“Uh-huh.  Could you lower her bed for me?”  Carol asked as she slowly moved Tina’s body down and made her comfortable under the sheet.  Carol turned to Bette. “I know it seems odd, but you should talk to her as much as possible.  That sort of stimulation does help.  Talk to her, sing, comment on life, anything.  She might not be able to respond yet, but keeping those synapses spiking does help her.”

“I know.  It’s just that I don’t know what to say.  I’m afraid I’ll make it worse if I try to talk to her and start crying.”

“She won’t be like this forever.  Talk about your future.  Tell her what you’re feeling about the baby.  Tell her about your friends.  I know they all want to see her.  It’s your call as Power of Attorney, but having her friends here will help her, too.  She’s not gone, Bette.”

“I know.  I know.”

“Maybe you could bring in some of her favorite music,” Carol suggested.  Bette recalled the way she and Kit had sang to Melvin in his last days.  They had sung his favorite song, Rusty Old Halo.  She knew the song had comforted her father and in many ways it had soothed her.  She didn’t want to, couldn’t go there with Tina.

Bette nodded, then returned her concentration to her daughter who was sucking down Tina’s milk with flourish.  The nurses left them to their lives in this small room.

* * * * *

A Week after Angelica’s Birth

“Well, hello Baby Sis.  Good to hear your voice this morning.”

Bette stood and frowned as she stretched out her back and tilted her neck left and right.  She was sore from her vigil.  “Hey, Kit.”

Kit turned to look at Tina.  “Good morning, Miss Thang.  You need to open those big brown eyes and greet this day, Tina.”  She looked at Bette.  “How’s she doing?”

“The same.  No change.”

“I saw my niece in maternity on my way up.  I had to stop to see little Foxy Brown.  Bette, she looks just like you did when you were a baby.”

Bette smiled.  The one good thing, wonderful thing about this week was Angelica.