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A Beautiful Life
I remember when you were born. I remember the first time I heard you cry and held you to my breast. You were so beautiful; your features were a perfect mix between your father and me. You stared up at us with your big, beautiful green eyes and I promised I would go anywhere, do anything, and fight for you till the day I died. In the beginning, it was just us three, then we invited our parents, then siblings, and eventually we introduced you to everyone else in our lives. Everyone loved you and commented on what an amazing baby you were. You slept through the night and were rarely fussy or irritable. You were happy to just sit in your rocker and watch us, or the dogs while we tended to things around the house. Then suddenly you were turning a year old, and had already said your first words, “Dadda”. Your father still does not let me live down the fact that your first word was about him. In another blink of an eye, you were crawling, then walking, then running. Anytime we would take you to a park, or a field you were running. The wind would blow through your wavy blonde hair, and the sun would leave a rosy glow upon your face. You continued to be our happy little boy.
The first day of school for you was so hard for me. I worried about you. Would you get along with the other children, what if you got into trouble, and what if you didn’t miss your dad or me and we were no longer the most important thing in your life? I managed to not cry when we dropped you off, at least not in front of you. But once we were back in the car driving away, I cried the whole way home, afraid that I had begun to lose my little baby boy. Fortunately, when we returned to pick you up you came running towards us, hugging us tightly as you spoke of all the things you had done today and the kids you had played with. I felt a bit selfish when I remembered all the thoughts, I had had that morning and hugged you extra tight, and right as your story of the day wound down you told us how great of a day it was and that through all those things your favorite part was seeing us and getting to go home and spend the rest of the day with us. This time, your dad cried quietly in the car, and we held hands on the drive home. Silently supporting each other in our love for you and the joy of knowing that you were going to be ok.
As you got older you began developing and growing your personality, never saying no to trying something new, and always reaching out for more knowledge. Your book collection started small and grew to the point where you owned more books in your library than I did in mine. No book was off-limits, and your curiosity fueled a lot of our conversations, and sometimes our arguments. I would like to say I kept my temper, but I’m human and no matter what transpired between us, we always hugged, cooled off, and returned together to discuss our feelings and actions. You were far too smart for your age, and before I knew it you were in high school and completing the last few years of your schooling. You were on the football team playing defense, you got a small part in several school musicals, and you competed on the debate team. I held you and rubbed your back when you got your heart broken the first time. Listening to you talk about the person you had a crush on, the person who had denied your affections and hurt you, was so tough. I wanted to find them and shake them and yell at them about how wonderful you were and how selfish they were for not giving you a chance and hurting you. Instead, I kissed your forehead, made you tea, and we cuddled on the couch watching our favorite movies. I still think about that conversation and how, despite being hurt and refused, you didn’t say anything directly negative about the person. You questioned yourself and what was wrong with you, but never a bad word about them. You saw the best in people, even when they had hurt you.
When you left to go off to college I bawled like a baby once you had driven away. I selfishly needed you here with me and you hadn’t been gone more than 30 minutes or so when you called us and told us how much you loved us and made plans for us to get together for dinner in a week or two. Your father and I decided to cry together that day, scrolling through your baby pictures and wondering where the years had gone and trying to figure out what we were going to do without you here. We agreed your room would not be changed, kept clean and ready for when you came home during breaks, and that we would alternate calling you every other day to check up on you and make sure you were doing ok off on your own. I’m sure you sometimes thought we were over-protective and cautious, though you never said anything to us, but we had seen the horrors of the world and knew how tough things could get and the dangers that were disguised as presents, wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper, and tied with a giant bow with your name on it. A terrible car wreck that left you in the hospital for a week, a bar fight downtown where you were hanging out with your friends, a stumble on the stairs, and a tumble down a flight of stairs when it was raining. Each thing felt like it took a year or two off my life from the stress. And while you may have ended up in a cast, or physical therapy, or just regular therapy, you were always, in the end, ok and still in high spirits.
After you graduated college you got a job in a large city a few hours away, and in that city, you found an apartment that you could afford. It was a dump. I know my face showed my horror when you brought us home for the first time. As we had walked up the stairs, I kept fighting to keep a straight face despite the terrible location, the very unstable stairs upstairs, and the apartment that I was pretty sure I had seen in a horror movie. Your dad gave my hand a squeeze when we entered your apartment, he could tell my mind was racing at everything I was seeing and thinking. This brought me out of my head long enough to see how proud you were of the place. To notice the little accents, you had put up to make it your own, and of course, the family portrait that you kept in the living room so you could say goodnight to us before heading off to bed. I know you loved that place and were sad when you moved out, but I was so thankful you were moving somewhere safer and cleaner.
When you brought the person, you were dating home for Thanksgiving I felt another pain in my heart at how fast you were growing up and how you were building a life for yourself. I must say, they were so delightful, and I could see the love you had for them shining in your eyes and written all over your face. Watching you build a life with them was an amazing experience and we were devastated when things ended, and you both moved on with your lives. All I wanted for you was you to be happy and loved, and for you to give your love to the world and another person, and I feared you would send your love out into the world and never have it reciprocated. I know, you didn’t need to be loved by another to be happy and complete in your life but love and being with the person who loves you is so important and wonderful, and you deserved to have that. It would be a few years before you brought another home for the holidays, and once again they were charming and beautiful, and you both brought out the best in each other. And this time I didn’t have to watch your heartbreak again, this time was different. A week turned into a month, a month into a year, and before long you were both standing in front before all your friends and family, promising to stay strong together and to spend the rest of your lives together. Once again, I cried. The reception afterward continued long into the night and into the early morning, at first there were toasts and dinner, then dancing and cake, and eventually just sitting around a fire sharing and reflecting. Then breakfast at a diner before hugs and “I love you” before everyone parting and heading home.
We got to see you become a father and raise first a little girl and then a little boy. We got to watch you stumble at parenting in the beginning before finding your footing. Don’t worry, we stumbled so much in the beginning too. I tried to be supportive and there when you asked for it without being, hopefully, too overbearing, and opinionated. The family vacations we all took together were never long enough, and each one was special and unique. Watching you grow and become a husband, and a parent was amazing, and you made it look so easy. You had bad times, but you had far more good times and you never let the bad times get too overwhelming and heavy. If you needed it, you asked for help, and we did our best to provide the support you needed. And you were there, by the bed, in the hospital, when my time was slowly coming to an end. I had been there for you at every moment of your life and now you were here by my side at the end of my life. Even though it is hard, this is what is supposed to happen. We grow up, we live, we have children, and we die, it’s corny but it is the circle of life and how it is supposed to be. After my goodbyes to your father and to you, and your family, I start to close my eyes, your beautiful face growing fuzzy as they close, and darkness starts to overtake me.
The world is dark, and I am falling backward without a sound when a voice breaks through and reaches my ears. “Ma’am…I’m sorry, but there has been a fetal demise”. I blink, the darkness disappearing as bright fluorescent light shines down from the ceiling, creating an artificial yellowish glow throughout the hospital room. The light is terrible and brings no warmth or comfort, just a nauseating sickly light that is so unnatural and ugly. It’s this light that tears me from the dark that I had just been in. The darkness that wasn’t cold, and ugly like the light in this room, but warm and loving, bringing comfort to me at the end of my life. The doctor continues to look at me as I just lay there, not speaking, not listening, but also hearing every word he just said. “What…?” I manage to croak out between dry lips, taking another second or two to try and bring some form of saliva into my mouth. “W-What do you mean?” Now I am making eye contact with the doctor, and only on him. All the nurses around him and I are fuzzy but I can’t tell if it is my vision focusing on him because of what he said, or if it is because of the tears that are starting to fill my eyes. This must be why my mouth is so dry, all the liquid in me is heading towards my eyes, creating pressure there like a dam about to explode. “Your baby…he is gone. We can’t find a heartbeat. I’m so sorry for your loss.” The way he is looking at me is so full of pity and pain, and remorse for having to tell me this news. But these aren’t the things I’m looking for, what I’m looking for is any trace of him lying. Of him being wrong, because I just watched my son be born, and grow up, and get married, and have children, and have a life. I just saw it all and I passed away quietly and without fanfare having seen his life happen. The doctor is wrong, he is mistaken and…wrong. The dam behind my eyes is growing more now, waging war against me in their fight to break free. “No…you are wrong, that can’t be. He was just here, we saw him earlier and he was fine, he had a heartbeat. So, I’m sorry to tell you, but you are wrong.” I expect anger to fill the doctor’s face, to have been caught in a lie and to quickly repent and tell me he IS wrong and that I am right and that my baby, my SON, is ok. Instead of what I am expecting I just see pain and sadness, and I can see in his eyes he is trying to find the right thing to say to me, choosing his words carefully. “Dr. Averly is head of our ultrasound technicians. She looked and examined for as long as possible to make complete sure before she came and told me. I’m not sure what happened, but some time between this morning when you were checked and now your son died. I’m so sorry for your loss.” My loss...my loss? As the words finally reach my brain, and as I start shaking as I fight to not lash out and scream, I feel the dam behind my eyes burst and the first of many large, fat, warm teardrops running down my cheeks. And I cry, and I never stop crying.
© Katherine B.
The first day of school for you was so hard for me. I worried about you. Would you get along with the other children, what if you got into trouble, and what if you didn’t miss your dad or me and we were no longer the most important thing in your life? I managed to not cry when we dropped you off, at least not in front of you. But once we were back in the car driving away, I cried the whole way home, afraid that I had begun to lose my little baby boy. Fortunately, when we returned to pick you up you came running towards us, hugging us tightly as you spoke of all the things you had done today and the kids you had played with. I felt a bit selfish when I remembered all the thoughts, I had had that morning and hugged you extra tight, and right as your story of the day wound down you told us how great of a day it was and that through all those things your favorite part was seeing us and getting to go home and spend the rest of the day with us. This time, your dad cried quietly in the car, and we held hands on the drive home. Silently supporting each other in our love for you and the joy of knowing that you were going to be ok.
As you got older you began developing and growing your personality, never saying no to trying something new, and always reaching out for more knowledge. Your book collection started small and grew to the point where you owned more books in your library than I did in mine. No book was off-limits, and your curiosity fueled a lot of our conversations, and sometimes our arguments. I would like to say I kept my temper, but I’m human and no matter what transpired between us, we always hugged, cooled off, and returned together to discuss our feelings and actions. You were far too smart for your age, and before I knew it you were in high school and completing the last few years of your schooling. You were on the football team playing defense, you got a small part in several school musicals, and you competed on the debate team. I held you and rubbed your back when you got your heart broken the first time. Listening to you talk about the person you had a crush on, the person who had denied your affections and hurt you, was so tough. I wanted to find them and shake them and yell at them about how wonderful you were and how selfish they were for not giving you a chance and hurting you. Instead, I kissed your forehead, made you tea, and we cuddled on the couch watching our favorite movies. I still think about that conversation and how, despite being hurt and refused, you didn’t say anything directly negative about the person. You questioned yourself and what was wrong with you, but never a bad word about them. You saw the best in people, even when they had hurt you.
When you left to go off to college I bawled like a baby once you had driven away. I selfishly needed you here with me and you hadn’t been gone more than 30 minutes or so when you called us and told us how much you loved us and made plans for us to get together for dinner in a week or two. Your father and I decided to cry together that day, scrolling through your baby pictures and wondering where the years had gone and trying to figure out what we were going to do without you here. We agreed your room would not be changed, kept clean and ready for when you came home during breaks, and that we would alternate calling you every other day to check up on you and make sure you were doing ok off on your own. I’m sure you sometimes thought we were over-protective and cautious, though you never said anything to us, but we had seen the horrors of the world and knew how tough things could get and the dangers that were disguised as presents, wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper, and tied with a giant bow with your name on it. A terrible car wreck that left you in the hospital for a week, a bar fight downtown where you were hanging out with your friends, a stumble on the stairs, and a tumble down a flight of stairs when it was raining. Each thing felt like it took a year or two off my life from the stress. And while you may have ended up in a cast, or physical therapy, or just regular therapy, you were always, in the end, ok and still in high spirits.
After you graduated college you got a job in a large city a few hours away, and in that city, you found an apartment that you could afford. It was a dump. I know my face showed my horror when you brought us home for the first time. As we had walked up the stairs, I kept fighting to keep a straight face despite the terrible location, the very unstable stairs upstairs, and the apartment that I was pretty sure I had seen in a horror movie. Your dad gave my hand a squeeze when we entered your apartment, he could tell my mind was racing at everything I was seeing and thinking. This brought me out of my head long enough to see how proud you were of the place. To notice the little accents, you had put up to make it your own, and of course, the family portrait that you kept in the living room so you could say goodnight to us before heading off to bed. I know you loved that place and were sad when you moved out, but I was so thankful you were moving somewhere safer and cleaner.
When you brought the person, you were dating home for Thanksgiving I felt another pain in my heart at how fast you were growing up and how you were building a life for yourself. I must say, they were so delightful, and I could see the love you had for them shining in your eyes and written all over your face. Watching you build a life with them was an amazing experience and we were devastated when things ended, and you both moved on with your lives. All I wanted for you was you to be happy and loved, and for you to give your love to the world and another person, and I feared you would send your love out into the world and never have it reciprocated. I know, you didn’t need to be loved by another to be happy and complete in your life but love and being with the person who loves you is so important and wonderful, and you deserved to have that. It would be a few years before you brought another home for the holidays, and once again they were charming and beautiful, and you both brought out the best in each other. And this time I didn’t have to watch your heartbreak again, this time was different. A week turned into a month, a month into a year, and before long you were both standing in front before all your friends and family, promising to stay strong together and to spend the rest of your lives together. Once again, I cried. The reception afterward continued long into the night and into the early morning, at first there were toasts and dinner, then dancing and cake, and eventually just sitting around a fire sharing and reflecting. Then breakfast at a diner before hugs and “I love you” before everyone parting and heading home.
We got to see you become a father and raise first a little girl and then a little boy. We got to watch you stumble at parenting in the beginning before finding your footing. Don’t worry, we stumbled so much in the beginning too. I tried to be supportive and there when you asked for it without being, hopefully, too overbearing, and opinionated. The family vacations we all took together were never long enough, and each one was special and unique. Watching you grow and become a husband, and a parent was amazing, and you made it look so easy. You had bad times, but you had far more good times and you never let the bad times get too overwhelming and heavy. If you needed it, you asked for help, and we did our best to provide the support you needed. And you were there, by the bed, in the hospital, when my time was slowly coming to an end. I had been there for you at every moment of your life and now you were here by my side at the end of my life. Even though it is hard, this is what is supposed to happen. We grow up, we live, we have children, and we die, it’s corny but it is the circle of life and how it is supposed to be. After my goodbyes to your father and to you, and your family, I start to close my eyes, your beautiful face growing fuzzy as they close, and darkness starts to overtake me.
The world is dark, and I am falling backward without a sound when a voice breaks through and reaches my ears. “Ma’am…I’m sorry, but there has been a fetal demise”. I blink, the darkness disappearing as bright fluorescent light shines down from the ceiling, creating an artificial yellowish glow throughout the hospital room. The light is terrible and brings no warmth or comfort, just a nauseating sickly light that is so unnatural and ugly. It’s this light that tears me from the dark that I had just been in. The darkness that wasn’t cold, and ugly like the light in this room, but warm and loving, bringing comfort to me at the end of my life. The doctor continues to look at me as I just lay there, not speaking, not listening, but also hearing every word he just said. “What…?” I manage to croak out between dry lips, taking another second or two to try and bring some form of saliva into my mouth. “W-What do you mean?” Now I am making eye contact with the doctor, and only on him. All the nurses around him and I are fuzzy but I can’t tell if it is my vision focusing on him because of what he said, or if it is because of the tears that are starting to fill my eyes. This must be why my mouth is so dry, all the liquid in me is heading towards my eyes, creating pressure there like a dam about to explode. “Your baby…he is gone. We can’t find a heartbeat. I’m so sorry for your loss.” The way he is looking at me is so full of pity and pain, and remorse for having to tell me this news. But these aren’t the things I’m looking for, what I’m looking for is any trace of him lying. Of him being wrong, because I just watched my son be born, and grow up, and get married, and have children, and have a life. I just saw it all and I passed away quietly and without fanfare having seen his life happen. The doctor is wrong, he is mistaken and…wrong. The dam behind my eyes is growing more now, waging war against me in their fight to break free. “No…you are wrong, that can’t be. He was just here, we saw him earlier and he was fine, he had a heartbeat. So, I’m sorry to tell you, but you are wrong.” I expect anger to fill the doctor’s face, to have been caught in a lie and to quickly repent and tell me he IS wrong and that I am right and that my baby, my SON, is ok. Instead of what I am expecting I just see pain and sadness, and I can see in his eyes he is trying to find the right thing to say to me, choosing his words carefully. “Dr. Averly is head of our ultrasound technicians. She looked and examined for as long as possible to make complete sure before she came and told me. I’m not sure what happened, but some time between this morning when you were checked and now your son died. I’m so sorry for your loss.” My loss...my loss? As the words finally reach my brain, and as I start shaking as I fight to not lash out and scream, I feel the dam behind my eyes burst and the first of many large, fat, warm teardrops running down my cheeks. And I cry, and I never stop crying.
© Katherine B.
