WELCOME HOME.

       The harbormaster calls out to the big boats, "Welcome, Captain! Welcome to Port Sanilac!" I stand on the dock, remembering.
       Port Sanilac is a "safe harbor." The boats are big, with welcome mats in front of their entrances. American flags are blowing from the north, standing straight out, and flowerpots are tipped over, toppled by the wind. The sailboats are like small floating houses. Their occupants are tucked in below, in the dark places they call home, waiting for the storm to blow over. I feel the wind in my hair and cheeks, and my lips are tingling with delight. Lake Huron's waves, one at a time, flow over my heart.
       I'm home again, not with Hope and Bill but with my godmother, Hazel, who is whispering that she has a story to tell me.
       Sitting at Hazel's kitchen table, drinking her hot coffee (she uses the cup used by her deceased husband Richard with his name on it), she says to me, "Yes, I'm your godmother, Erin. I'm kind of surprised, at this late time in your life, that you don't already know about this."
       "I knew you were my godmother, but you said there was more to the story," I reply, sliding my chair closer. Even with just the two of us here, there is tension in the room. Hazel folds her arms on her lap as she starts to speak, but I can't hear everything she is saying. My mind has flashed back to a recurring dream.
       Many nights I awakened with the feeling of ants climbing on my body, to find nothing there. In the dream the floor is hard, sandy; I crawl fearfully, with no place to hide. Hundreds of ants are crawling in circles. I can't keep my eyes off the ants. I want someone to pick me up, to save me from them. They are climbing up my white high-tops and into my diaper. When I put my hands down on the floor to crawl, they're on my fingers. I'm crying, waiting for someone to pick me up. Finally Hazel rescues me. Smelling like sweet cream, she wipes the ants off me, saying, "Now, there now, there, these little ants won't hurt you."

       Hazel is speaking now as I come back from my daydream.

       "I drove over to see Hope and Bill one windy evening," she is saying. "The storm door on their house was swinging in the wind. Opening the door, I saw the plastic curtains blowing in the windows. Your mother was in a back bedroom resting from having a heart attack after giving birth to Charlie. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Your brothers Mike, Butch, and Tony, were playing kick-the-can, while your brother Brian was chasing your sister Marianne with a kettle of hot water for a trick she'd played on him in school that day. 'Where is baby Erin?' I thought to myself.
       "I crept up the gray painted steps, smiling as I looked out the bare window, seeing your brother Joe and sisters Pat and Shannon playing in front of the chicken coop, trying to put doll clothes on the chickens. But then I thought for the second time, 'Where is the crying coming from?'
       "I started to panic, moving swiftly through the upstairs, looking for you. When I walked into your room, Erin, my heart sank. Denise was feeding you her bottle. She was only two years old, but she was trying to stop your crying. I felt sick. You had a red face, full diapers, and a horrible cough. Picking you up and changing you would not fix the situation. I stood there looking at you, Erin, and I said to myself, 'I'm taking this baby out of here now!' I stepped over the clothes on the floor and found a bath towel, changed you, and then wrapped you up. I gave you a water bottle with sugar in it. I walked right out that front door, too upset to have a conversation with your mother at all right then. I knew Hope was in over her head. But to be honest, I was madder than a wet hen. I had so much time and love for kids, while Hope just seemed to be having babies and not taking care of them.
       "It wasn't that they didn't love you kids, Erin. They wanted all of you. It was just that it was hard times for them, and Hope's heart wouldn't allow her to keep up the pace.
       "Well, when I got home, I called your mother. I told her, 'I've taken Erin. She has the whooping cough, and she needs medical attention. I realize that with all of those kids you are unable to get proper care for her, so I'm taking her until you feel stronger. Hope, I'm her godmother, and you're my friend, and I'm happy to do this for you.'
       "Hope paused and said, 'Yes, you are a godsend, Hazel.'
       "Erin, I kept you for over a year. You had your own room. Come with me." I follow her to the back bedroom, where she shows me a picture of myself in my crib. "Erin, I taught you how to walk. You even slept in your shoes. I loved you, Erin. You were a gift from God. Such a happy little baby!" She reaches over to me, touching my face as if she is blind, feeling her way. "On Sundays, after church, Hope came over for a cup of tea and watched you crawl around."
       "Well, Erin, I started to believe you were my baby. Fourteen months passed, and in December of 1958, for your second birthday, I decorated the house and made your favorite chocolate layer cake. Then came a knock on the door. Another guest, but not a party guest. It was Hope. I reached out to hug her, but she didn't hug back. Instead she started to cry.
       "'Hazel, you have done so much for me. In a lifetime, I could not thank you enough for the life you've given Erin. But she's grown up here for almost fourteen months, and she thinks this is her home. I can't live with that! I can't live without my baby. I'm afraid you're too attached. Erin thinks you're her mother, and that won't do.'
       "I started to cry, Erin. Hope was right.
       "'Please forgive me,' she went on, 'but I have to reclaim my daughter. No matter how many kids you have, you can never spare a single one.'"
       Tears stream down my own face now, and I wipe them away with my sleeve as I look into Hazel's eyes. "Hazel, please explain how my mother could have let me stay with you that long!"
       "Well, Erin, it was like this. Hope and Bill had hard times in their lives. They struggled more than most. It wasn't just that they didn't have money: they were also dealt some very sharp turns. They had a lot of pain in their lives.
       "Don't judge them, honey. They were God-fearing people, and your father was the proudest man I have ever met. You children were really all they had to keep them going. After Shawn died, your father was ready to dig his own child's grave until his family paid for the grave and headstone. Erin, that is a family on hard times."
       Hazel reaches for my hand saying, "Yes, Erin, I was devastated when I lost you. But your parents wanted you even more than I did."
       I hug Hazel. She is soft, smelling of a special cream I haven't smelled in over twenty years. I don't know, really, what to say. I just thank her, both for being a mother to me and for allowing me to go back to Hope, my real mother. I know that no matter what struggles my family ever has, home is always better for me. I'm a Quinlan.
       Holding both Hazel's hands in mine, I kiss her on the cheek, saying, "I feel overwhelmed, Hazel, and I need to go now. I'm very moved, but I'm confused, too." I realize that both Hazel and Hope made sacrifices for me, but there's so much to sort out.
       Hazel walks me to the front door, and in my confusion I look down at the floor. There are hundreds of red ants crawling around in a circle! I know that I crawled on my hands and knees on this floor as a baby, right here in this house. I know that Hazel loved me.
       I stay in contact with Hazel until she dies on June 30, 2002.