the same as everybody else. My father handed me my brother, and I fell in love. It didn’t matter that he had a cleft lip, that some things were a little different, because he was perfect, from his head to his eleven toes. As tears ran down my cheek, I stared, drinking in all I could of this precious baby in my arms.
“It’s going to be okay.”
My dad wrapped me in his arms as I handed my brother back to my mom. I continued to cry as I hugged my father. I had been so worried about that moment, and there I was. I felt truly alive with my love for my brother. Tears just kept coming. Despite how I appeared, I was finally at peace. All those months I had lived in fear, anxiously waiting for God to do something and there my miracle was. In my arms, I held the beautiful baby brother God had promised.
It had been 9:03 a.m. when my brother literally fell into the world. We loved him every moment he was here. We took a million pictures to capture it all. We were so overwhelmingly at peace and filled with so much joy. It was practically a zoo, with all the elephants in the room. On the bed, on our laps, and in our hands, elephants anywhere an elephant could stand. It couldn’t have been a more wonderful day. My sisters and I read books to our little brother. My mom changed his diaper. My dad prayed over his son.
Even as we laughed, our time with him was ticking away. His heart couldn't beat fast enough to keep pace with our excitement. His brain couldn't quite fathom our love. His lungs couldn't breathe in enough of this life. At 5:08 p.m., I watched as my brother took his last breath. I watched his skin lose the colors of life. I saw the blood rush to his head as he struggled to stay a bit longer. Four point seven ounces of perfection was ripped away from us far too soon.
That evening I left with my sisters and my grandparents. We went to my house, and I fell asleep in tears. The greatest day of my life had passed, leaving me with nothing but an elephant.
My now constant companion sat at the foot of the bed that night, watched over me and cried with me. He'd claimed me as his that day, and now he would never leave. He patted me with his trunk, laid himself down, and drifted off to sleep.
I remember the haziness of the next few weeks. We sat at home as people brought us food. Life wasn’t as vivid as the day my brother was born. I floated in and out of reality, escaping the feeling of time. Our emotions were so raw, seeping onto our faces with every little change. One moment tears would flow abundant, only to be stifled by the laughter in the next. Joy was so seldom that each little joke was savored for minutes on end. I remember my dad’s face as such happiness crept over him. The pain so clear, yet the need to smile overcame it. His demeanor would change as he threw back his shoulders and tears welled up in his eyes, the purest kind of joy blooming amidst our sorrow.
My sisters returned to school rather quickly, but I stayed behind. Their classmates sent us cards, and knew what was happening. On the other hand, I knew all that I would receive was blank stares and hard questions about my two-ton friend. My elephant wasn’t ready for such rejection and disregard. No way could I expose him when we both had healing scars.
For the next couple of weeks, I avoided school in favor of my elephant. He had taken it upon himself to never leave my side. Sometimes, he stretched himself across my chest, crushing my heart without any warning. I don’t think he meant me any harm; he seemed oblivious to his own size. Thanksgiving came and went without a brother for me to thank. My family and I clung to each other in the small confines of our living room. Eating and sleeping became our only reason to move.
I finally returned to school after Thanksgiving had passed. I made myself invisible, avoiding the obvious questions of my whereabouts. I tried to keep my composure, shushed my elephant when he trumpeted in the halls. I walked into the art room and made my way around the class to the shelf with our projects on it. As my teacher handed me my sculpture, she asked the question I’d been bracing for.
“Is he still with us?”
I sucked in a breath, unable to form many words. I nodded no.
“He was here for eight hours and five minutes.”
I could feel her compassion as tears formed in her eyes and she wrapped me up in a hug. There’s no doubt that she was thinking of her son-to-come. My elephant watched as the scene played out, savoring the attention. I sat back down with a little bit of hope in my soul. It’s amazing how much a single person caring lightens the load.
I went about my day, ignoring the trumpet calls of my invisible friend. I walked into the math classroom, and there my best friend stood, the only other one who knew what animal followed me around. She opened her arms when she saw me.
“Come here.”
That’s all she said. She didn’t ask any questions. She was simply there with love in her arms. My second spark of hope that day. My elephant was practically bouncing off the walls with all the thoughts coming his way. I can guarantee you’ve never seen anything quite like that, the most massive creature jumping around. It only lasted a little while, then he settled down. He sat next to my desk the rest of the day, begging for attention that I didn’t have to spare.
School went on like that, a circus of hide-and-seek with an elephant. He tried making scenes in the middle of class, but his two-ton temper tantrums went unnoticed by my peers. He’d sulk in my lap, not leaving room for much else. My life was consumed by an elephant, and I wasn’t given any choice in the matter. Grief had interrupted my plans and wretched havoc on my emotions. My brother was dead, and no one knew he had even lived.
Finally, ninth grade came to an end. I left the halls of the junior high along with the isolation that inhabited my days there. I thought the worst of it was over, but summer brought new challenges with it. My family flew across the globe to the beautiful little island of Oahu. There we explored new landscapes and terrains, but no matter where we went, a certain elephant couldn’t be shaken. Grief still hung in the air. We were there for a reason, and the day was fast approaching.
“Did you know his name means ‘ocean’ in Hawaiian?”
Oh, Lanikai, ‘beautiful ocean,’ the shore where my heart now rests. The waves crashing on the beach. Perfect weather. A light breeze. June 24 my family walked along a white sand beach, all of us together, his ashes in tow. The sun hadn’t risen. We were all alone. We walked until we came to a cove, a single tree jutting out into the water. I had already shed many tears as we watched the sun creep from under the sea. I drew my brother’s name in the sand as the others scattered flowers all around. My dad drew a heart and placed what remained of ours inside. We sat together holding hands, an elephant watching right beside us. Then, the wave came and swept my brother away.
“The wind and the waves still know his name…”
That song played in the background as my heart continued to break. I thought the worst of the pain had come at 5:08 p.m. on November 11, 2015, but I was wrong. The pain came in knowing it’d be a lifetime before I saw my brother’s face again. For now, I’d have to live for what he left behind, a family, a legacy of love.
I started high school in the fall. This time, I was determined to be on top of the world. I walked proudly in the front doors with an elephant that I wasn’t ashamed to know. I told my friends soon after, and suddenly my elephant was easier to see. He wasn’t as transparent, and soon, people started to move out of his way.
The funny thing is that the year before I believed I was alone in my storm. But this year, I was voted homecoming attendant of the sophomore class. I found a dress and rode in a car with a stuffed elephant at my side. I waved to the crowd, all my friends in the stands, and smiled. I was happy, and definitely not alone.
“OMG! She has an elephant with her!”
The girly squeal brought such joy to my heart where loneliness used to reside. How my tiny spark of hope had grown in only a year! I would never be the same, but I could learn to be okay. It’s amazing how a little love can put a skip in the step of a two-ton animal. I’d be walking to class, and he’d hop all around as my friends patted him on the head. They’d smile and wave, give him gifts on his birthday. It didn’t take much to contain him. Just enough courage to proclaim he existed.
“Who knew eight hours and five minutes would equate to a lifetime of change?”
I am haunted by an elephant. He hovers over my shoulder wherever I go. I’ve tamed him, he isn’t in control. I let him hang around in my memories and remind me that life is good. Despite all I’ve been through, I choose to believe him. Life is genuinely good. Bad things happen, but life isn’t the sum of every horrible circumstance. It’s much, much more. Life is experiencing the moments in which we are truly loved, no matter how fleeting. And I count myself and my brother among the lucky few who can honestly say:
“I have lived.”