Shane’s birth was hard fought.
Three miscarriages, two failed rounds of IVF, a week in Mexico to relax and regroup before she and David began seriously pursuing adoption, and one final, positive pregnancy test. David liked to joke that they picked up a hitchhiker on their way home from Mexico. Their wonderous, miraculous Shane.
Before Shane was born, Yuna had been angry often, that things couldn’t just be easy, especially when it came to their family. Because she loved David, she had always loved David, and David loved her. But David’s parents didn’t love her, especially at the beginning. And her parents didn’t love David, not even now. Not even after all these years. And Yuna spent years with her mother’s vicious voice in her head, whispering, wailing even the universe knows this isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s meant to be, that’s why you have no children, that is why they won’t stay and live and become—
And then came Shane.
There’s a video Yuna loves, from Shane’s first day of kindergarten.
He’s five, standing on the front steps of their house, wearing a bright red polo shirt and khaki shorts. The cowlick on the back of his head refuses to be tamed, and he’s missing one of his front teeth.
“What’s your name?” Yuna asks from behind the camera.
Shane giggles. “Mommy, you know my name!”
“We need it for the record!” Yuna replies with a laugh. Shane grins.
“My name is Shane Hollander!”
“And how old are you, Shane Hollander?”
“I’m five!” Shane shoves his hand forward like a guard at the crosswalk, showing off his five tiny fingers.
“Wow, you’re five whole years old?” Yuna asks, the awe in her voice genuine. She doesn’t know where the time has gone.
Shane laughs again, “You know I’m five, Mommy.” The laughter makes his brown eyes squint. She loves him. God, she loves him.
“And where are you going, today, Shane?”
“I’m going to kindergarten!” He adds a little jump of excitement, or maybe nerves, at the end of the statement.
“That’s so exciting! A few questions for you, new kindergartener, Shane Hollander: what’s your favorite color?”
Shane points to his shirt. “Red!”
“And what’s your favorite food?”
“Spaghetti!”
“And what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A hockey player!” Shane says immediately with a shout, jumping off the front step entirely. The smile on his face could light a ship’s way home.
“A hockey player?” Yuna asks, honestly a little shocked. Shane loves hockey. She knows he loves hockey. And it’s normal for little kids to say they want to be professional athletes. And Shane is athletic, fast and lithe, with pretty incredible reflexes for a kid his age, David always says it. Yuna just—
Well. Hockey is dangerous. And Shane is her miracle baby.
Her tiny, breakable, miracle baby.
“Yeah! I’m going to play for the Montreal Metros and win the Stanley Cup!”
Yuna grins through her most-likely irrational fears. “You know that’s Mommy’s favorite team?”
“It’s my favorite team, too!”
“Well, Shane Hollander, winning a Stanley Cup is going to take a lot of hard work.”