by Juli Valenti
“Jess,” Ryan called, causing her to look up from her spot on the floor. He was turned toward her at his computer desk.
“Don’t. I just … I just can’t.” She dropped her eyes quickly, not recognizing her voice. Her throat was raw from crying and screaming; it startled her when she realized that this was the most she had said to anyone all day. Nothing seemed important to talk about since she had said goodbye to her son the previous day; nothing that would help, anyway. Ryan didn’t press for more, just turned back to his computer and sank back into the idle noise from the TV. Jessie was sure it was on, though she didn’t have a clue what was playing and she didn’t particularly care. The world was empty without him. The house was empty without him. She was empty without him.
Jessie looked around her newly cleaned living room. She had admittedly gone a bit crazy, moving absolutely everything that reminded her of him into his nursery. Pictures, blankets, clothes, as well as the bouncy seat he had loved so much, all of it, was now shut away in the blue-walled room. The room that had held so much joy just a couple short days ago, now held nothing but heartbreak and fallen tears. She wished she could shut the whole apartment into that room. Or shut her whole life into that room. The lack of baby reminders was a reminder in itself that he was gone. But she just couldn’t bear to see his things and not see him.
A tear trailed coldly from her eye. Angry, she wiped it away. The beer was supposed to make it go away, all of it. She stood up impulsively and threw her glass at the wall across from her. She watched with vindictive satisfaction as it shattered loudly, the dark brown liquid flying everywhere. There, now you are broken like me, she thought to the glass. She watched as the liquid spread down the wall, coloring a dark path, fascinated.
“JESSIE!” Ryan yelled, snapping her out of her mesmerized stupor. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Get a hold of yourself! I LOST HIM TOO, YOU KNOW.”
His voice was loud in the apartment, echoing in the small space. She merely stared blankly at him, honestly not caring what he said, or how he felt. He was functioning and she didn’t understand how that was even possible. Hell, she wasn’t even sure where he’d been yesterday, because it hadn’t been him holding her hand while her world fell away. Now that she thought about it, it had been her mother’s comfort that had kept her from hyperventilating after talking to her son for the last time. Where the hell had he been? Did she care enough to ask? No.
“I’m tired,” she said, voice soft, after her internal debate. She continued to stare at him, not bothering to clean up the mess she’d made. After a few un-blinking moments, she grabbed her blanket and pillow and curled up on the floor by the laundry doors. She couldn’t face their room. Every time she tried to lie down on their bed, her nightmare flashed back to her, warning her of something that she couldn’t change. Lying on the couch reminded her of Ryan’s search for Goose, and in turn, finding him. She was assaulted by awful memories in every direction, but this part of the floor was okay. It was safe. It was untouched by the horror of her life.
She heard Ryan picking up the glass, running the water, probably to wet something so he could wipe up the beer mess. She heard him sigh as he turned out the lights, shut the TV off, and his footsteps as he left the room. She heard him crawl into bed, and, finally, she heard nothing but her own breathing.
She didn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept since she woke from one nightmare to another. Jessie very carefully thought of nothing. Not moving, barely breathing, her only company her falling tears. She started to pray for God to take her pain away, but stopped. God had abandoned her four days ago, when she had her baby Christened. God was finished with her that day; He got what He wanted, and showed her so by taking him away only forty-eight hours later. He made that clear when she begged to trade her life for her son’s; her pleas were left unheard, unanswered, uncomforted. Yes. He had abandoned her, and taken the one person whose loss would utterly destroy her.
She tried redirecting her thoughts to books she had once enjoyed, but that only brought back the book she was reading before … just before. Jessie had always read books to escape her world, to be somewhere else for a little while, places with magic and the impossible, but now that thought seemed naive. Books didn’t take you away from the hell you were in; they just compact the idea that you are in hell, and wish you weren’t. She had long since thrown the book she’d been reading into the garbage. She could remember the cover, but couldn’t tell you the name, author, or even what it had been about. She no longer cared. That seemed to be her new theme.
Before long, the sun was beginning to rise, so she got up from her post on the floor. She robotically folded the blanket and placed it, along with the pillow, inside the linen closet. She walked slowly into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. She knew she was broken; she didn’t need a mirror to show her that. Jessie stood, debated the merits of changing clothes, but just couldn’t find the motivation to change out of her sweat pants and tank top. Decision made, she went back to the couch and flipped on the TV for noise. Another day without you, Little Mister, she thought.
Chapter Three
A knock at the door startled Jessie. She didn’t think she was expecting anyone, but then again, if someone had told her they were coming over, she probably hadn’t been paying attention anyway. Opening it, she found her mom and dad, their faces somber. She opened the door wide, moving out of the way so they could come in.
“Jessie, we have to go to the funeral home today. We have to talk to them about the … about details.” Her dad’s voice waivered, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. Feeling numb, she took a moment to take in her parents. Her mom, who was usually so tall and proud, looked beaten, her dark hair haphazardly falling around her face, her honey eyes tight with emotions held in check. Her dad, the blue-eyed, usually smiling man who’d she had always been close to, looked haunted. His healthy glow was gone, his face covered in stubble, and his shoulders were hunched, betraying his true height. He even looked thinner, which was probably just an illusion in the stupor she was in.
“Okay,” she answered, empty of any emotion.
“You need to go gather things for him, baby girl. Clothes to wear, and anything you may want him to – to take with him.” A single tear fell from her mom’s eye as she spoke. She wiped it away quickly, but Jessie had seen it.
Jessie just nodded and started toward the nursery. She hesitated, her hand on the door knob, trying to convince herself to turn it and push the door open.
“Do you want me to do it?” Ryan asked, coming up behind her, his voice small.
“No. No,” she said quickly, “I’ll do it.”
She turned the knob and gently pushed the door open. Entering the room, she shut it, and the others out, behind her – she had to be alone for this. The room was now cluttered, but still felt the same, as though a young infant should still be there. Tears filled her eyes as the loss of him hit her again. She could still smell his baby-clean scent and hear is happy gurgles. He should still be there.
Focus, Jessie, get what he needs and get out, she told herself. With calculated movements, she gathered the last clothes he would ever wear: his white silk christening suit, socks, a diaper, and his small, white, soft-soled shoes. She collected his favorite blanket from the stack of clean laundry in the basket, and his favorite duck rattle. A photo of Ryan and her from their anniversary went on the pile. Lastly, she pulled Dr. Seuss’s Fox in Sox off the bookshelf and added it as well. She placed all the items in a canvas bag, took one last glance at the cold remains of the once happy room, and walked out, shutting the door tightly behind her.
“I’m ready,” she said, pulling the bag firmly against her body in an effort to hold herself together. Her family looked at her, from her messy hair to her sloppy clothes, but none said anything. At her dad’s nod, they all headed to the car in silence, and started off to the funeral home.
***
Jessie sat at a long wooden table. The funeral director, Mr. Berna
, sat across from her. Though her family was fanned out around both of them, she still felt alone, ridiculously alone.
“I brought what you asked for. I brought him his blankie to keep him warm, and a rattle to keep him company. I brought the book we always read to him, and his clothes of course: the outfit, socks, diaper,” she said quietly, swallowing a sob. “I’m sorry; the diaper is stupid I guess. What was I thinking? He doesn’t need that now. I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Braden, please, don’t apologize. A diaper has always been a part of his wardrobe, it’s quite alright.” His voice was consoling, trying to soothe her. “Do you need a moment?”
“I’m sorry, yes. Please excuse me,” she said as politely as she could muster, but it still came out hurried. She stood, bumping the table hard enough to make it shake, bruising her leg, and rushed out the door of the funeral home. Once outside she fell to her knees in the bushes, retching. She hadn’t eaten in days, so there was nothing to ease the painful heaves. She stayed prone for a few moments then stood, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, and fished a cigarette out of the pack from her back pocket. She inhaled as she lit it, but felt no relief from it. Frustrated, she threw it down, stomping it out with her foot. Taking a deep breath she walked back inside.
The room hushed as she re-entered. There was a magazine open on the table with images of small wooden boxes lining the pages. Taking her seat, she pulled the magazine toward her and looked expectantly at Mr. Berna.
“Mrs. Braden, I was just telling your family about the models we offer in the size that you are shopping for.” She snorted at his use of the term ‘shopping,’ but waved her hand for him to continue when he paused. “We currently have three to choose from: one white, with a pink satin lining; white, with blue satin lining; or, a more affordable white model with a white linen lining. Do you see one you like?”
She stared at him for a moment, contemplating on whether or not the man before her was being serious. She came to the realization quickly that he actually meant it. Which did she like? Which box did she like for her precious baby to be in when he was put in the ground? It seemed such an odd question to her.
“I suppose the white with blue satin is fine,” she said, looking to her mom, who just nodded at the director.
The rest of the visit became a blur, her mom and dad making the arrangement of time, obituary writing, and other details. Jessie had already told everyone that she wanted a closed casket service; she just couldn’t bear to see him and not have him again, so there wasn’t much to discuss, and soon, she was sitting in the back of the car again. All she wanted was to go home, but there was still one last stop for the day: the cemetery.
***
Fairview Memorial Gardens was the fancy name of the cemetery. It was a sprawling expanse of green with different-sized colored stones each standing to proudly mark places among the grass. The grounds were well kept, flowers adorning most of the graves. The grounds went on as far as Jessie could see. If she wasn’t about to be picking a place for her child, she would have said it was peaceful. To her, though, it was cold, empty, and depressing. It made everything more real.
They were greeted by a kind older woman, who sat them down and asked a few questions about their loved one who was to be “laid to rest” there. Jessie just looked at her for a long moment, unspeaking, before her dad started answering the questions. The small office was distracting her, the fake floral potpourri doing nothing to hide the smell of grass and death. It filled her nostrils, embedding itself into her, making her slightly nauseous as she tried to focus on the conversation.
“Do you know what sort of tombstone you have in mind? Anything catch your eye that you like?” the older woman asked, waving her hand to indicate display models around the room.
“Sure, because when I woke up the other day, my shopping list included: formula, diapers, a funeral home, and a tombstone!” Jessie blurted, her voice rising on each word. Her mom placed a hand over hers, squeezing gently. The older woman’s face looked hurt, making her feel even worse about her outburst. Sighing, Jessie apologized, “I’m … I’m sorry. I guess some sort of angel, like the one you see on your way in, would be fine.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Braden, but your child will be resting in what we call the ‘Baby Block.’ All infants that pass are laid to rest there, and for ease of care, we only allow flat style tombstones to be placed in that area.” The woman looked uncomfortable as she said this, afraid of Jessie’s reaction.
“He won’t be ‘resting,’ he will be buried. There’s a difference. Rest equals sleep, not burial,” Jessie corrected the woman, her tone sharp, despite her efforts to keep her pain and anger under control. A stinging sensation filled her hand and she glanced down, noticing that her fists were clenched so tightly, her nails digging into her palm.
“Do you have a book of what options are available to us? Perhaps that would be the better way to go about this,” her dad cut in, sounding cool and collected, before Jessie could say anything else.
“Here is the book of designs, please feel free to look at the choices you have. Most of them on this page,” she pointed to the page opposite of where her dad was looking, “are more customizable than some of the others, giving you a bit more options. While you look, are there any questions you may have?” the older woman asked hesitantly, as if hoping Jessie wouldn’t have any.
“Where exactly will his spot be? Can he be by the big angel? I don’t want him to be alone. Please, don’t make him stay there all alone,” Jessie’s voice cracked, tears flooding her eyes.
“Unfortunately,” the woman started, inhaling deeply, “all the plots around the angel are already taken. He will be placed under that large tree, just there,” she said, motioning out the window to a giant maple tree.
Jessie sighed and nodded in acknowledgement, knowing she couldn’t force the issue, turning her attention to the book. Her dad had it spread between them and was reading about one in particular.
“This one’s nice. Jess, what do you think?” he asked, pointing at a light and dark gray marbled slab with a large, bronze placard overlay. The sample stated that it would read name, dates, and one could add a picture or additional engraving.
“It will do,” she answered. “I would like to place this elephant,” she said, pointing to one of the stock graphic images at the bottom of the page, “in the corner. If the additional engraving could be the banner and read ‘Little Mister,’ that would be fine.”
Her father nodded, first at her, and then to the woman, who promptly brought paperwork for her dad to sign.
Chapter Four
The day of the funeral came. Jessie stood in front of the mirror, carefully avoiding the reflection of her face. She was desperately trying to keep herself together, barely managing, especially since her only desire was to curl up somewhere and disappear. She knew that was not an option, and that this last task wasn’t one that could be asked of another. She had to go – no amount of wishing, or hoping, or running from it, would change that fact. She distantly noticed she was wearing the long-sleeved black dress her mom had chosen for her from Wal-Mart. It didn’t fit well and she didn’t care.
As though her fleeting thoughts had conjured her, her mom appeared next to her. Jessie knew that she had spoken, having seen her lips moving, though her words didn’t register. Her mom frowned, but gently guided her by her elbow out of the room, out of the apartment, and into the car. There were other occupants in the car – her mom, her dad, Ryan – but she neither saw nor heard anything while they traveled to the cemetery. She stared out the window, fighting herself to keep the scream that was building in her throat from escaping. The only sound she could hear was the blood coursing through her ears from her concentration.
The sun was making Jessie angry. Its bright light flooded the world, and, even through her dark sunglasses, all she saw was its brilliant shine. How dare it show its face on such a horrible day! It should be dark and sad, like she was. Her world had become desolate one we
ek ago today; her sun would never shine again, and it hurt that the rest of the world went on with business as usual.
The car came to a halt and her door was opened. A hand appeared in front of her, and Jessie raised her eyes to see her dad’s somber face peering back at her. She took his hand and accepted his help to the grave site. She was escorted to the front seat, directly in the middle, where the whole row had been kept clear for the family. There were some guests already seated in the small area, but she barely registered their attendance. Instead, she glanced over at the framed photo on display up front. It was one of the last photos that had been taken of her baby, and her heart clenched to see him again. He had been in the bath with her, giggling during their play, and Ryan had caught his bright smile in close-up, high definition.
She idly rubbed her chest, trying to choke back the sadness that had tightened around her heart at the memory. Jessie had framed the picture with her mom a few days before, spending what seemed like forever to make sure it was perfect for the day. It was in a bright white, wooden frame with a pale blue ribbon wrapping both corners, highlighting her son’s brilliant blue eyes.
Looking away, and up, she met eyes with her dad’s father, who would be conducting the funeral service – just as he had the Christening service just a little over a week before. He nodded to her sadly, raised his arms, and bid the others to be seated. As he started his eulogy, Jessie barely paid attention; the cookie-cutter words of how her child was in a better place, feeling no pain and only happiness, did little to ease the ache in her. When he began reciting Psalms twenty-three, though, tears pricked her eyes, falling quickly in a wet trail down her face.
She whispered the last words with him:
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,