It takes me two tries before I can get one to stick, but when I do, I take full advantage of the moment and promptly slide my thumb over the record button.
“Hi, little Grace. It’s your momma.” As I speak, I rub my rounded belly as though I might actually comfort my child by doing so. Or that maybe my child can comfort me.
“I know today was scary, but I…I don’t want you to be frightened. If for any reason you don’t make it here to us in this world, I’ll find you in the next. You won’t be alone. I promise. If you wake up in heaven, watch for me. I’ll be there soon. I’ll find you. Then I’ll be able to hold you in my arms. I’ll rock you and…and s-sing to you. And we’ll spend all of eternity together. So don’t be afraid, little Grace. I will always be with you. Always. Just look for me. In heaven, in the dark, in the sound of the waves, in the lightning bugs. Wherever you go, I’ll be there with you. I love you, sweet baby girl. In this life and the next. Always.”
With strength reserved for my husband and my child, I hold my smile until I stop the recording. The instant the light goes dark, however, I drop my face into my waiting open hands, and I cry quiet tears of fear and helplessness. Of happiness and relief. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, so I feel everything—the positive and the negative, the good and the bad. The hopeful and the hopeless.
I have no idea what the future holds, even though I’m afraid that I might, but I have a nebulous chill in my bones that whispers of death. Whether mine or my baby’s I can’t possibly know, but either way, the road ahead seems bleak.
I weep in utter silence. My sobs make no sound. Their noise is smothered by the agony that chokes me. The only vibration that tickles the delicate bones inside my ears is the sound of time.
Galloping away.
Nineteen
The Hardest Part is the Night
Nate
Over the course of the following weeks, Lena’s health begins to slowly decline. It’s as though the dark cloud that has been hovering silently in the distance sweeps in and bursts, pouring rain of reality and finality over her. Over me.
Over us.
It started on the morning following the placenta previa diagnosis and has run steadily downhill each day since. Lena fights it, of course. She still refuses to give up on our baby, but her vigor lessens with every week that slips by.
She battles depression. It seems almost like poisonous black strings have attached themselves to her heart. I can almost see them coiling and wrapping and knotting, pulling tighter and tighter every day, dragging her down, down, down.
Nissa has been trying to help with that. She comes over once a day to either read to Lena or watch a movie with her, usually something from their youth, something they sing and laugh to like Grease or Flash Gordon, which I find particularly amusing.
She combats confusion as well. She told me once a few days ago that it feels as though she’s awakening from a dream, awakening to a life she doesn’t recognize. Sometimes she’s as confused about when she is as she is about where she is.
I first noticed that in relation to Nissa. She was at the house the other day. She’d been reading to Lena when Lena interrupted her.
“How are things with you and Mark? I’m sorry I haven’t asked in so long.”
Nissa reached across the couch to lay her hand on Lena’s. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot on your plate or anything.” I saw the wink she shot my wife, and my wife’s answering smile, sad though it was.
“Well? How are things?”
“Not great. No better, no worse, I guess. I just wonder sometimes how long we can go on this way. I mean, we might as well just be roommates. And babysitters. Well, that’s mostly just me.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
Nissa shrugged. “It’ll come to a head one of these days. I’m not too eager to push it until the kids are a little older. I have no idea what I’d do if he left me right now.”
Lena nodded, her expression rife with sympathy, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Slowly, Lena’s eyes began to get heavy, and she dozed off. Nissa watched her from the couch. I watched her from the island in the kitchen. I wondered if she hurt as much as I did to see my beautiful, vivacious Lena this way. Because it was damn sure breaking my heart.
She only napped for about ten minutes. When she woke, she smiled over at Nissa as if she hadn’t been asleep and asked, “So, how are things with you and Mark?”
To Nissa’s credit, she handled it well. Didn’t miss a beat with her response. “He’s an asshole, but I’m not surprised. He’s always been an asshole.”
The two laughed, but I died a little inside.
For a few days, Lena wouldn’t talk about it. Tried to hide her slips. But I could see it. Even without the overt example of that conversation with Nissa, I could see it. I’m as aware of every subtle nuance of my wife as I am of my own body.
I know how she struggles, just as I know her reasons for not wanting to talk about it, to acknowledge it. She’s trying to protect me. And I’m trying to protect her.