This picture was taken on JMichael's birthday - February 20, 2019. Charlotte is in our local Chestertown emergency room. I took her in because she hadn't kept anything down - not even water - for the previous three days. There were plenty of winter bugs making their way through the classrooms, and even though she didn't have a fever, I figured she was dehydrated and caught a stomach bug.
I was wrong.
Instead, Charlotte is due October 13, 2019. She's a Mom.
I took this picture of Charlotte at the shop I work in on the weekends - Bee Crafty. I'm standing at the counter and Charlotte is outside enjoying the spring day and this man sat next to her. His wife was inside browsing and for the next forty-five minutes, at least, Charlotte and this stranger shared a moment together. She told me later they talked about everything - the weather, what she wanted to be when she grew up, where he used to live, why they don't have a dog, if make up is necessary in high school. They talked and talked.
Charlotte swore to me that she did not have any reason to think she was pregnant that day in February. She knew, of course, that it WAS possible, but, she believed she was bulletproof. No one is. The doctor just walked in and said, well, you're not sick; you're pregnant. Charlotte cried. I sat. Spinning. The doctor then handed her a pamphlet with centers in the area that will perform abortions and told her to hurry - she's already two months along. Wow.
Charlotte announced to us all - doctor, nurse and me - that she would not be getting an abortion. She would carry the baby to term and maybe place it for adoption. Still crying. Still spinning.
Once we get home from the ER, Charlotte was worried that James would be mad. What good does being mad do anyone? James and I agreed - we aren't happy about it, far from it. But, it is what it is. Always go forward.
Over the next months, Charlotte still could not keep anything down - her diet consisted of anti nausea meds with ice pops and prenatal vitamins. She lost eleven pounds in a about two weeks and was hospitalized three times for dehydration.
We pulled her out of tenth grade and put her in a home/hospital program which lets the teacher come to her twice a week. She didn't attend that much, though, and despite the efforts of counselors and teachers, she will have to repeat the tenth grade.
Her plan is take the GED in January (she turns seventeen in December) and not have to go back to high school at all. She conceivable could finish her first two years of college before her class even graduates high school.
So, I'm a grandmother. James is a grandfather. We are still working out what name we will be called by. I'm leaning to Grammy and James is leaning to Pops.
Her sisters are supportive and completely turned off to getting pregnant. Good. Mom is amazingly supportive - not a harsh word, but, what can you do at this point? A baby is a blessing. That's what the nurses and insurance reps tell me when I call to make appointments and such and I say my 16 year old daughter is pregnant. I'm sure they're right; but, I worry.
Charlotte is a baby. She's sixteen. That's old enough, sure, but, she's a baby. She's nurturing; she's kind; she's opinionated and strong. She's actually going to be a great mom, I just know it. I just wish I had had about another ten years of her being my child instead of my grandchild's mother.
This time it was me. I hit a deer. I hit Ruth, to be precise. Charlotte named her Ruth as we sat on the side of the road and waited for the State Trooper to visit the scene and assign us an incident report number. Ruth couldn't stand, and as she struggled to make distance between the big black hunk of machinery that had just struck her, she kept falling back into the ditch. It was truly a sad, pitiful moment. 
