“Not with any flu,” I said. “It’s just emotional, this weather, the pregnancy and now this kidney stone will not pass.”
“I got extra water, maybe you should drink some more.”
“Maybe.”
“How’s Jeff?”
I sighed out and hung my head. “Oh, Sam, he’s bad. He’s so bad. And it breaks my heart. He’s a good man.”
“You’re family is together, that’s a positive thing.” Sam said. “We’re supposed to head out tomorrow.”
“I know. But we also know, no matter where we get to, they won’t let Jeff through.”
“Yeah, we do.” Sadly, Sam nodded.
“And we’ll probably run out of gas before that anyhow. He won’t be able to make the walk.” I paused. “What should I do, Sam? I can’t leave him. I can’t take him. He doesn’t deserve to die out on the side of the road. He doesn’t. But…”
“Stop.” Sam held up his hand. “They’re saying we have three days. We’ll see that fire over the ridge. Hell we’ll feel it. We can wait.”
“But the kids…”
“We’ll get then kids to safety in plenty of time.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I said. “You can go.”
“Nah. You guys are all I have. I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with this grumpy old man.”
At that I just grabbed him and hugged him. Poor Sam didn’t know what hit him. He certainly didn’t expect it. I needed to. After a moment, he finally responded and returned the embrace. It felt good. I was a woman on the brink of breaking, physically and mentally. I had reached my end and I just needed something, someone to hold on to. Sam was it.
I was so emotional I couldn’t speak. If I could, at that moment I would tell him, grumpy old man or not, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Somehow though, even if I didn’t say it, Sam knew I felt that way.
TWENTY-FIVE – THIS STONE WILL PASS
July 14
I found myself sitting there, staring at Jeff. Watching him breathe. Watching him struggle. His chest rising and falling at a slow pace. I did so for the longest time after everyone was asleep. Until Jeff opened his eyes, looked at me, and said, “I’m not dead. Yet.”
He smiled. For the last several years I have fought, struggled, to remember why I married him. It took until he was so close to death. So close to me losing him, for me to realize. It was that quirky sense of humor that had me from the starting gate. The one that came out at the oddest times was the number one reason I fell in love with him.
I started to think back and reflect on when we first met. How I was absolutely miserable working at the quick mart back in Los Angeles. He came in for chewing tobacco and there was a minor earthquake. As corny as it sounded, he made me laugh when he said, “That’s a sign you should go out with me. See? We can move mountains.”
Then he started singing Carole King’s, It’s too Late. Of course, I had no idea what that was.
That was our beginning. In a crappy convenience store the day of a four point one earthquake.
Now here was our end.
In a beautiful home on a Father Knows Best Street a few days after the earth was scorched.
Ironically we started and ended with a jolt from nature.
Though, according to Jeff, he wasn’t dead yet. There was still a chance of a miracle. I prayed for one. I would give anything for one more chance with Jeff, for him to get well.
I told him I was sorry more than once, I wanted badly for the chance to show him how sorry I was for the last few years.
I was happy. I just didn’t realize it.
I did love him when I didn’t show it.
At the end his breathing was labored, but he was fighting. The late night into early morning was spent between sitting with Jeff, going up to check on Tag, then back down the stairs.
Just as the sky lightened enough for me to look at the clock and realize I had been up all night, I made up my mind to get some rest. I had been in that chair next to Jeff all night.
The house was quiet and I noticed there was a different tint to the outside. Previously it had been greenish, but now it looked orange.
Worried, hands bracing the arms of the chair, I stood and that was when it hit me.
The achy and sharp discomfort from the kidney stone felt like a burning knife in my back. The sensation shot through my abdomen, radiated down my groin and to my thighs. As soon as I stood, my legs weakened and a ripping pain struck between my legs and it felt as if my vagina was being torn from my body.
As if I weren’t already overheated, I was thrown into a sweating frenzy and my stomach knotted and twitched. The room spun around me and I was in so much agony, I wanted to scream. In fact, I tried. But the pain was so intense it inhibited me from making a sound.
Help.
I needed help.
There was no way I was making it up the stairs and even trying to call for someone to help me was impossible. My faculties began to leave me and I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I staggered my way from the family room to the front door, holding on to what I could to stay upright.
My name was called, but it was hard to tell who was speaking it. It was slow and distorted, muffled as if put through some sort of voice distorter.
“Tess … Tess ... you all right?”
Did I shake my head?
I tried to answer, but I couldn’t and I pushed open the screen door. Maybe I needed air.
The second I stepped outside, everything spun and blurred. I grasped the porch railing with two hands, descended the two steps and as another unbearable pain blasted me, I caught through my peripheral vision, the two graves in Bill’s yard.
My God, they’ll be digging one for me, I thought.
I was next. Surely, with this much pain, I was dying.
Across my yard, barely keeping on the path, I wrapped my arms as much as I could around my stomach and moved in a zigzag fashion.
Where was I going? What did I hope to find?
“Tess.” My name was called again.
Then I saw Sam open his screen door. It gave me a sense of salvation.
Sam, help me, please help me, I begged in my mind. Please.
He saw me, and he raced out.
Then along with the pain, I felt an enormous sense of pressure just before I felt something ‘pop’, and with that came wetness, a lot of it, running between my legs.
No. My legs buckled and I dropped to the yard, landing on my knees. Fearful, I reached down to my thighs and to the dampness.
Had my water broke?
I felt the warmth there and then lifted my hand to eye level just as Josh and Sam both arrived at my side.
My fingers trembled. I was crushed when I saw what covered my hand. It wasn’t amniotic fluid or urine. It was blood, so much blood.
Suddenly upon seeing the blood, came the horrific realization that I wasn’t passing a kidney stone, after all.
TWENTY-SIX - EMPTY
It was over and I knew it. I wanted to just stay put, but Josh swept me up into his arms and took off running with me. He carried me the entire way to the church where he knew Dr. Stanley had set up camp.
Sam was with us.
Both of them kept giving me words of encouragement.
Hold on, Tess, We’re getting you help.
Was there help to give?
My body bounced in Josh’s arms as he ran with me. Each bounce sent more pain through me and then the worst hit me. It not only grabbed me physically but tore at my soul when I felt the need to bare down.
I was still in Josh’s hold.
Again, everything was still a blur, and I could only hear their voices.
“She’s bleeding,” Josh said. “Pretty bad.”
“She’s been sick for days,” Sam said. “Said it was a kidney stone.”
“Set her down here,” Dr. Stanley instructed.
The moment, Josh laid me down on a cot I felt another contraction and fought the urge to push.
Dr. Stanley laid his hands on my stomach. “This isn’t a kidney stone.”
“It’s too early for the baby, right?” Josh asked. “She’s only like six months.”
I saw the look on Dr. Stanley’s face. He simply said, “Yeah,” then looked at me. “Tess. Tess, listen to me.”
“The blood. Why is there so much blood?” I asked breathy.
“The heat, the lack of water, the stress…” Dr. Stanley leaned close. “This isn’t gonna be good, okay? I need you to work with me.”
At that moment Ray came over. “Is there anything I can do?”
Dr. Stanley nodded. “Find Janice. We need to get her blood. Tess, do you know your blood type?”
“A,” I answered.
“I’m A,” said Sam. “You can take my blood for her.”
“That will work, go with Ray,” Dr. Stanley returned his attention to me.
I was certain more was going on than I was able to comprehend, but I was overwhelmed with the phase of bearing down. My eyes drifted to the roof of the tent. Voices meshed around me.
It wasn’t happening. Yet, I knew it was. I transitioned from being in excruciating pain to the point of feeling an end. Relief was near.
Josh grabbed onto my hand, while Dr. Stanley finished rapidly undressing me. No sooner were my shorts off my body, I ejected into a sitting position and was no longer able to contain the desire to push. Nature took over. It was out of my control.
I believe it was only two pushes, and the sounds of my own cries, my own heavy breathing along with Dr. Stanley and Josh’s words of encouragement became nothing more than ear deafening silence the second my child was born.
No one said a word.
I closed my eyes tightly, rested back, bringing my arm over my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Tess.” Dr. Stanley said. “I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t look. I didn’t want to look. I truly believed at that second, if I didn’t open my eyes it wasn’t real.
It was real. It was painfully real.
Never in my wildest imagination did I think for a single second that I wouldn’t give birth to a healthy child. A lot of things about my unborn baby crossed my mind not one of them was about me losing him.
I was not mentally prepared for it. Yet, I had to face it.
Josh covered me and Dr. Stanley approached my side holding a towel wrapped bundle.
“I can take him away…”
“No.” I whimpered. “No. I need to see him. I need to hold him.”
With Josh’s help, I sat up and Dr. Stanley extended the tiny bundle to me.
My heart broke as I tried to cradle him in my arms. He was fragile and weighed barely anything. His eyes were closed as was his mouth. He had a peaceful look on his face that was smaller than a baseball. His hands were inconceivably small.
Despite how beautiful he was, he was missing one thing … life.
He never got to take his first breath. He was robbed of that.
I would never get to hear him cry or laugh. The only thing I could do, the only thing I had was the chance to hold him.
And I did.
<><><><>
Dr. Stanley said that there was nothing that could be done. That my son, had passed away in the womb at least a day or so ago and my body was just expelling it. Expel. It sounded so harsh, and when Dr. Stanley said it, it showed on his face that perhaps it wasn’t the right word choice.
It was harsh. But nothing wasn’t harsh about what had happened.
The warning signs were all there. But I didn’t see them or somehow refused to believe them.
One moment I thought I was fighting a kidney stone when in actuality I was fighting to keep my child inside of me.
I lost.
He lost.
Despite what Dr. Stanley said, my son, didn’t die a few days earlier. I felt him kick. I know I did. Or did I?
Having a stillbirth was no different than a live birth … physically that is. Emotionally it is a whole other ball game. There was no pain with a gain, no exhilarated feeling of happiness that made the pain seem to disappear. The only thing emotionally that was the same was the overwhelming instant love. A love that brought heartache.
I still had to deliver the afterbirth. At least I stopped bleeding so badly.
It was still morning, I had received that blood transfusion and rested, and then after Reverend Ray gave me some clothes from the church bizarre, I headed home. Sam ran to the hospital and found a wheelchair. Sitting in it, I felt pathetic. I wanted to cry, just curl up in a ball and break down. But I couldn’t. I had to be strong, keep going.
Once again, I asked Josh to run to my house, to let everyone know what was happening. That poor boy was the messenger of bad news. I was very grateful to him and Sam for being there.
“Are you, okay, kid?” Sam asked. “I mean, physically.” He rolled me down the road. I carried my lifeless child in my arms. I hadn’t named him; I wanted to do that with Jeff.
Poor Jeff, he wanted this baby so badly, promising that this time around he was going to do it all, that he wanted to do it all and I could enjoy life and not be bogged down with diapers and midnight feedings. I wanted to believe him, but I knew Jeff. It was a nice gesture though.
“I feel better,” I said. “Physically.”
Sam stopped rolling me. He brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered. “I’m so sorry Tess for what you are going through. I am.” He kissed the top of my head and moved on.
We ventured the rest of the short distance in sad silence.
When we arrived back at my home, Jeff was out on the porch. Again, his dismal appearance took me aback. He stumbled to stand, and tried, he really did, to walk to me. But he was too weak.
Sam brought me to the edge of the porch where Jeff stood holding on to the post.
Nicole came flying from the house, as did Julie.
I hated the way they looked at me. Full of sadness and pity, my heart was already broken.
Slowly I stood from the wheelchair and walked up the few steps to Jeff.
He whimpered when he saw me with the bundled and covered baby.
“I’m sorry, Jeff,” My voice cracked.
I stood directly in front of him and he took the baby, softly breaking down as he did. He didn’t unravel the blanket to see, he just brought the baby to his chest and then reached out for me.
Nicole reached out for me. Julie reached out.
“Marmie, we’re sorry.” Nicole said kissing me on the cheek.
As I stood in Jeff’s weak embrace, Julie embraced me from behind. “I love you, Marmie. I’m so proud of you for being so strong.”
I closed my eyes tight to hold in the tears. Before walking back in the house, Julie leaned down and kissed the bundled baby.
“I’ll leave you two to have your privacy,” Sam said.
Jeff stepped back and looked around me. “Thank you, Sam, for being here for my family.”
“I love them. I’m not going anywhere.” He placed his hand on my back. “Take care of yourself, Tess. See you in a little bit.”
Jeff looked at me. “I’m not gonna say the word sorry, that’s a given, I wish I could have been there for you.”
“I know.”
He peered down to the baby. “We wanted to call him Russell. We need to give him a name before we bury him.”
“Russell it is.”
“Hey, Russell,” Jeff said softly. “I know you hear me somewhere. I don’t want you to be scared, ok, or lonely, cause I’ll see you soon.”
“Jeff …”
“No, Tess, I will,” He passed on a tight-lipped smile then looked back down to the baby. “I’ll hold you for your mom, I’ll be there. I promised her before you were born that I had it covered.” He looked back up at me. “I guess I will.”
“My heart is broken Jeff.”
“Mine, too.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ll get through this, Tess. It’s gonna be a long road, but I’ll tell you what, there coul
dn’t be a better person than you to lead my family into tomorrow.”
I held on to my weakened husband, knowing it was taking everything he had to be strong at that second. To stand up, hold our son and me.
We stayed on the porch only for a little while until Reverend Ray returned.
Just like the day before when Bill buried his wife, we buried Russell in the front yard.
It was a horrible day, one I would not soon forget. The only saving grace was there wasn’t time to mourn, to feel self pity, there wasn’t time for that at all. We just had to go on.
TWENTY-SEVEN – BOURBON
I was pretty useless the rest of the day. There wasn’t much physically I could do. I wasn’t in pain, but I was weak and when I moved too much, I would bleed. I had to remember I had a day or two before that let up.
There was nothing about me that felt whole. I was hollow, emotionally and physically. But there was so much to do, to get ready. It seemed cruel and sad that our departure hinged on when Jeff would die.
Tag hung out with me, but seemed scared of Jeff. I couldn’t blame him. Liam on the other hand didn’t know Jeff before he was sick and actually pestered him quite a bit. Jeff didn’t look to be left alone.
“Bother me,” he said. “Surround me with life. It’s the last I will see.”
By mid afternoon, the outside temperature was only ninety. Though that sounded high, it wasn’t in comparison to what it had been. We moved to sitting outside. Watching the sky. There was an orange hue to everything and it wasn’t bright. The sky west had a hint of pink. I also saw a steady stream of smoke. At first I worried it was the fire, but then common sense kicked in and I realized it was burning bodies.
“It’s been like that since I can remember,” Jeff said. “Worse when I was searching for Nicole. Hot as hell.”
“It was hot here.”
“No, I mean, unable to breathe hot. The only reason I made it through that heat was I kept breaking into any business I could find and dousing myself with water constantly, I think at one point it hit one-twenty.”
I listened to Jeff talk, he had his wits about him, and it was hard to imagine he was so sick. A part of me truly thought he might get better.
By Way of Autumn Page 11