Son.
Was our baby a boy? Or was it a girl?
“Grayson!”
I suck in a much needed breath, willing myself to speak. “It’s Avery—the baby…we’ve lost the baby.”
Saying the words out loud makes me sick. Suddenly, I have no words. None. All I have to give is my next breath, which barely escapes the clutches of my anguish.
My baby—was it just last night that we decided on a name? Was it just a few more days before we started telling our friends?
My sweetheart—oh, God, why? God, why would You do this to her? How? How is she going to get over this? She’s been so scared and so worried—and just when she was starting to get excited—
“Grayson, honey, talk to me.” Shannon’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I manage to drag in another breath. “Where’s Avery?”
“Um,” my voice comes out shakily, which startles me. It isn’t until I scrape my hand down my face that I realize I’m trembling. “She’s in surgery. God, mom, she was in so much pain—and there was so much blood.”
She proceeds to ask me a few more questions, all of which I don’t have the answers to. It makes me feel even worse. My disposition is one that she catches onto quickly and she tells me that they’re going to let me go, but that I should call them as soon as Avery is out of surgery. I promise them that I will, then hope that I have half a mind to remember. Right now, all I want to do is hold my girl and make sure that she’s going to be alright—that we’re going to be alright.
I wake up crying. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. It’s entirely possible that the reality of my barrenness coaxed me out of my sleep and stabbed me in the heart while I was in that in-between space—that special place when you’re not awake but not asleep; that place where your dreams still feel tangible; that place where your waking nightmare seems escapable. Though I know, looking into Grayson’s tired, sad, and anxious eyes…I know my nightmare is only beginning.
Our baby is gone. Just…gone.
I can’t stop my tears. I have neither the energy, nor the desire to combat my sobs. I weep, my physical pain an inexcusable joke in comparison to the anguish caused by my broken heart. I cry so hard I can hardly breathe. When Grayson crawls into the hospital bed with me, wrapping me in his arms, I allow myself to cling to him, though I know I don’t deserve his comfort.
I failed him. I failed them both.
“Breathe, Avery,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against my hair at the crown of my head. I can tell, without even looking at his face, that he’s got tears in his eyes. The strain in his voice crushes me even more. “We’re going to get through this, sweetheart. I’m right here. Just try and take a deep breath.”
His kindness destroys me and I wish that I could disappear. Instead, I take the cowardly way out and I melt into him—needing his warmth; needing his comfort; needing his strength; needing him—the very air that I breathe. I’m not nearly brave enough to push him away or to even speak the words that clog my airway.
I’m sorry…
My sobs dissipate as the anesthesia wears off. I ache, the physical aftermath of my body’s loss hardly tolerable. I don’t know or care what time it is. All I know for sure is that when Sonny tells me my mother is on the phone, the sun is rising. I refuse to speak to her, of course, as I have no words to offer her. I also know that hearing her sweet voice will rip apart the microscopically thin veil shielding the world from the torment that rages on inside of me.
When I am discharged, I hardly hear a word of my doctor’s instructions. As I am handed my prescription for pain meds, all I can think about is how, just a few hours ago, I wouldn’t have been allowed these drugs. Now that my baby is…my baby is…
Gone. Just gone.
I don’t realize that my cheeks are soaked until Grayson buckles me into the car and then reaches to dry my face with gentle hands. “We’re going to get through this, Shorty,” he says soothingly. “I promise.”
My eyes stare into his green ones and I wonder what color our baby’s eyes were going to be? I wonder what color hair he would have? Or if she’d have freckles sprinkled across her nose like her daddy? None of my questions are new, but now I know that I will never know the answers.
I choke on a gasp, pulling my gaze away from his. In this very moment, I wonder if his promise is true—if we’ll really get through this. Right now, I can’t see past my pain. Right now, my mind is a haunted place where every vision of our family of three seems to be vanishing before I can even take a moment and savor them.
I feel so powerless. So helpless. So out of control. I want to crawl out of my skin—out of my lame body, the body that wasn’t good enough to keep my baby safe, and healthy, and alive. I want to scream—throwing my voice toward heaven in an attempt to plead for answers. I want to know why? Why God would give me life and then take it away?
I know this is my fault. Deep down, no matter what anyone tells me, I know this is my fault. I wished that I wasn’t pregnant. In the beginning, I was scared and stupid and I wished that I wasn’t pregnant—but I changed my mind! Maybe it was too late…maybe God had already decided?
Oh, God—why? You know my heart!
“Hey. We’re home, sweetheart. Come on.”
I’m startled out of my thoughts at the feel of Sonny’s fingers as he sweeps my hair behind one of my ears. I can’t help but notice how calm he is. For a second, I wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling—and then I realize I can’t carry his thoughts or his pain. The weight of my guilt is too heavy already. Instead, I allow him to lift me from the car and carry me to our apartment. He sets me down on my bare feet once we’re inside and I hold his hand, leaning into him as he escorts me to our bedroom.
My knees buckle when we reach the threshold and I see death in our bed. I wail as I begin to go down, the sight shoving aside every ounce of strength I had to spare. Sonny catches me in his arms, murmuring into my ear—but I can’t hear him. I won’t! His sympathy, his tenderness, his love—I can’t take it anymore.
“Don’t!” I manage, pushing his arms from around me. “Don’t!” I sputter as I stumble away from him.
“Ave—”
I ignore him as I close myself into the bathroom, pressing myself against the door as I sink to the floor.
“Ave—Avery, please?” I rest my forehead against the door, pleading with her to let me in. She refuses, locking me out for good measure. I feel like such an asshole—how could I forget? How could I bring her home and into our bedroom and forget?
I want to punch something. The fury I feel rattles my bones. I’m mad at myself, for my thoughtless actions. I’m mad at God, for allowing this to happen. I’m just…mad! Seeing her like this is ripping me apart, compounding the pain that comes with the death of our baby—of everything we’ve been preparing for as we’ve anticipated new life. It’s all been stolen.
I stride into our bedroom with purpose and rip the sheets from off of our bed. The evidence of our tragedy has soaked into the mattress. I feel something inside of me snap and I take the whole thing and head for the door. I lug it all the way to the dumpster, completely uncaring as to whether or not this is the way to dispose of the thing. It’s no longer our safe place; it’s no longer our marriage bed; it’s been marred by death.
As I make my way up the stairs, I rehear it—the scream that yanked me out of sleep—and my knees grow weak. I drop down and sit on a step, raking my fingers through my hair before grabbing two fistfuls. I promised her that we would get through this, but the hollowness I feel makes me question how in the hell we’re going to manage it. How do I pull her from her dark place when I’m still roaming in mine? How do I comfort her if she won’t let me? She can hardly look at me.
What the fuck, God? What the fuck?
As soon as I think the words, my spirit crumbles and I let out a cry. My heart knows—my heart knows that I’m not going to get through this without God; that I’m not going to get through this without His peace; that I’m not
going to get through this without His hope. I’m humbled knowing that I don’t have the strength to overcome this, but He does. And yet—I’m so angry at Him that I don’t want to call for Him. Instead, I’m sitting here cursing and questioning Him. The worst part is, it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I finally get up and head back inside. I go straight for the bathroom door, wiggling the handle to see if Avery has changed her mind. She hasn’t. I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh, pressing my palm against the barrier that separates us. I can hear her whimpering and I want to pull her into my arms in hopes of absorbing some of her pain. All I keep thinking is how much bigger than her I am—I can shoulder more. For her, I would shoulder it all. Right now, I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to help her…my broken bride.
“Avery?” I murmur. “Shorty, would you please let me in?” When she doesn’t respond, I knock softly. “Sweetheart…”
“I just—I want to be—alone.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me do it, and force myself to take a step back. I don’t have it in me to sit here doing nothing while she’s in there falling apart. Knowing it would be best for me not to break down the door, I decide to be useful in other ways. “Ave, I’m going to be right back. If you need me…I’ll be right back.”
I search and find her car keys before I set out to run my errand. An hour and a half later, I’m wrestling our new mattress up the stairs to our front door. The salesman tried to tell me that they could deliver it for me tomorrow, but I wasn’t hearing that shit. I told him I was leaving with my purchase strapped to the roof of my car and that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was probably far more aggressive than necessary, but this was something I could control. This was something for which I wouldn’t take no for an answer. This was something my wife needed, something that I could actually provide for her.
If nothing else, she’ll have a new mattress to sleep on tonight.
The moment I step inside of our apartment, I abandon my heavy load and hurry across the room. Avery is on the floor, her hair damp, her body swallowed up by one of my old CSU t-shirts as she holds herself around her middle. Her cheeks are covered in tears, her eyes are shut tight, and her bottom lip is clamped between her teeth as she groans in pain.
“Avery, what can I do? What do you need?”
“I couldn’t find my pills,” she breathes. “This hurts so badly.”
I can feel it as all the blood drains from my face. Her pain meds… I reach into my pocket and pull out the prescription we had filled just this morning. I can’t believe I left and took them with me.
“I have them,” I admit. “I’m so sorry, Ave—I have them.”
“It’s fine,” she murmurs, holding her hand out. “Could you get me a glass of water?”
“Yes, just one second,” I say before I jump up and head for the kitchen. I’m back, crouched in front of her, in less than ten seconds. She accepts the glass and swallows her pills, but not once does she look at me. “Avery…”
“What is it, Sonny?” she sighs, turning to prop her head against the wall.
“Look at me, Shorty,” I plead, gently running the back of my fingers down the side of her face.
She sucks in a breath as her face begins to crumble. “I can’t,” she insists, her voice softer than a whisper. “I can’t. I can’t even look at myself, okay? I just…can’t.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Please don’t make me talk about it,” she whimpers. “Sonny, please?”
My eyes well up as I take a seat next to her. I’m overwhelmed by this moment, by this day. I feel her disappointment; I feel her devastation; I feel it and I know it and I understand it because her loss is my loss. Yet, in the same breath, I get it that I don’t feel her pain and I don’t feel her emptiness and I can’t, no matter how much I wish I could.
I’m exhausted—my head full of questions and worry and sorrow, my heart split open—and I realize that I need my wife in a way that I never have before. It’s not something I can explain or even fully understand, but when I reach for her, I can’t stand for her to tell me no. When she shrinks away from me, I scoop her up and set her in my lap. She tries to resist me, but I won’t let her. I can’t. If she doesn’t wish to speak, I won’t make her—but I need this—we need this. I hold her tightly against me, whispering of my love and of my sorrow. It’s not long before she begins to relax. She clings to my shirt, which still smells like hospital, as she buries her face in my neck.
This is where we sit. This is where we cry. This is where we drift to sleep—on the hardwood floor.
Reality startles me out of my sleep. When I open my eyes, I find that I am alone, propped up against the wall, my ass completely numb, my stomach aching with hunger.
Have I eaten today?
The sun is setting—or is it rising?
I feel so removed from time, my mind consumed with far greater worries, the first of which is—where is my wife?
I get up and search for her on the couch, wondering if she was in need of a more comfortable place to rest. When I find it empty, I look across the room, at our mattress propped against the wall. Considering the way my girl responded upon entering our bedroom earlier, I can’t help but question whether a new mattress will encourage her to sleep in our bed tonight or not.
There are no lights on and as the darkness descends, signaling nightfall, I listen for her movements. I hear nothing. I check the bathroom and the kitchen before I finally wander into our bedroom. The sight of her steals my breath. She’s curled up on the floor, clutching the stuffed giraffe meant for our little one as she sleeps. That was our first baby purchase—our first gift for our beloved surprise. She saw it in the store a couple of weeks ago while we were running errands. She insisted that it was too adorable and too perfect and that our son or daughter would love it. I loved the way her face lit up when she held it against her chest, so we bought it.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to pull it together before I scoop her off of the floor and carry her to the couch. I cover her with a blanket and set her pain meds and a glass of water on the coffee table, in case she wakes up in need of either. Then I set out to move our new mattress and make up the bed with a fresh pair of sheets. When I’m finished, I shower and make myself a sandwich. Despite my hunger, I can only stomach half of it. I wrap the rest and set it out for Ave. I highly doubt that she’ll eat it of her own volition, but I know she needs the sustenance.
I sit on the arm of the couch, reaching out to run my fingers through her hair. I wonder how long she slept before she crawled out of my arms. She usually sleeps through anything, and with all her body has been through, I’m surprised anything woke her—then again, her cramps have been hell for her to endure.
I unconsciously send up a prayer, asking God to ease her suffering and to heal her body. It isn’t until after the words are spoken over her that I realize what I’ve done. I won’t deny that there’s an anger that simmers deep inside of my chest, but I know that prayer is the only thing I can offer her physically. Thinking about God makes me realize that tomorrow is Sunday. A part of me wants to go to church simply to see if I can find any answers. I know that she won’t be well enough to go, though—and I won’t leave her. Not after the shit I pulled today. I’ll be here when she needs me.
I’m distracted from my thoughts at the sound of my phone. I left it to charge in the other room. I’m sure it’s our parent’s checking on us. I don’t have it in me to speak to them right now. I know they’ll want to talk to Avery, who hasn’t spoken to them since they heard the news, but I don’t want to wake her. Not wishing to ignore them, I retrieve my device so that I might send them a text, promising to call them tomorrow. Just as I’m about ready to leave the room, Avery’s phone beeps. I check and see that she’s received a few messages today, four of which are from Brenna. I hang my head as I’m shoved further into life after…
I’m not sure what Avery’s schedule looks like for the rest of the month,
but there’s no doubt in my mind that if she’s set to play in the next few days, they’ll need to find a replacement cellist. Facing Monday already seems like an insurmountable feat—I can’t even think about school starting up again in a couple of weeks. I shake the thought away with a sigh and then reply to Brenna’s text.
Me: Hey Bren—this is Gray. Listen, Ave isn’t feeling well. Wanted to let you know she’s going to be out of commission for a couple weeks. If you have any gigs lined up, you should look for a stand in.
Before I can even set her phone down, it beeps with a new message.
Brenna: Oh no! Is everything okay?
Brenna: I know she wasn’t feeling well last night…
Me: She’ll be okay. She just needs some time.
Just typing the words feels like betrayal, like I’m sweeping death under the rug—but I can’t, I can’t tell her…
Brenna: Okay…I hope she feels better soon! Tell her not to worry about the group. If you need anything, just let us know!
Me: Thanks
I’m relieved to toss her phone aside. I’m placated only for a moment, then it sets in that while we grieve, there are fewer than a handful of people who will even know why. How are we supposed to get through this, how are we supposed to exist in a community of people who know nothing about the joy that was given and then snatched away before we got a chance to truly appreciate it? How in the hell am I going to manage telling lies by omission when I make excuses for Avery’s current condition?
As I sink down onto the bed, I bite my tongue in an attempt to stop myself from cursing at God again. I’ve done that already today and it didn’t help. It certainly won’t change anything. Not to mention, somewhere in the back of my head, I remember that He does all things for the good of those who love Him.
My chest tightens, suddenly questioning how that could possibly be true right now for Ave and me. Do we not love Him enough?
The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella Page 9