Through the Wooden Door

by K Carr

  Fuck. Fuck.

  When I was in the sanctity of our bedroom I paced the carpeted floor and pondered the discussion during our unfinished breakfast. It made sense. Connor getting a vasectomy made perfect sense. I mean, men – fucking men – who passed laws on women’s reproductive rights. Stupid fucking men who thought they had a say in what a woman did with her body. Pathological fuckers. They were the ones who should be forced to take birth control. A woman’s orgasm wasn’t tied to reproduction. A woman’s clitoris had around eight thousand nerve endings. Eight thousand! We could come and never worry about getting pregnant, unlike fucking men. Spilling their fucking sperm all over the place. Their orgasm was directly tied into reproduction. Their climax released their sperm, which only job was to carry his genetic material to the unsuspecting egg. One egg per month for us, a narrow window of fertility per cycle, one chance for a baby…and then we had our counterparts, those fucking beast with their fucking millions of sperm per ejaculation. Fucking men. And, and, we didn’t have an unending amount of eggs in our ovaries. Those fuckers could produce sperm until they died, albeit maybe not healthy specimens as they got nearer to mid and old age, but still. Those fuckers could just keep impregnating women while we were the ones vilified, judged, dictated to - I exhaled loudly, and tried to reel in my racing thoughts.

  Connor was not one of those men. He, as a Christian, was pro-life in theory; but he was actually very pro-choice. He believed in choice. He believed in me having a choice. He always had, we just never found ourselves in a situation before where I actually had to make said choice. A vasectomy. He planned on having the surgery and I didn’t know how to feel about it. A part of me was relieved. If he got one then I wouldn’t have to worry about this situation happening again. But, and this was the most confusing thing, when I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t mind the thought of another daughter…I just couldn’t face having another son. Oh why had that fucking Y chromosome been chosen? Why couldn’t I have gotten the X instead of the Y from Connor to match my X?

  I didn’t want another son and it sounded terrible in my head. How terrible must it have sounded out loud? No wonder Connor had looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Had I lost my mind? Was I thinking rationally?

  “Fuck.” I hissed out loud, untying then re-tying my dressing gown. What was I supposed to do? My feet took me to the en-suite and I locked the door behind me. “I’m not having it.” I walked over to the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. “I am not having it.”

  There was nothing more to it. This decision was mine to make and I had made it. My reflection stared back and behind the self-righteous defiance there was a glimmer of something. I told myself it was not shame, I assured myself it was not fear.

  Chapter 14

  I hung up before the phone started ringing. This was probably the tenth time I had ended the call before it had started. The appointment needed to be booked. And fast. The thought of going another week, another day –

  I hit the screen again, redialling the office of my ob-gyn. Before it could ring I hung up. Again. Maybe I should just drive to a Planned Parenthood. Just go and get it done. Was there one close by?

  “Shit.” I muttered and began to pace the carpeted floor of our bedroom.

  Connor was out. He had taken Megan to my Mom’s. Ever since we had moved back home a few months ago, she had been worried about my mom not having us around. Little did she know her grandmother was probably happy to have her house back to herself. Any opportunity to visit her grandma was snatched. She’d just had that impromptu sleepover a couple of days ago. Hmph. Knowing my mom, she would feed them, thus lengthening their visit. The bedside clock said 1:32pm. It could be hours before they returned, and Connor still had some work stuff going on today.

  I glared at my phone. The appointment needed to be made. I couldn’t - wouldn’t – go another day without a concrete date and time to sort this problem out. Fourteen weeks, that was what the doctor had told me. Fourteen weeks gestation period. Add yesterday and the day before – add the past two days on to it - shit. Time would slip by if this wasn’t resolved immediately. Another attempt to call my ob-gyn’s office failed due to my pathetic cowardice. Growling in frustration, I tossed my phone onto the bed and my pacing took on the shape of a tight circle. Round and round, like the thoughts in my head. Connor hadn’t said anything on the subject of his proposed vasectomy. Had he already made an appointment? What if he had done the surgery already? He came home late from work yesterday, hours after I had left the office to pick Meg up from school. What if he had gone to his doctor and gotten the snip? It was a quick surgery. Yet he hadn’t shown any indication of soreness last night or even this morning, quite the opposite in fact. He had playfully chased Megan around the living room this morning when she refused to tidy up the mess she had made.

  The phone mocked me, laying there atop the patterned sheet. Why was it this difficult to do what was necessary? The decision had been made. I had made my choice. There was nothing wrong with my decision or with me. This was the best outcome for me…for us as a family.

  Was it though?

  There was some doubt, I needed to acknowledge the doubt inside me. And guilt? Was there a growing knot of guilt in the pit of my stomach? Why should I feel guilty?

  “Argh.” I half-screamed into our silent bedroom before snatching my phone off the bed, stuffing it in the pocket of my cardigan, and stalking out the room. I would go downstairs, brew some coffee, then call the out-of-office-hours number for my ob-gyn. Today was Saturday. I would get an appointment for Monday morning, right after dropping Megan off at school. By Monday evening I would be alone in my body again. I just needed to make the call.

  As I stormed down the hallway, the wooden train caught my eye. My feet drew to a reluctant stop in front of Cory’s bedroom. I remembered the day when Connor had affixed it to the door. He had kept redoing the wooden shaped puffs of steam which spelt Cory’s name out. He wanted it perfectly aligned and Megan had kept telling him it looked crooked while I had stood by rocking a sleeping Cory in my arms as I quietly chuckled at the two of them. Cory had only been a couple of months old when we had bought the door decoration. Gosh. Megan had been little too. Where had the time gone? I stared at the wooden train on the wooden door. He was in a wooden box. The jolt of pain was intense, as expected. It rose from the soles of my feet and seeped through every cell of my body, making my stomach lurch and my eyes burn. My hands too, they shook for a second and I curled them into fists to halt the trembling. This moment proved my decision was the right one. I didn’t want another son. I didn’t want my Cory being replaced by this new boy. The usual excitement which came with my previous pregnancies was non-existent this time around now I knew I was carrying an XY. How dare this…this fucking usurper exist in my womb. Did he think he could replace my Cory? My perfect son? Never. I would never let the space Cory held in my heart, in my thoughts, be consumed by another. I could never love another son the way I loved my Cory. Treachery, that was what I felt I was committing with each passing minute. Even Connor knew it would be a betrayal to our son…why else would he agree to my decision? I was already on the way to convincing myself he probably felt the same deep down. Carrying this pregnancy to term was – what was this feeling inside me? This quiver underneath my skin every time I thought about the bunch of foetal cells growing in my uterus? It was unsettling.

  I touched the door. Was it the same wood as his coffin? Maybe this was the reason I couldn’t bear going into his bedroom. A symbolic mental association forged in my head. Behind the wood there was only death. A decay of what once flourished with life. Perhaps somehow this wooden door represented the wooden lid of his coffin to me. Opening it would only result in pain, stepping beyond the doorway meant facing that pain head-on, staring it dead in the eye and admitting to myself that I had survived losing him. The guilt was irrational, I knew that, but the fact still remained I hadn’t died when my son did. I remembered when I first held Megan, exhausted
from childbirth and wondering what the hell had I signed up for. When the doctor had placed her in my arms – it was indescribable – that fierce burst of love which obliterated all sense of self and logic. I had held her tiny body in my arms and knew with such clarity that I would die for her…die without her. Some women didn’t immediately bond with their babies, which is completely normal; but the moment I held Megan, she became my reason for being. In that moment I was changed and the thought of anything ever happening to my baby filled me with the strangest emotion, something I had never felt before – not even when my Dad had died. I held her and knew if she ever ceased to exist, I would too.

  And it was the same when I held Cory in my arms. Yet here I was…existing when he did not.

  Taking a deep breath I opened the door. The sunlight danced over all the surfaces in the room and I blinked a few times due to the brightness. I took another deep breath and stepped into the room. The avalanche of further pain I expected hadn’t crashed into me, it was somewhat surprising. Another few steps forward and I stood in the middle of Cory’s bedroom. I remembered when we re-did his room, he had been beyond excited which was most likely due to Megan’s excitement. He had only been two when we updated the décor from baby to toddler. I slowly made my way over to the closet and laid my hand against the door. It had taken Connor four hours to put it together. The children had been eager to help which meant they were more of a hindrance than help. When I opened the closet and saw his clothes all neatly put away on the shelves and hanging from the metal rod at the top, something cracked deep inside me. It wasn’t the avalanche, it was more akin to a slowly rising swell of darkness. My fingers trailed along the clothes hanging up. They would never be outgrown. The air caught in my throat and it felt as if I was choking on reality. Cory would never grow up. Never learn his 9 times tables, or how to spell the word universe. He would never have a first crush, or learn to drive a car. He wouldn’t know the pressures of school exams, or the joys of success. He would never have acne or get facial hair. He would never fall in love and start a family of his own.

  My fingers curled around the sleeve of a sweater. It hurt. Oh fuck. The pain was indescribable, constant and completely wrapped up in rage. I knew the scream was coming from my mouth, but it sounded so alien from any noise I had ever made before. Loud and feral, my screams echoed around the sunny room.

  It wasn’t fair. Losing him wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. Cory’s clothes, all neatly folded and hung was a punch to the gut. They symbolized the finality of it all. He would never outgrow these fucking clothes because he was dead. Like a wounded beast I lashed out, my hands dragged the sweater off its hanger and I flung it to the floor. A shirt followed next, then I yanked a t-shirt off the top shelf. In seconds I was sobbing wildly as I pulled armful of clothes off their shelves and dumped them at my feet.

  “It’s not fair!” I screamed before collapsing on top the pile of clothes. I grabbed a fistful of t-shirts and held them against my face in an attempt to muffle my screams. He was dead and I was not. I knew, logically I knew Megan needed me, that I lived for her, I continued on for her; but all I could feel was that yawning chasm of desolation circling my thoughts. I existed and he did not. He was not here and I wanted to die because the empty space he had left in my heart could never be filled. I would never get over losing him. He could never be replaced. I cried the damaged pieces of my heart out, remembering his face and the way he would call for me. Mommy, mommy come please. I hadn’t protected him. I hadn’t kept him safe from harm. I would give my life to go back to that day. I would give anything to change what had happened. If only there was a way to stop him from being hurt. A mother protected her children from being hurt.

  * * *

  Connor swiftly slammed the front door behind him and yelled out a greeting to his wife to let her know he had returned. Not getting a response he assumed she was either upstairs or in one of the rooms in the back of the house. If he was quick, he could grab Megan’s school project and drop it off at Rose’s – so kind of her to offer to help – then drive to his suppliers and pick up that order and drive back to Rose to pick Megan back up and bring her home in time for dinner.

  “Jen,” he called, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans as he strode down the hallway. Where had Megan put her school bag? In the living room or under the kitchen table? Was the project actually in her bedroom on the small table set up in her study corner? He was sure Jen had started it with her. Where was she anyway? He yelled again, “Jen? Where are you?”

  Connor walked into the front living room, quickly scanning around for Megan’s bag, which he didn’t spot. Next stop, the kitchen. Hurrying out the room, he made his way towards the kitchen then stopped abruptly. The house felt too quiet. The silence felt wrong.

  “Jen?” he called out as he changed direction and started heading for the stairs. The jolt of unease which rippled up his spine had him taking the stairs two at a time. “Babe?” If she’d been downstairs she would’ve responded. Her car was out front, she had to be home. Connor stepped onto the landing, his breathing was slightly erratic as his gaze went straight down the hallway to the master bedroom. The door was ajar, she must be in there. Perhaps she was resting? With a fast gait he went to find his wife. “Jenny?”

  He almost missed it, so focused had he been on getting to their bedroom, but he saw the open door of Cory’s bedroom and instinctively stopped to close it. He couldn’t remember it being open when they had gone downstairs for breakfast earlier. Had Megan gone into the bedroom this morning before leaving? He kept reminding her to close the door after herself if she’d been in the bedroom. Huffing under his breath, he started pulling the door close, but once again force of habit had his gaze sweeping the room – what the – Cory’s closet was open and – what the hell? Where were the majority of his clothes? Connor stepped into the room, alarmed at the empty hangers jutting out haphazardly. Had Megan done this? He moved further into the room and saw sock-clad feet on the floor sticking out from the other side of the bed.

  “Jen?” Connor called anxiously as he darted around the bed. “Jennifer!” he called in alarm, dropping to his knees when seeing her lying there amongst a pile of Cory’s clothes. Connor franticly reached for her. Oh god! He grabbed her, pulling her into his arms and she jerked, eyelids fluttering. Connor’s heart was in his throat as he cradled her warm cheek. She was warm. Thank God.

  “Jenny? Wake up.” He shook her, hard enough to get a response, and he felt sick with relief when she opened her eyes and made a sound of sleepy protestation. “Hey, hi, hey you,” Connor said in a voice hoarse with a range of emotions as he peered into her eyes. She was just sleeping, only sleeping. His body slumped against the bedframe as he held her in his arms. In that moment while watching awareness seep into her face, Connor couldn’t halt the silent litany of thanks going on in his mind. She was in here. A shaky chuckle came out his lips, “Are you ok? Hmm? You’re ok? Oh god,” He lowered his lips to her forehead, pressing light kisses over her face. “I thought-” another nervous bark of laughter came from him. “You’re ok.”

  He couldn’t say it out loud, what he had feared upon seeing her lying there amongst Cory’s clothes. He had thought the worst, that she was hurt, that she had hurt herself. What was she doing in here? She never came in here anymore.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked, tenderly stroking her cheek. “Are you ok?”

  She didn’t say anything for a few seconds and his worry, which had been slowly dissipating, returned with a vengeance. Had she taken something? Connor scrutinized her face, noting the puffiness around her eyes and nose. There were streaks running down her cheeks, dried tears?

  “Jennifer,” He tugged her upwards so she was in a much more upright position. “Are you alr-”

  “I miss him,” she rasped out. “I miss him all the time. I want him back. I want my baby back.”

  Connor tightened his arms around her as she began to weep. “Oh darling, I know. I know
you do.”

  Jen curled herself against his chest, her hand gripped the soft material of his t-shirt. “I just want to hold him. I just want – he’s gone. My baby is gone forever. I want my Cory back.”

  “I know,” Connor murmured, feeling the moisture flood his own eyes. It was heart-breaking, hearing her cry like this, feeling the tremors wrack her body as she clung to him. “I know, darling. I know you do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” What else could he say? He would always be sorry, always be filled with guilt for what he had caused. “It’s okay. It’s ok, Jen. I’m right here.”

  She buried her face against his neck, gasping between her sobs. “I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want to replace him,”

  Connor lifted a hand to her face, and even though he tried to keep his touch gentle, it was still an awkward movement to turn her head so he could look at her. “Replace him? No one’s replacing him. No one’s forgetting him, sweetheart.” He started kissing her wet cheeks. “He’ll always be a part of us. Do you hear me? We could never forget him. That doesn’t make sense-”

  “The baby will,” she cried. “Replace Cory. I don’t want to replace Cory! I don’t want – he can’t – everyone will forget Cory – I don’t want-” Her breathing was becoming frantic like her words.

  “Shhh, shh,” Connor gripped the side of her face firmly. “Calm down. No one’s going to forget him, no one could ever replace him. You’re not making sense, Jen.”

  “He will,” she wailed. “I can’t let – I won’t let him replace Cory. We can’t.”

  Connor’s lips parted then he closed his mouth. He slowly shook his head and tried to breathe past the sudden tightness in his chest. Dragging his hand down from her face, he cradled her stomach. “Is that why you don’t want him? Because you think he’ll replace Cory?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed out. “He will. He’ll replace my Cory, and everyone will forget Cory, everyone will love him more because he’s here and Cory isn’t. I won’t let him replace my Cory. I won’t forget. I won’t forget. I won’t-” she dissolved into another fit of hysterical tears.