The young chaplain smiled as she slipped out into the hallway to grab Eric a breakfast tray. She not only brought Annie a cup of coffee, but an entire pot.
“Here you go,” she said as she poured the hot, steaming liquid into a Styrofoam cup, “coffee with caffeine!” She handed the cup to Annie carefully. “Be careful – it’s really hot.”
Annie wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth, the aroma and the young woman’s kindness. Eric brought his tray of food over to the chair by the window and sat down to eat. He lifted the round, plastic cover from the plate, to expose a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and whole wheat toast. The chaplain continued to visit with them while Eric devoured his breakfast and Annie sipped and savored her coffee.
“It’s normal to feel sad and hopeless,” she started, “but time heals all things. Someday, years from now, you might be feeling sad and not know why. Then you’ll remember that it’s this day and what happened….”
She continued to talk, but Annie stopped listening. The chaplain was very nice and meant well, but didn’t know what she was talking about. Be feeling sad and not know why? And then remember what happened?!
There was no doubt in Annie’s mind that she would never forget the day Dillon was born. It would never creep up on her, no matter how many years had passed. Every day would bring thoughts of him, if only for a second. Of course there would be the “milestone” events – the birthdays each year, each Christmas, what would have been his first day of kindergarten, and his last day of high school, but she knew there would be more. Every time she’d see another child, she’d remember what she was missing. She’d think of him when the first snowflakes would drift gently down from the sky and collect in a pile in the yard or when after a sun shower a rainbow would stretch from here to forever. She would have run to get him from his crib or his toys to show him how wonderful it was. When a spider would magically appear from nowhere, lowering itself through the air on a silken thread, she would have shown him how to look for its beautiful, intricate web. “A tiny, little spider made that, Dillon, all by himself!” She could imagine him clapping his chubby little hands together and squealing with delight. The thought brought a small smile to her lips.
“Annie.” Eric’s voice brought her back to reality. Both he and the chaplain were looking at her expectantly and she wondered how long she’d been off in her own little world.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I’m just really tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“That’s to be expected, Annie,” said the chaplain. “Grief can be exhausting.”
Really, she wanted to say. She felt the urge to scream again, but only nodded her head in agreement. She hoped the visit was almost over and looked to Eric for help. Maybe he could read her eyes and do something to make it end. He was distracted by now as well, his hand on his shirt pocket, feeling for his smokes.
“Well, you two must be tired, so I’ll be going now.” With that, the young woman with the ponytail walked to the door. She turned toward them before she walked out into the hallway. “I really am so very sorry.”
Annie looked after her, not sure what to think of this angel of mercy who brought them food and drink and the most misguided advice she could imagine. She meant well, she told herself. Little did she know that these words would become her new words to live by. They would bring her little comfort, but they’d help her hold onto her sanity, one well-meaning person at a time.
She pushed open the back door and stepped slowly into the kitchen. Everything was exactly as it had been when they left to go to the clinic the day before. The dishes she had eaten her lunch on had been washed and set in the dish drainer in the stainless steel sink.
“I didn’t remember you doing the dishes yesterday,” she said to Eric as he followed her in.
“Oh – Terri did them. You know my sister. She can’t stand to see a dirty dish,” he replied, shaking his head.
“When was she here?” It bothered Annie to know that Eric’s sister had been there when she’d been in the hospital. Terri never thought that Annie’s housekeeping skills were good enough; she always found fault with something and then took it upon herself to report it in detail to the rest of the family. Annie had no idea what shape the house had been in – she’d had other things on her mind.
“She offered to come over and straighten things up before you came home, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it. I thought it was pretty nice of her.”
“I guess so.” She tried to choose her words carefully, not wanting to put Eric on the defensive about his sister. “I just don’t remember how messy it was -”
He interrupted her. “It’s fine – it wasn’t that bad. She just wanted to help.” The tension in his voice was so brittle she was afraid it would shatter and cover the floor with shards of what had been their life before all of this had happened. She feared that if that happened, they would never be able to piece it back together again. It struck her as ironic that her life had become a metaphor for Humpty Dumpty. Were they going to be broken forever?
“Okay – sorry. That was really kind of her. I just -”
“I know – you just.” He went back outside to have a cigarette, letting the screen door slam behind him.
Annie sighed and walked into the living room. Everything felt so empty – the house, the room, her arms. She sank down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. What was going to happen to them? How were they going to get through this? Her heart pounded in her chest as the questions raced through her head. She grabbed a pillow that was nearby and held it tightly, needing to hold onto something because it hurt too much not to.
Her thoughts drifted to Dillon. She wondered what it would have been like if everything had been all right and he had been born strong and healthy. What would be the first thing she’d do when they brought him home? She imagined bringing him into the nursery, gently laying him on the changing table and kissing his little toes when she unwrapped the receiving blanket. Eric would be there next to her, marveling at his newborn little boy, beaming with pride.
Cigarette smoke wafted in through the screen door from the backyard and brought her back to reality. Giving the pillow another squeeze, she stood up and walked to the spare bedroom. She’d been keeping the few baby things she had gotten in the closet since it had been too soon to prepare the nursery. She needed to go through them, to hold them and touch them. She needed a tactile connection to Dillon that only the little undershirts and sleepers could provide. He’d never worn them, but it seemed to be the only way she could feel close to him right now.
Her heart started beating wildly when she opened the closet door. Where were all the baby things? She was sure she had stacked them in a neat little pile on a box in the left hand corner. The box was there, but the baby clothes were gone. Annie felt her face flush as she searched every nook and cranny for the missing items. Maybe she had absent-mindedly put them in the back of the closet or on the right-hand side. Perhaps she’d stuck them up on the shelf and had forgotten about it. She dragged a step stool out from behind the garment bag of winter coats, and climbed up onto it to get a better view of the top shelf. Frantic now, she felt as though she was not just looking for little t-shirts, but for Dillon himself. For a split second she hoped that she’d actually find him, snuggled up in the corner, but then realized how crazy that was.
Am I losing my mind? She comforted herself with the thought that if she really were crazy, she wouldn’t be able to even ask the question. But where were those damn baby clothes?
She smelled Eric approaching before she saw him – the cigarette smoke announced his arrival. Before he could say anything, she confronted him. “Where are the baby clothes? Where are Dillon’s things?” Tears stung her eyes and she felt as though she was going to be sick.
Eric sighed heavily at the sight