UNFORGETTABLE (Able Series Book 3)

by Aceves, Gigi

  She’s wearing an oxygen mask, her eyes closed tightly.

  I don’t know why my feet move without my brain telling them to.

  I don’t know why I can’t feel anything other than the tears falling down my face and the emptiness in my heart.

  I don’t know why, but I do. . . .

  I cup her cheeks with my trembling hands, as I tell her, “I love you. Come back to me, please.”

  “Let go, Brian. We need to go,” Dr. Rosenthal sternly says as she pushes past me.

  Cody and Jake pull me back, both gripping my arms, helping me to stay upright as I look at her wedding ring that I have in my hand. I sob like a child as my world falls from under me.

  “God, not my wife.”

  “He’s not gonna take your girl, B. He won’t,” Jake whispers and clutches my arm a little tighter.

  Then, my knees give way. . . . I fall hard.

  Stand? I can’t . . . not without her.

  TAMI

  TWO HOURS LATER

  My eyelids flutter twice, and I’m fighting the heaviness that keeps slamming my eyes shut. Why do I feel so out of it?

  “Thank God!”

  “Mom?”

  I try to move my head, but even it feels so heavy. I can’t even feel my legs. What’s going on with me?

  “Tami, don’t move.” Frantically, my mom starts pressing the call button for the nurse.

  “She’s awake! My daughter is awake.”

  “Mom, why am I sh—-shaking? God . . . I ca- can’t control it.”

  I instinctively run my hand over my stomach . . . and the moment I do. Oh, my God. NO! NO!

  A piercing sound coated with grief escapes my mouth, and no amount of comfort coming from my mother could pacify me. An overwhelming sadness covers my entire being, and each one of my tears is like a bucket of salt being poured on top of an open wound. But even then . . . even that, I’d take in a heartbeat instead of the physical emptiness I’m feeling, and the void that covers my heart.

  “Honey, calm down. Trish! Call Brian! Go!”

  I’m oblivious to my surroundings, only aware of the void existing like a great chasm in my belly where—someone should be. There’s a constant ache, a hot scalding rod prodding and branding my heart and my womb, like a constant reminder of what I’ve lost, yet again.

  “I didn’t know! Why didn’t I feel it? How could I not? God, give me my baby back.”

  “You have to calm down. Everything is okay.”

  Discounting everything my mother just said, I continue sobbing, wailing, begging. It’s like I’m chasing time, grasping at straws, embracing air, running and not getting anywhere while my mom embraces me.

  “I . . . I . . . nn-eed . . . B . . . Brian . . .”

  I’m feeling sluggish, my wails turn to whimpers as my heart slows, and my brain shuts down. Suddenly, I feel the familiar warmth, the soft touch but faintly, and I try to fight through the fog. Barely hearing and understanding it.

  “I’m right here, baby.”

  The last words my ears hear, and the last important words my heart welcomes. Then nothing, but silence covered in black surrounds me.

  TAMI

  A DAY LATER

  NOTHING REGISTERS IN MY BRAIN, except complete blackness and that constant beeping noise like a beacon in the dark. My tears threaten to fall and just when they’re about to, strong hands clasp mine, fortifying my heart just like old times.

  “Dad?”

  I hear the guard rails of my bed drop down, and all at once, I feel my dad’s spirit of strength encompass all of me, only then I allow myself to fall—again.

  “How . . . I lo-lost my b-b-baaby, Daddy.”

  “Sweetheart, you didn’t. He’s alive. Your son is alive.”

  Alive. . . . son. . . . I say over and over in my head.

  There’s delight, relief, shock, and joy instantly replacing the anguish of what I assumed I’d lost. Like a child, I cry; and like a true father whose love knows no limit, my dad cries along with me. Sharing in my joy and celebrating a life gifted by God.

  “I have a son,” I reverently say as tears pour out of my eyes. “I want to see him. I want to hold him, kiss him, and just love him,” I mumble between sobs.

  “He’s beautiful, Tami, a fighter through and through. He’s got your faith, but his indomitable spirit is pure Brian.”

  I stiffened under my father’s arms the moment Brian steps into the room. In a split second, I’m in his arms as we share tears of joy while he rains down sweet kisses on my face, my lips, and finally, he settles in the crook of my neck where he finds his comfort as I find mine.

  “I love you. Thank you for giving me a son. He’s been waiting to see you, and I’ve been dying to see both of you together. I need us all to be together so badly. I thought I’d lost you. I wanted God to take me instead.”

  He continues to sob on my neck, repeating over and over how much he didn’t want to let me go. How he didn’t want to choose. How the choice was taken away from him. It’s a sad confession that needed to be told.

  “Who’s watching our son?”

  “Jake’s with him, right now.” His eyes devour mine as though he hasn’t seen me in years.

  “What’s his name?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper while my heart is beating rapidly in anticipation.

  Shaking his head he answers against my neck, “I haven’t named him. I couldn’t, not without you. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I pull him off my neck needing to see his eyes. “Thank you for waiting for me.” Sniffling as I hold his face with my shaky hands, I suggest, “How about Dominic Benjamin Mancini?”

  He smiles as he says, “Then, Dominic Benjamin Mancini it is.”

  “How are you?”

  My poor husband looks anywhere but at me. “I’m okay now, T. You’re breathing, our son is alive. I’m good, better than good, actually. You’re my good, Tami. You.Make.Everything.Good.In.My.Life.”

  My lips meet his, reviving my heart, making up for the hours of blackness where I was separated from the person who owns my entire heart and from my little man who will become my world—our world. Hesitantly, I let his lips go, but my hands are still glued to his face.

  Sighing loudly with hesitation I ask, “So, explain to me what happened.”

  Brian’s eyes immediately close. He takes a deep breath and walks toward the window. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to relive what happened to you and our son. Yesterday was the darkest day of my life. I wanted to die. I wanted to be with you, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be with him, but I couldn’t.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets, a clear sign of him controlling his emotions. He needs to let this go, and—I let him; he needs to purge his pain, and the only way to do that is to talk freely about it instead of suppressing it as he did before.

  “I was lost and alone without you.” He turns to look at me, his eyes swimming in his own tears that he’s trying to keep from falling. Just the sight of him in extreme anguish of reliving what has hurt him the most only makes my tears even harder to control. “They had to do an emergency C-section. Even after the delivery, you suffered massive bleeding which is why you were out of it for more than twenty-four hours. I was so worried about Dominic. I was worried about you. Will you survive? Will he? Will I have to tell you our baby passed away? My heart was dying a very slow death. I felt so afraid and yet, I knew I needed to be brave at the same time.” He looks away from me and stares back at the night sky. “I wanted to be strong for you—for him—for us, but I wanted to run. I refused to accept my reality that at any moment someone will come, find me, and tell me I lost you or that I lost another angel. Standing against that wall—that wall of death . . . it was one of the hardest things I had to do.”

  “You stayed with me—with us.”

  He nods his head, the only movement his own pain will allow him to make. When I see my husband cry, I understand what my dad meant when he said my son’s ‘indomitable spirit is all Brian.’
Before me is a man who stood when he had too even through the pain—while covered in fear—forsaking everything, even himself for Dominic and me. I never felt so loved as I do in this moment. That even through the worst of his fears, he stayed—he stood.

  “Thank you for staying, for standing, for being my protector while I slept.”

  He walks back toward me, finally falling into my arms, allowing himself to relinquish his post of standing guard, handing it over to me for just a few moments so his own heart can heal and be revived by my love.

  “I’ll do it over again if in the end I’ll have you and Dominic in my arms. Our family is all I need. Forever with no end, I’ll stand with you . . . next to you until my life fades and the choice is taken away from me. While I’m still breathing, my choice—my only choice is to be with you.”

  So, we pass the season of mourning, and now we face the season of life. For now, I’ll celebrate the life of our son, the triumph of love over fear. I’ll smile and thank Him who watches over me, breathes life into Dominic, and blesses Brian with His strength.

  BRIAN

  PREVIOUS DAY

  I’m twirling her wedding band in my hand for what seems like hours since she was wheeled out of her room . . . since she was separated from me—she and my child. I’ve talked to myself for over an hour; talking myself down from going crazy one second to being strong the next. I’ve talked to God, too. I’ve yelled at Him, made deals, begged for mercy, prayed for healing, questioned Him why—why my wife and why my child, demanded answers—demanded solutions. I’ve done all this, and all this I’ve thrown at Him. He doesn’t answer, and in His silence, weirdly enough, I finally get it. In this moment, I finally understand.

  The clarity washes away the questions I have and the anger I’ve been feeling. It grants me the mercy I’ve been begging for. Then, I realize my lowest wasn’t when they wheeled Tami and my child away from me, my lowest was when I realized that in order to accept what’s going on, I have to surrender.

  SURRENDER.

  In my world, that term doesn’t even exist. In my world, you can’t give up. What you do is you fight until there’s no fight left in you. But, I’m not in my world, I’m under His mercy.

  So, I surrender—I give up.

  I twine my fingers in supplication, and I pray. . . .

  I love her. I love my child. They’re my life—she’s been my life. But, it’s Your plan, not mine. Your will, not my own. So, I surrender; I give them to You. I give You my world—my life—my dreams—my reason for being . . . from my hands to Yours, do as You will.

  I cry as I’ve never cried before, accepting what I can’t change. Surrendering to something I don’t want but absolutely need leaves me hopeless—vulnerable—helpless—powerless.

  My mom’s hands cover both of mine as we share a comfortable silence. I lift my eyes for the first time since being here, and my heart somehow feels full seeing everyone’s unwavering support. An exchange of words isn’t necessary, a simple touch, a nod, a smile goes a long way.

  “Waiting is the hardest, but it’s in waiting that you find the answers.” My mom lets out a soft sigh and says, “It’s funny how things work out when you sit still and wait. We’re all waiting with you. You’re never alone, Son, not even when you think you are.”

  She leaves, and the man I thought would never talk to me, not because he’s upset with me but because I’m sure we’re feeling the same thing—feeling the same fears. Jack sits next to me, feet apart, hands twined like mine, head down.

  “Aside from Patti, Tami has been my weakness. I know there’s no amount of words to ease the worry or lessen the fear, but I’d like you to know it’s okay to fall. We’re here to hold you up, because I know when I fall, you’ll be there doing the same. This is your drawing board. Tell us what to do, and it’s done. Anything that’ll make life easier for you, my girl, and our little miracle; you know I’ll move Heaven and Earth to achieve it. ”

  Nothing but silence follows. Both of us worrying about the same person. Both of us praying for our miracle’s safety. Both of us afraid, but not wanting to speak. Both of us not allowing fear to overcome us, and both of us doing it in silence. Both of us stay—as we should.

  A female wearing scrubs comes out of the white double doors with sweat outlining the surgical hat on her head and around the edge of her scrubs. We all stand in anticipation of what she’s about to say. My mom and Patti both stand on either side of me, holding my arms.

  “Brian Mancini?”

  “Here.” My voice solid but laced with dread.

  She offers me a smile before speaking. That’s a good sign, right?

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Rosenburg. Congratulations, you have a son who’s a fighter.” As soon as those words leave her mouth I close my eyes to say a prayer of thanks. The noose that has my heart in a tight hold eases a bit while everyone around me let out a collective sigh of relief. Clearing her throat, the Neonatologist continues, “Your son, is in the NICU. I want to explain to you what to expect before seeing your son just so you’re prepared. There will be tubes, IV lines and such on your son, and it could be quite scary and very intimidating. But, he’s doing well considering what he’s up against. Mom is still in the OR and should be out soon. Do you have any questions for me?”

  My voice cracks as I ask, “When . . . when can I see my son?”

  “I can take you to him; or if you want to wait until you talk to your wife’s OB, that’s okay, too.”

  I know Tami would want me to be with our son. Decision made though with a heavy heart because I’m about to leave Tami to be somewhere else. I nod at the doctor. I turn and give my mom and Patti a kiss, then Dr. Rosenburg leads me to my world that exists within my world.

  I’m told to wash my hands, wear a mask, gloves, and gown before entering the NICU; but nothing could have prepared me for seeing my son inside a glass case. I allow my eyes to roam the different cuffs and sticky pads on his little arms, legs, and chest that have wires that connect to monitors on top of the IV lines without looking at his face. I want his face to be the last place my eyes land. While seeing him with all the stuff attached to him crushes my heart, what brings me to my knees for the third time today is seeing his small face and his fragile body. A body that should have still been inside his mother’s womb, but is now encased in a sterile emotionless unfeeling cocoon.

  “Talk to him, he can hear you. He’ll recognize your voice, Daddy. He can also feel your touch, lay your hand on his back, be firm yet gentle, okay?”

  So, I do. I put my hands through the openings. As soon as I make contact even with my gloves, I feel his warmth, and I hope he feels mine, too. I can’t help it, my tears fall without warning, and I talk to my son . . . for the very first time—face to face.

  “Hey, it’s Daddy. You remember my voice? I know you like mom’s the best . . . I like her voice the best, too. I need you to breathe for your old man, okay? I’d give you my own if I could, and it hurts me that I can’t. For every breath you take, my pain eases some. I know I’m being selfish in asking you to please breathe for me—breathe for Mommy knowing that sometimes fighting gets too tiring. My heart is tired too, Son, but I won’t rest; I’ll stay here with you until we take you home. We love you, little man.”

  How much more could a heart take? I ask this question because the second I stop talking to my son, shit starts beeping and someone has to literally shove me out of the way. I feel so helpless and hopeless at this very moment seeing them working on my son’s little body. I ask myself at what point do I say enough is enough?

  “When is enough—enough?” I whisper to myself.

  I’m numb.

  I’m broken hearted.

  I’m afraid.

  I’m tired.

  I’m in love with my wife.

  I’m in love with my son.

  I’m praying.

  I’m hoping.

  I’m asking.

  I’m pleading.

  I’m a lot of these things, but above all el
se, I’m a husband and a father. A husband whose heart is bleeding, awaiting to hear from his wife. A father whose heart is fearful of what the outcome would be for his son.

  I.feel.so.alone.

  A warm hand touches my arm and shoulder. I look up to find a nurse, maybe the same age as my mother, looking intently at me with her eyes on fire.

  “Don’t let the beeping sound scare you into giving up. Yes, his body is fragile–tiny, but his heart is beating. His little body needs a little help, a little push, a lot of love, a lot of patience, and a never ending flow of hope. His little heart wants to fight, and he’s doing his share; so let’s do ours.”

  “Are you the nurse assigned to my son?” I ask with a shaky voice.

  With a smile and a nod she answers, “For tonight, yes. I’m Nancy, the head nurse in the NICU. And these babies . . .” She moves her arms from left to right. “They’re my babies to watch over. They breathe, I do my job. They fight for every breath, I’ll fight longer. So to answer your question when is enough, enough? My answer to that is when it’s done.”

  Then she walks away without saying anything else, leaving me confused by what she said, ‘when it’s done.’ I say that phrase over and over in my head as I walk back to face my son.

  Putting my hands all the way through the holes I gently lay my hand on my son’s back, then our conversation begins. “You scared me there, buddy. I wish I could hold you, wrap your tiny body in my arms just to feel you. How I wish your Mama were here to comfort you. There’s a lot of things I want . . . I want to see you walk, I want to hear you talk, I want to teach you how to play football. I want you out of here and in our home. I want it all, Son. I know you want it too. . . . just. . . . keep fighting.” My eyes are glued to his face, memorizing every contour just in case. I shrug that ‘just in case’ thought out of my brain because it’s a poison that kills hope.

  I remain silent for a couple of minutes, allowing the beeping of machines to calm my weary soul. When you’re in a hospital, time is your worst enemy. It goes so slow when all you want is for everything to speed up. I’m waiting for someone to tell me Tami is in her room at the same time that I’m waiting for the damn machines to make their god awful noise.