On Aug. 28 at 2:14 p.m., I received a phone call from my cousin, Eva. Getting a call or text message from her is nothing out of the ordinary, given the frequency of such an occurrence, but this day was different.
I answered with a casual, “hello” and she responded, in a hoarse and quivering voice, “can you hear her?” She then moved the phone away from herself toward the source of a shrill wailing – her daughter, Abigail Monna Faith, who had been born 68 minutes prior.
A tingling feeling spread throughout my entire body and my eyes began to water and she asked again, “Can you hear your niece?”
Overcome with joy, I started spewing out the thoughts rushing through my head in the form of frenzied questions: “How big is she?” “What does she look like?” “Are you OK?” “How long are they keeping you?” And probably another five questions all within the span of seven seconds.
Eva calmly chuckled and then slowly and clearly responded to each of my questions and sent me a photo of Abigail so I could see for myself. The call ended with her promising to call me as soon as she was sent home and the two of us frantically telling the other “I love you.”
It was a call I had been eagerly awaiting all day, and the reason I had barely slept the night before, as she had texted me at 11:51 p.m. to say, “It’s time!,” succeeded by a series of updates until 9:30 a.m.
The sense of relief and serene excitement she exuded after it was all said and done was practically tangible. She had been eagerly awaiting the moment she could hold her daughter on the outside for the last month of her pregnancy.
I am always excited when my friends and family welcome a new child, particularly when it is my sister, Cori, or my closest cousins, sisters Melanie and Lyndal. Even though I have only one sister, her three sons – Logan, Levi and Laine – are not the only children who call me “Auntie Kim.”
My sister and I are separated in age by a span of eight years. This meant I was 11 years old when she moved out of our parents’ house. It also meant that for about eight years leading up to that point, I severely annoyed her. Lyndal and Melanie – Cori’s juniors by two years and one year, respectively – found me less annoying and more entertaining, and so while they are also quite a bit older than me, they always treated me like their equal and their friend.
Eva and I have also always been quite close, as we are separated by an age difference of only 13 months. Eva is an only child and in many ways, I felt that way from the age of 11 onward, as I no longer lived with my sister. Therefore, we clung to each other as sisters, as we also did with Melanie and Lyndal.
As adults, we now refer to each other as “cousisters” and Melanie’s two sons, Lyndal’s three daughters and Eva’s adopted son and newborn daughter all know me as their aunt, just as Cori’s boys do.
Abigail’s arrival affects me quite profoundly, not only because of my fondness for her mother, but also because of her namesake. Monna, the first of her two middle names, was our maternal grandmother’s name.
As a child, Eva would come down to our family’s hometown of Vulcan during summer vacation to spend several weeks with our family, staying at grandma’s when she did. As my parents’ house is directly across the street from my grandmother’s, Eva’s arrival often meant the two of us could not be found for hours on end, as we gallivanted throughout the small town, attempting to get ourselves in trouble.
When we did find ourselves in trouble, it would not be with our parents, but with grandma. With our parents taking a short break from dealing with us, grandma became our summer guardian. Chores, games, freedom, punishment - everything was under grandma’s control. While she would be stern and authoritative when necessary, she also showed us frequent patience, kindness and love – often more than we deserved.
Her death in June 2007 completely destroyed us. The morning we found out, Eva and I met at the Southland LRT station in Calgary to travel to Vulcan with Melanie to see our family. When we greeted each other at the platform, we embraced so tightly it stopped my breathing.
As of the time of writing this column, I have yet to meet Abigail. I cannot wait until I do. I cannot wait to hold her, talk to her, watch her grow, learn to speak and become her own person and see whether that person shares any similarities with the woman for whom she is named.
If the person her mother has become serves as any indication, she will be like her – like both of them – in all the best ways.
