There were no words to describe the depth and breadth of Caracal’s exhaustion. He knew kids weren’t easy, yet he had never expected Heda to give birth to so many. There was never a moment’s rest and just one week into it, he was a complete wreck.
None of them would settle on this balmy May afternoon. When he caught himself fantasizing about smothering one or two of them—did they really
need both twins?—Caracal up and walked away without a single word.
He didn’t go far, just to the beach overlooking the mainland. He took deep breaths as he paced along the sand. After just a few moments, he sagged beneath a dune and fell fast asleep.
When he woke up, his head was much clearer than it had been since before the pups’ arrival. It was getting late and the sky was dark. Caracal felt like a deadbeat for leaving Heda alone with them for hours, yet he’d needed this time. He refused to be like Reyes. He would
never snap or touch any of his children in anger.
Slowly, he made his way back to his family with an apologetic sigh of,
Papa’s home.
This one does not sing. He is not soft. He produces no milk.
But the darkness is darker when his smell vanishes from the place it ought to be, long enough for a babe to believe the sanctuary is not returning.
Don’t worry, I’ll find you.
The pup shimmies around like a tiny pale lighthouse in an ocean of dark.
One of the twins wriggled forward as if to welcome him home, bringing tired tears to the young father’s eyes. He bent his head to nuzzle at the top of his son’s head, making no effort to guess if he was Judah or Malakai. It didn’t matter. His nudge soon turned into a kiss, his tongue brushing the soft furs between the babe’s sealed eyes, up and over the crown of his head.
After that little display of affection, Caracal gently mouthed the boy and lifted him, carrying him the remaining two or three steps into the den. He gently lowered his own body first, careful not to jar the infant. Once he settled near Heda’s hind feet, he lowered the grayish pup to the ground between his outstretched forelegs. He continued grooming him.
I’m sorry I was gone all afternoon,
he murmured, aware the boy could neither hear nor understand, though the words were for his wife as much as the children. Being your papa is so much more demanding than I expected. I think I’ll get used to it. I know I will. I just need to hang in there and pray to God for strength.
For a few moments, he said nothing, though his fond ministrations did not cease. He bathed Judah from head to toe twice over, then thought about placing him back at Heda’s flank to nurse. Instead, he rolled his tiny son onto his back and just stared at him for a long beat, resisting the urge to tickle that pale, pudgy belly.
My dad wasn’t great,
he murmured, but don’t worry, I’m not like him. I’ll never lash out at you, never raise my voice, never let my frustration get the best of me. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a goose beak in my eye. I’m going to be a good papa to you,
Caracal declared softly, looking up to include the rest of his family, to all of you.
There's a sensation of being soothed in an envelope of warmth, the sanctuary returns and seems to say- you found me!
Folded ears quiver with delight from the chain of waves running down over his nose and across his face, tracing his little spine over the tip of a shortened tail.
Then he’s suspended, ascended, gone is his belly from the soft nesting and for a moment he squirms in panic before being placed onto the sanctuary itself, where a heartbeat sounds much louder and fiercer than that of his counterpart and his own. He is still as he adjusts to the sudden change, feeling the vibration of gentle, familiar sounds, riding the ebbs and flows of each massive breath.
But ultimately he decides this will do quite nicely. He embeds within the coat of his father’s back, nosing around in a half-circle before bunching stubby limbs into one tiny gray bundle and promptly falling to sleep.
Judah does not know of God. It is salvation he finds first in his father.
The way the little boy tucked into himself against his father was like the answer to a prayer. He slept sweetly. The three others were quiet and still too, for the first time he could remember. Caracal drew in the sort of breath that felt like it scooped out the bottom of his lungs, letting it out through his nose. He smiled tiredly. He swore he felt God’s presence in this moment, imbuing it with a sense of familial peace.
Pressing his lips delicately to baby Judah’s forehead, Caracal muttered sweet nothings under his breath for a moment. And then words came into his head, his breath warm against his son’s pulsing fontanelle as he voiced them in a quiet burr:
God grant me the serenity,
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
taking, as He did, this sinful world,
as it is, not as I would have it;
trusting that He will make all things right,
if I surrender to His will;
so that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
and supremely happy with Him,
forever and ever in the next.
Amen.