44 comments/ 89408 views/ 22 favorites An Empty Feeling By: Slirpuff It had to be somewhere around three in the morning. It was quiet, except for the occasional page over the intercom or the sound of someone pushing a cart down the hall. Heather's room was dark. The curtains were drawn and the only visible light came from the overhead fluorescents in the hallway. I had been discharged earlier in the day but was going nowhere without my wife. The sling supporting the cast on my right arm had by now rubbed my neck raw. Being right handed, I instinctively kept reaching for things with that hand only to realize too late it wasn't going to happen, meanwhile the sling cut into my neck for the umpteenth time. Life was going to be a bitch until they cut this cast off, but not for another seven to eight weeks would that happen. She looked peaceful lying there in bed. She had a red mark the size of a half dollar on her right cheek, which I knew would turn into an ugly bruise before it went totally away. Other than that, you couldn't tell the trauma she'd gone through during the last forty-five hours. Earlier that morning I sat in a wheelchair next to Heather's bed listening to the doctor. "She's doing as well as can be expected, but we're going to keep her sedated for now. She's going to be groggy when she does wake up and may be a little uncomfortable but should be in no real pain." Yeah, that will last until she realizes what has happened, then the pain will start and no amount of medication is going to make it go away. "How long do you think she's going to have to be in here?" "If everything goes as expected, she should be able to be released probably by the end of the week. Your wife is going to be sore and will need four to five days of strict bed rest and then nothing strenuous for a couple of weeks after that. You both are pretty lucky." "You want to be the one who tells that to her when she wakes up?" I replied, trying not to sound sarcastic but it came out that way anyway. "Sorry doc, I didn't mean it the way it came out. It's just that..." my voice tapered off as I lowered my head feeling a wave of emptiness come over me. "I know it's going to be hard, but you two are young and this is only a bump in the road for you both. She's going to be up in a couple of hours and the chaplain said that he'd be stopping by in the morning to talk with her." What could he say that would make any difference now? Heather is Catholic but we rarely went to mass anymore. It seemed that on Saturday nights there was always something going on, and Sunday mornings? Well, we both liked to sleep in together. Yesterday her mother said she was going to talk to their parish priest but I told her to wait and talk to Heather before she did anything. We were going to have a couple of hard days coming up, and I didn't want her stressed out anymore than she was already going to be. So I sat there watching my wife sleep. I was sore and dead tired myself, but needed to be there when my wife woke up. She was going to be disorientated, confused, angry, and a basket case right after she finds out. I only hope she doesn't hate me too much. I know it wasn't directly my fault and I pray to God that she's going to see it that way. I had suggested that she come and if I hadn't, well, we wouldn't be here, or at least she wouldn't be. Where was he going in such a hurry that he just had to run that damn red light? Hell, the traffic was still backed up halfway down the block so he was going to have to stop nonetheless. The police said he didn't even have a chance to brake before plowing into us. They estimate he was doing somewhere in the area of thirty-five miles an hour when his Camry hit our new Camero as we turned onto Twenty-Seventh Avenue. I never saw it coming but Heather did. Her scream and me desperately reaching for her was the last thing I remember before blacking out. Luckily for us it was somewhat of a glancing blow and we were wearing our seatbelts. He wasn't wearing one and hit the center of the windshield full force. Later I found out the paramedics had pronounced him dead at the scene People were yelling and screaming something about the car catching fire but the only thing I was thinking about was my wife. I reached over for her before realizing someone had already pulled her out of the car. I felt someone's hand on me and knew immediately that my right arm was bent in a way it wasn't supposed to. Did it hurt? I don't remember. The only thing I recall was yelling for my wife while someone stuck a needle in my arm saying she was going to be all right. That was Friday night and now it was Sunday night or Monday morning, whatever you wanted to call it. When she wakes up I'm going to smile at her, tell her I love her, and from that point I'm not sure. She's going to realize right away there's a huge problem especially after she feels her belly. There's not going to be any words to make her feel any better and I'm going to be there to comfort her anyway I can. I'll climb into bed, hold her, and do whatever is necessary to get her through the next twelve hours. I just can't help thinking it's my fault this all happened. After what Heather went through the last time, let's just say it's not going to be something I'm looking forward to. I just hope we can get through this, move on, and still stay together. "If only." I've said those words to myself a thousand times over the last few days. I know you can't go back, but I'd give anything in the world if I could. Heather and I first met at a dance club just outside the downtown area of Minneapolis. The place was packed and my buddy Chris and I were standing by the bar nursing our third beer of the night. It was dark, smoky, and there was little room to move much less dance. There was a group of girls dancing about fifteen feet from us and although none of them were runway models, all of them were at least a seven and a half to an eight. "I'll take the tall blonde and you can take your pick of any of the others," Chris said, putting his beer down and adjusting his clothes getting ready to make his move. "How about if I want the blonde?" "Steve, you hate blondes." "I know, but maybe this time I might want to try one, especially one with a body like hers." "Well, since you drove I guess it's your choice but make up your mind before we miss out." I smiled at him. "Asshole," Chris said, punching me in the arm. "Just fucking with you a little. Take the damn blonde and I'll go for the tall brunette with the long hair." Hell, that girl was every bit as tall as I was. We walked over, introduced ourselves and after a bit of conversation and a dance or two we did what you do at bars and picked them up. I'd like to say that I wowed Heather with my smooth talk and charm or with my moves on the dance floor but that wasn't the case. She was blasted out of her ever-loving mind and after we left I had to stop my car twice just so she could puke out the open car door. Chris and the blonde, Debby, made out a lot better. I dropped them both off at his place. Walking up the steps to his apartment arm in arm he gave me a thumbs up. And me? Well, instead of going arm in arm up to my place, I drove Heather home and had to almost carry her up to her front door. All right, so I took the cowards way out. I propped her up against her door frame, rang the door bell, and got my ass the hell out of there before her parents opened the door. So much for me scoring that evening. Through Chris and Debby, I got the message that Heather wanted to thank me for making sure she got home safe that night and for not taking advantage of her. "Most guys wouldn't have been so nice," she told Debby to relay to me. Two weeks later she was telling me the exact same thing herself when Chris and I went on a double date with the two of them. She stayed sober this time. We had a great night. She was much more fun sober. I still couldn't dance for shit, however she wasn't much better. But who in their right mind would tell their date she had two left feet? Not me, that's for sure. Did I score that night? Not even close. Kissing with a little tongue action was all I got until our eighth date when I got to second base. I didn't slide into home until our twelfth date and that was only after a lot of foreplay. Did the earth move? At twenty-three and having sex with a hot woman like Heather, if it didn't there would have to have been something seriously wrong with me. After dating for almost twelve months, and against her parents' wishes, she moved in with me. When we celebrated our second Valentine's Day together, I proposed—she accepted. I was in love and the world was good. At twenty-four and a half I had found my soul mate. Happily we sat down to map out our life together. Neither one of us had a four year college degree. I think between the two of us we had just shy of three years of college. Heather worked at Ecolabs putting together printed circuit boards for heart pacemakers. I was a department manager at a Menards Building Center. The biggest problem we had was that Heather worked in Egan and I worked on the other side of downtown Minneapolis where our apartment was. We, or should I say she, fought the traffic for the better part of a year until I was able to transfer to another store closer to where she worked. We found a new apartment about seven miles from her job and signed a year's lease. Egan was a growing city, eighth largest in the state, and had all the things we both liked to do. Biking or rollerblading around one of the lakes got to be a Sunday morning ritual. Shopping at the Mall of America could keep Heather and her girl friends busy for hours. I even accused her of trying to jump-start the economy all by herself. In the winter I got her interested in cross-country skiing because as they say, if you don't have something to do in the winter you might get shack nasty. That was something that happened when all you did was vegetate inside in the winter, which here could stretch on for seven months. We got married January seventeenth and delayed our honeymoon until late March—when we went on a seven-day Caribbean cruise. We got a great deal on the price. It was a first for both of us, not only going on a cruise but also being out of the United States. We were the typical honeymooning tourists. We couldn't keep our hands off of one another, no matter where we were. We also took full advantage of all the free food and entertainment aboard ship. After four days we promised ourselves we'd retire to a tropical island and open a bar on the beach. It sounded good and in reality would likely never happen but we could still dream. I thought Heather was going to cry when we boarded our plane in Miami and headed back home. We carried on our heavy coats because we knew we'd need them when we got off the plane. We were right, it was still colder than shit. Life was pretty good for the two of us for the next three years. I was promoted to assistant store manager. Heather got two raises and was made a lead person. We bought a small two-bedroom one-bath house and talked about maybe starting a family. Heather's company allowed for a four-month maternity leave and her mom said she would watch the baby for us after it was born, so we started trying. Without having to worry about birth control pills and condoms, we made love practically morning, noon, and night. Making a baby was sure a lot more fun than trying to make sure Heather didn't get knocked-up like we had been. It took us two months of bliss before the test kit showed she was pregnant. Everyone was happy for us, and both of our parents threw us a dinner to celebrate the upcoming addition to our family. This was going to be the first grandchild on either side and everyone was overjoyed. I'm not totally sure what happened, but at eight weeks Heather lost the baby. The doctor said it sometimes just happens, but it wasn't supposed to happen to us, to someone else, but not to us. Heather took it pretty hard. We'd already painted the second bedroom and started buying baby things to furnish the room. We were told that we were young and fertile. The next time we'd have to watch her health a lot closer, but we were certainly not ready to jump back into it yet. We went back to using birth control. I let the whole issue slide and waited for her to bring it up. We did talk about it and while we still wanted babies, Heather said that she needed time to get over what happened. She never came right out and said we were going to start trying again. It's just that I noticed a change in her, she was happy again. I had my old Heather back. It took a little longer this time around—she about fucked me to death those first two months. Sometimes on those icy cold weekends in January, we'd never leave our bed other than to get something to eat or drink. We ate in bed, made love, and only got out from underneath our warm down quilts when we absolutely had to. It must have worked because Heather came up pregnant again. However, there would be no dinner to celebrate just yet. We, and I do mean we, were very careful this time around. She watched what she ate and there was no ice-skating or cross-country skiing for her. When she started to show she proudly displayed her belly for the whole world to see. We went back to buying things for the baby's room and four months later we found out we were going to have a son. There was absolutely no alcohol for my bride and we were careful not to go to places where there was cigarette smoke. We were just plugging along, biding our time, when I got the call from her at work one afternoon—she was bleeding. She had noticed some spotting the day before, though it was so small she didn't think anything of it, but when she went to the bathroom just after lunch, she was bleeding heavily. "Steve, meet me at the doctor's office, they want me to come in immediately," a frantic Heather told me while driving to her doctor. I was halfway there when I got another call on my cell, this one from the doctor's office saying she had been transported by ambulance to the hospital emergency room. By the time I got there she was already in surgery. I called both her parents and my parents and told them what little I knew. They wanted to come down but I asked them not to until I had more information, no use everyone sitting around for hours over maybe nothing. Well, I hoped against hope it was nothing. "Mr. Moore," the doctor, still in his green scrubs, addressed me. "Your wife is resting comfortably and you'll be able to see her in an hour or so after she's awake in an assigned a room." "The baby, how's my son doing?" "I'm sorry, Heather lost the baby," he said in such a monotone voice I thought for a minute I'd heard him wrong. "I don't understand, we did everything right this time. We were so careful, I don't understand," I said for the second time. "What happened?" He couldn't give me the specifics on why her body had miscarried and I probably wouldn't have understood the medical jargon anyway. But I needed something, anything to say to my wife when she woke up and asked me what the hell happened. "She'll be awake in an hour or so, and I'll be in to check on her shortly after that. Heather will need to stay for probably a day or two so we can run a few tests and after she's discharged she'll need a couple of days of strict bed rest. After that she'll be able to do most everything she could before." "What do I say when she asks me why?" "Just tell her I will be in to see her and explain everything in detail to her. Again, I am sorry about the baby." At that point he walked back through the two big swinging doors where he'd come from. The word sorry just wasn't cutting it anymore. I called our parents and broke the bad news to them. I told them that tomorrow would be a better day to visit because she would be just coming out of the anesthesia, and the doctor wanted to talk to the two of us in private. Both parents wanted me to tell Heather how sorry they were for our loss. That went without saying. She was still half under when she was wheeled into her room. She saw me, smiled and went back to la la land. Over the next fifteen to twenty-five minutes she came in and out of consciousness. Finally I noticed she was awake but had her eyes closed, like she wasn't sure what was going on. "Steve," she started to mouth, but I told her to close her eyes and rest. I knew what her first question was going to be and I wasn't quite ready mentally and emotionally for it yet. I held her hand and kept stroking her face and hair. I needed time, hell I needed that damn doctor in here to tell her that she was okay, but I knew she wouldn't be no matter what he told her. "I love you," I whispered, burying my face into the pillow next to her head. I saw a slight upturn in her lips for a split second knowing it would be the last smile I would see in a very long while. She cried, I cried, listening to the doctor doing his best to explain in layman's terms what happened. It wasn't her fault but she wouldn't believe it or didn't accept what he was telling her. Some women have a hard time carrying a baby to term and she was one of them. He didn't say that she couldn't have a baby, but next time she'd have to be under strict medical care for her entire pregnancy. "There won't be a next time," she told him. He didn't say anything after that and neither did I. I just held her hand letting her come to grips with what the doctor had told us. What was there left to say? Our parents visited her the following morning and she was better, but only on the outside. Everyone cried and said how sorry they were but I found the word sorry had lost a lot of its luster—it just didn't seem to be enough. Heather spent hours staring at the ceiling; all the while I sat on the chair next to her bed holding her hand. The hospital chaplain came in that afternoon and asked if she wanted to talk. She just looked at him, then shook her head no. She was grieving. I took her home on Wednesday and put her right to bed. She hadn't said more than a few words, even to me, but the last thing in the world I wanted to discuss with her right now was the baby we'd lost. On Friday, when I had to go back to work, her mother came over for a few hours and kept an eye on her for me. Heather took a month leave of absence from her work. They gave her her accumulated sick days and even advanced her an extra week of vacation so she'd get paid for three of the four weeks she was out. Her friends from work took up a collection and put together a little basket of food items and brought it over to her. She accepted it and for the hundredth time people said how sorry they were. A month didn't even touch the surface of her healing. Physically Heather was back to normal but emotionally she was still that girl in the hospital who was being told she had lost her baby. It helped a lot when she went back to work, it gave her something else to think about but it was far from a cure all. I talked with her when she brought it up but didn't initiate any conversations. When she got up one night and closed the door to what was going to be our baby's room I became even more concerned. A week later I found I was not the only one worried about her. "Steve, Heather needs help," her dad said the following Sunday after church. "She's depressed and needs to talk to someone about it." "Hank, I brought this up to her about three weeks ago and she about took my head off. She told me she was grieving for the baby she lost and what about that didn't I understand? Also, she said that talking to some damn shrink wasn't going to bring her son back. I'm worried and I don't know what to do anymore." "Well, maybe I'll talk to our parish priest. Maybe he can talk to her." "Hank, if he tries to tell her it was God's will or something to that effect she's going to lose it. Let me get with my insurance carrier and see if I can find a female counselor she can talk to because clearly she's not getting any better." An Empty Feeling I got the name of one who came highly recommended. My only problem was to convince Heather she needed to go. "Why the hell should I talk to someone who's never gone through what I have? I'm dealing with it, it's just going to take a little more time that's all." "Heather, I love you with all my heart and soul but honey, you're not getting better. I want the old Heather back, the girl I married." "Steve, that Heather is dead, buried along with our son, and isn't coming back." "Don't you want to at least try? Won't you do it for me? For us?" She emphatically said no the first ten times I asked her. Then it was just no and finally maybe. We eventually made a deal, if she went and didn't think it was helping her she could stop going and I'd never bring it up again. Heather was right; Dr Roberta Cummings had never miscarried but still she was empathetic to how Heather was feeling. They talked for weeks and I never once asked her how it was going, or what they were talking about. It had been months since we'd made love or even held one another for that matter. It was driving me nuts but I was in it for the long haul. Every night we would go to bed at about the same time, she on her side me on mine. It was a rarity to even get a peck on the lips before rolling over to sleep, and you could forget about any cuddling or touching. Months, four damn months and nothing was getting any better. Then something happened that jarred our lives—her younger sister Vicki got pregnant. If I thought it was bad before it suddenly got a whole lot worse. Vicki and her new husband had hidden the fact she was pregnant from us for almost five and a half months, but when she really started to show, she told us at a Sunday family dinner. "I'm happy for the two of you," was about all Heather said. We left for home shortly after that. This time I wasn't going to let it drop. "I'm happy for Tom and Vicki, they're going to make great parents, don't you think?" I said it in a way that she'd have to give me at least some type of answer, or so I thought. But all she did the rest of the way home was stare out the window with this blank expression on her face. "Steve, you go to bed, I'm going to stay up tonight and read a bit," she said, looking straight through me. "Why don't you read in bed? I can sleep through almost anything and your reading isn't going to keep me up." "Steve, I said I want to read down here! Why do you always have to question everything I say or do?" I didn't even answer her. I just turned around and walked up to our bedroom, shut the door, locked it, and went to sleep. About two o'clock in the morning I heard her trying to open the door. "Steve, the door's locked," she said, shaking the handle. "Steve, unlock the damn door and let me in!" she demanded in that tone I'd come to hate, but I did nothing. She yelled, pounded on the door with her fists, and finally started kicking it. I think I heard a sob sometime during that twenty-minute fiasco but I wasn't moved like I would have been months earlier. I was tired and almost to my breaking point. The next morning I woke up a little earlier than I normally would have, hell I don't think I got more than an hour of sleep anyway. I showered, went downstairs, and found her asleep on the couch. I was just finishing my second cup of coffee when I noticed Heather in the doorway. She looked tired and a whole lot angrier than I'd seen her in a long time. "What was that all about last night?" she spit at me. "Why didn't you let me in the bedroom?" "Why?" "What do you mean why?" "It's a simple question," I said in a calm voice. "Why did you want to come in the bedroom last night?" "What kind of question is that? It's my damn bedroom too, that's why." "That's what I thought," I said, dumping what little coffee was left in my cup into the sink. "What's that supposed to mean?" "I just thought maybe, just maybe, you'd wanted to be with me, but I guess we both know that hasn't crossed your mind in what, six, seven months?" I was out the door forty-five seconds later and on my way to work thirty seconds after that. A surprised and open-mouthed Heather stood in the garage, watching me pull out. I had finally reached my limit. Like a coward, I left a message on the home phone answering machine. I told Heather I was working late and not to wait dinner on me, which was a real laugh. I had made eighty percent of the meals in the last five months. I knew she would probably find what I'd prepared for tonight in the refrigerator. I stayed an extra ten minutes at work so as not to be accused of lying to her and then met my brother, Roger, at a strip bar in a seedy part of the lower downtown area. "Okay, big brother what gives, and how in the hell did you find a dump like this?" "It's not all that bad, or it wasn't ten years ago when I was last here. It's just that I can't go home and deal with Heather tonight. Last night I thought my frigging head was going to explode. I know she lost the baby and I feel awful for her. I lost that baby too, but after seven months I'm ready to move on and she's still somewhere back there." "I thought she was seeing some shrink for the last couple of months?" "She has been but I haven't seen any changes whatsoever." "Do you ever talk about it? I mean really talk about how she's feeling?" "I tried but all she did was clam up or tell me I don't have a clue what she is going through. I guess after a while I just stopped asking. I watch her go off to the psychologist, come home, and still treat me like I'm not even there. We haven't had sex since two days before she miscarried. Hell, even my right hand is starting to reject me." We both laughed at that. He was right, this place was a hole and the women looked pretty damn rough. We had two beers and even tipped a few of the dancers so they would stay away from us. An hour later, with a brotherly hug and a suggestion for me to go with Heather to her next session, we both headed for our prospective homes. I found Heather sitting on the couch with a book in her lap staring into space. I sat in the chair directly across her and reached out for her hands. Like always she gave me that far away look that said 'leave me alone,' but I was tired of the status quo. I had to move something off dead center if we were to survive and go forward again. "You know I love you, don't you?" I started pulling on her hands to get her attention. "I know you're still hurting and I'm here for you. Please, let me help you, I'm begging you," I told her as my eyes started to water up. "I want to go to your next counseling session with you. We need to do this together if we're ever going to get through this." I don't know what I was expecting. I know what I was hoping for but what I got from her was nothing at all, and that I was not expecting. She looked at me, not through me this time, and told me to never lock her out of our room ever again. So began four months of hell. We started with when she got pregnant the first time and went on from there. Dr. Cummings dragged us through each phase and was brutal making us both relive the anguish and pain over and over. The one thing that Heather didn't fully realize was the pain I was also feeling. Not only was I grieving the loss of our son, but also the breakdown of our marriage. "When was the last time the two of you really kissed?" our counselor asked at the beginning of one session. Heather looked at me and shook her head. "I can't even remember, oh my God, I can't even remember the last time we kissed or even held one another." She looked shocked, but I wasn't because I knew the answer. "Steve, do you know how long it's been?" I gave Dr. Cummings almost exact dates of when we last kissed, cuddled, and made love to each other. Heather started to say that it hadn't been that long, or I was exaggerating the length of time, but after looking at me she knew I was right. "Has it really been that long?" "Honey, you've been out of it so long, it's a wonder that you can remember anything." She didn't take kindly to that remark. As I said, Dr. Cummings dug deep into the both of us and started sending us back with homework assignments, most of which were designed to get us emotionally and physically back with one another. It was hard for Heather and a couple of times she lashed out at me saying she wasn't ready but I persisted. I made sure that no matter where I went now I gave her a kiss and a hug goodbye. It seemed almost foreign at first but eventually she responded by both kissing me back and returning my hugs. It was a Friday night that we finally climbed our first big hurdle. I was in bed with my back to her and almost asleep when I felt her move next to me. I didn't react; I lay there silently waiting for what she was going to do next. She didn't roll me over and impale herself on me, more so she moved in close and put her arm around me. We slept that way most of the night. By seven o'clock in the morning she had moved back to the center of the bed. I pressed my front against her back, slipped one of my legs between hers and with my arm over her body I pulled her in tight. I thought she would wake up but much to my delight she stayed asleep. It was close to nine o'clock before we both woke up again. We were still intertwined and were sharing each other's body heat. "Morning, you sleep okay last night?" I asked, still holding on to her. "Best sleep I've had in months," she said with a little smile on her face, and for the first time she didn't pull away from me. Little steps are what we took. A kiss here, a hug there, and there was cuddling on most nights now, outside of the nights we went to our counseling sessions, that is. After those sessions our feeling were always raw and we each needed space to reflect on what went down. After a while that too got better. A month later we came back from a nice evening out and we took the final plunge. We had gone out to dinner and met a group of friends at a club we both liked. We danced, drank, and had a fantastic time. During the slow dances I held her in my arms and for the first time I knew we were going to make it. We kissed on the dance floor and were happy again. All the way home we held hands, looked at one another, but spoke only a few words. I think we were both thinking the same thing when we walked through the garage door into the kitchen. I took her into my arms and kissed her like I had so many times before our life had become a living nightmare. She was the one who led me upstairs to our bedroom. She was the one who initiated it and took the lead. I was happy enough to follow. We made love and got back that night what we'd lost months ago. The foreplay went on for hours. We must have kissed for at least a half hour before moving onto what we both needed. It was tender, sweet, and complete. We hung onto each other until the afterglow was long gone. Twice more before the sun came up we climbed into one another's skin and professed our love for each other. Finally, exhausted, we fell asleep, together, knowing that we'd taken a huge step in becoming husband and wife again. "Good morning, Mrs. Moore," I said. I'd been watching her for the better part of an hour, waiting for her to wake up. "How did you sleep last night?" "Wonderful," she said, kissing me. "But, someone needs a shave and a shower and it isn't only me." She gave me one more peck on the lips before jumping out of bed and running for the bathroom. We showered together and played tongue tag until the hot water ran out. I chased her into the bedroom, threw her onto the bed, and teased her with my lips and tongue until she screamed for me to finish her off, which I was more than happy to do. "I love you, Heather." "And I love you too, Steve," she replied. And with that exchange we returned to being a couple. We still saw Dr. Cummings for about a month and a half after that weekend. She was the one in the end who told us to finish healing on our own, though she would be there if we ever needed her. I had my wife back. When my brother Roger and his wife had their second boy, I saw something in Heather's eyes I hadn't seen in years. Not jealously, more so a longing, but there was no way I was ever going to ask her to go through that again. I'd gotten the love of my wife back and I wasn't going to take the chance of losing her yet again. Months later, on a cold wintery night, over a glass of wine and a warm fire she spoke the words I thought I'd never hear her utter. "What would you say to us trying once more?" She didn't shout out that she wanted a baby or that it was high time we gave it another try, it was more like a soft-spoken question, asking my opinion. I didn't answer right away thinking that I hadn't heard her correctly, but she repeated it waiting for my reply. "I'm not sure. I almost lost you once and I never want to take that chance again. I don't think I could live through it one more time." "How about if we talked to the doctor first and get his opinion? If he says our chances are iffy then we forget about it. But, if he says there's a good chance... would you want to give it another try?" This was a question that didn't have an easy yes or no answer. It would be nice to have a child, but at what cost? Physically there was no question she was able to get pregnant, but emotionally I wasn't so sure. "Heather, if you want we can talk to a few medical people and get their opinions and make our decision after that. But, if you're doing this for me I want you to forget about it right now. I'd be more than happy to adopt a baby that needs a loving family, but what I won't do is put you or our marriage at risk again, it's not worth that." "Well, we don't have to make a decision right now. I just want you to think about it, okay?" I did, she did, we talked to two medical doctors and lastly to Dr. Cummings. Both doctors were in agreement that if she followed their advice there should be no repeat of the last go around. However, Dr. Cummings wasn't totally sold on the idea. "Heather, you two are still cementing your relationship after a very stressful and emotional period in your lives. Have you thought about what or how you'd feel if something happened again? Would you be emotionally capable of handling another setback?" "Dr. Cummings, nothing's going to happen," Heather replied. "The doctors all say physically there is no reason I can't carry a baby to term." "Steve, Heather, please hear me out. I'm not saying that you two shouldn't try again, I'm just saying that sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. I want the both of you to fully understand the consequences of what you're about to do, that's all." "Roberta, you're still the worrywart, everything's going to be fine," Heather assured her. Me? I hadn't said yes or no at this point, but it looked like I wasn't really being given a choice. I'd like to say I was a hundred percent on board, and although I still had a few reservations I went along with her wishes. We said nothing to anyone and took our time. We were in no real hurry. Heather simply stopped taking her birth control pills. It was nice not dealing with the pressure this time around. We kissed and made love when we wanted. I was relieved that I didn't have to rush home to dump my seed in her whenever she was ovulating. However, the little shit waited for almost a whole month to tell me she was pregnant. We were getting ready for dinner. The table was set. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table, all the while taking to my wife while she finished making dinner. I never even noticed the plastic tube on my plate until about ten minutes later. I picked it up, fingered it in my hand, and read the word positive. She had been watching me the whole time. I looked towards the stove at a smiling Heather. "I thought you were never going to notice it," she said laughing. "I was about ready to yell at you to look at that damn test strip." She was now running into my arms kissing me. "We're going to have a baby, Mr. Moore. You're going to be a daddy." The hell with dinner, we talked for the next hour about how she had found out and what the doctors had said. "He has put me on a schedule of appointments and told me in no uncertain terms what I can and can't do. I'm sorry I waited to tell you, I just wanted to get the first month under my belt just in case," she said with a little hesitancy in her voice. "Don't worry, babes, this time nothing is going to go wrong." So began our baby quest. Everything was done according to what her doctors dictated. We waited until after her third month to tell our family. On one hand they were concerned, yet on the other, also overjoyed for the two of us. I treated her like she was made of glass and even when we made love I was careful not to get too rough with her. "For Christ sakes, fuck me, will you?" she yelled one night. "I feel like I'm having sex with an eighty year old man." She laughed, and I gave her what she wanted. At week twenty-seven Heather noticed a few drops of blood on her panties and was in the doctor's office twenty minutes later. Bed rest was ordered. Heather was going to be confined to her bed for the duration of her pregnancy just to be on the safe side. We were prepared in case this happened. We had squirreled away extra money and she had saved her full three weeks of vacation, her ten sick days, and her two personal days just in case. Money would be a little tight but this wasn't a choice anymore. The first couple of weeks were pretty easy for her. She had the television, her iPod, books, and the telephone. After a few weeks everyone started bringing her their old magazines. She found she could stay occupied and fill her days, but lying in bed, day in and day out, waned on her. She described herself as being as big as a house. Heather watched her weight like a hawk and even though her doctor expected her to gain quite a bit, he felt she would be able to handle it. I gave her back rubs, massaged her legs, and helped her take showers when I got home from work. "Here you go, babes," I said, bringing up her dinner. "This is it? Steve, I'm starved! How about just a little more pasta? I'll make it worth your while," she said with that wicked smile on her face. "You know what the doctor said, he doesn't want you to gain too much weight. I'll bring you up another helping of Jell-O, or how about a juice bar?" I'm not even going to tell you what she said I could do with that juice bar, but it wasn't lady-like and it wouldn't have fit anyway. So it went on for the next month. "I'm going to Walmart, you need anything?" I asked. "A string bikini, some sexy under garments, and a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream would be nice." I laughed at her request. "It won't be that much longer honey, why don't you just relax," I tried to tell her. "I'm tired of relaxing and sick of this damn bed, I want out!" I shouldn't have brought it up or even mentioned it but I guess I was feeling a little sorry for her. "If you want, you can drive with me to Wal-Mart and stay in the car while I run in." Just the idea made her eyes get very wide with longing. "On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea," I said, but I'd thrown out the idea and Heather wasn't letting me pull it back in. "Help me up," is all she said swinging her legs off the side of our bed. "I'm not going to change since I'm not even getting out of the car. Just let me throw on my robe and we're out of here." "Babes, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all," I said, trying to backtrack. "You brought it up and I think it's a great idea. A trip outside is exactly what I need." I helped her into the car, pushing her bucket seat all the way back to give her more room. I adjusted the seat belt and put the pillow I had brought from our bed between her stomach and the seat belt. An Empty Feeling "Comfortable?" "Not really, but there's nothing you can do about it." I drove slowly and steered around every bump in the road. We talked, joked, and laughed when I said we would probably have to trade our new car in on a minivan after she got home from the hospital. Three blocks away from Walmart is where it happened. I was waiting for the light to change from red to green, watching the cars and getting ready to make a left hand turn onto Twenty-Seventh Avenue when the light turned green. I pulled out to make my turn. Heather must have been looking to the right and saw that the dark blue Camry wasn't stopping. "Steve!" she yelled. I turned my head to the right just before the car struck ours. I was halfway across the front seat reaching for her when the Camry impacted Heather's side of our car. I was instinctively trying to stop her from crashing into the dashboard when all the airbags went off almost simultaneously. She almost slammed into the door before the side airbag pushed her back towards me. All I know was that I was knocked out momentarily, probably from the impact of one of the two airbags hitting me. After that I couldn't comprehend anything going on around me. They say time stands still when something like that happens, but only initially, then all hell breaks loose. I couldn't see or hear my wife even as I yelled out to her. Only later did I find out she was knocked-out on impact and never regained consciousness. I had at least one person working on me and when I wouldn't stop screaming for Heather only then did they say she was all right. "Your wife is in good hands, now just lie back and let us take care of you," someone told me. I could feel needles in both arms, felt myself being put on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance. People were talking all at once, but besides asking me my name I don't think they were talking to me. I looked at the gray sheet metal roof on the ambulance and tried to sit up to see if Heather was in there with me. "My wife?" "She's in the other ambulance that left before us." "She's pregnant..." I started to say before sitting up too quickly and blacking out again. When I woke up I was in the hospital and a group of people were again working on me. "He needs to go first to x-ray and then brought back here." I heard a voice shout. I felt myself being transferred to a different bed and moved down a corridor. Still dazed I watched the ceiling light fixtures go by before being hustled into another room. I never lost consciousness again and kept my mouth shut unless they asked me something. I was hoping to hear something about my wife, but all I heard was how banged up I was. About an hour later I was in my own room with a green cast on my right arm, a wrapped up right ankle, and a headache that wouldn't go away. "Mr. Moore," he said to me looking at my chart. "Looks like you've got a compound arm fracture, a sprained ankle, a few nasty cuts, and some bumps and bruises. You should be out of here sometime tomorrow or at the latest Sunday. They're just waiting for the results of some tests and then you can be discharged. "My wife? How's my damn wife?" I asked for the tenth time since I was admitted. "I'm not her doctor, but it is my understanding she had a lot of internal injuries. Beyond that I'm not too sure." "She's pregnant and due in just under a month." "Look, you stay here. I'll find the attending physician and have him stop in and talk to you. Get some rest, there's nothing you can do for your wife at this point." With that he walked out leaving me with way too many unanswered questions. Rest, who in the hell was he kidding? It was close to eight o'clock Saturday morning before Heather's doctor made his way over to see me. I was about ready to slip out of my room and physically hunt down my wife when he walked through the door carrying what I thought was her chart. "Mr. Moore?" he asked, checking to see if he was in the right room. "I'm Doctor Taylor, your wife's physician. How are you feeling?" "Forget about me, how's my wife doing?" I said just short of screaming. "She's now stable. There were a lot of internal injuries we had to deal with. She's lucky that your car had side airbags or it could have been much worse." We talked for the next half hour about her injuries. He went into great detail on what I could expect, how long she'd be in the hospital, and approximately how long her recovery would be. He was avoiding what he and I both knew was the next big issue on my mind. I finally had to be painfully blunt and ask. I'm not ashamed to say I lost it and cried for about ten minutes. He stood there patiently waiting for me to get a handle on my emotions. When he said that he was sorry I wanted to strangle him. I hated that fucking word because I knew I'd be hearing it over and over again. "Can I see her?" "She's in recovery right now. She developed some additional complications along with internal bleeding so we had to go back in earlier this morning. We're going to keep her sedated for the next eighteen hours just to be sure she's out of the woods, but you can see her when she gets back to her room in about an hour to an hour and a half. You'll probably be able to talk to your wife sometime late tonight or early tomorrow when she comes out of it. She's still going to be pretty doped up but at least she'll be awake. Is there anyone at home that will be able to help you with your wife?" he asked, looking at my injured arm and ankle. "My mother will be available to do anything I won't be able to do." About two hours later someone came in, put me in a wheelchair, and brought me to my wife's room. That's where I spent the next fourteen hours. She is my life. How am I going to tell her? Nurses and doctors came in on the hour like clockwork. Although they told me there was nothing I could do and should get some sleep I wasn't moving. There was no way I wanted my wife to wake up, realize what had happened, and me not be there to explain everything to her. If I were on my damn deathbed I would still be here. My eyes lit up when she started coming out of her drug-induced sleep. She came in and out of consciousness a couple more times before she finally stayed with me. I could hear her breathing deeply and watched as she tried to wet her lips. "Honey, you want some water?" She shook her head no and went back to trying to wake up. About five minutes later she opened her eyes once, closed them for a few seconds, then opened them again. Looking at me she smiled a little. "Water," she mouthed. I got a glass with a straw and gave her a few swallows. Her eyes widened when she saw the cast on my arm. Next, came a puzzled expression, followed by a look of horror on her face. "Shit," I whispered to myself. I knew she'd finally remembered and realized what happened. I came as close to her face as I was able, kissed her lips, and softly whispered in her ear that we'd lost our son. She didn't make a noise on the outside, but I could tell she was screaming at the top of her lungs on the inside. I climbed onto the edge of her bed and held her as the skies opened up. The tears, the uncontrollable shaking, all took control of my wife. At one point I thought she had stopped so I pried her off my shoulder. She took one look at me and started again. Over the next two hours a nurse and her doctor came in to check on her. I waved them off and told them in no uncertain terms to come back later. I'm not sure when, but sometime during those two hours Heather fell back asleep or passed out from grief. I never let go of her. I whispered to her that I loved her and that everything would be okay, knowing that was only wishful thinking on my part. At some point later that evening the nurse came in to let me know that our families were here. I told her to tell them I'd be out later. There was no hurry--I had more important things on my mind. Finally with her out of it, I laid her back down on the bed and wheeled myself out of her room. I told them everything I knew. Everyone cried and asked what they could do, all I could say was to just pray for her. I spent no more than five minutes with them when I said I had to get back to her room. Our parents told me that they were going to stick around. "Why don't you go home and I'll let you know when she's awake and feeling better." Who was I kidding? It would be a long time before she felt better. I sat next to her bed for the next four hours holding her hand. She was emotionally drained. Her body was doing the best thing it could at this moment in time—it was resting. I watched her sleep until I felt a hand on the top of my head, I must have dozed off. I jerked my head up and saw her watching me. "I love you," I whispered. She mouthed the same back at me. How long we looked at one another I haven't a clue but I knew it was over ten minutes. She had this sad look on her face, the same one I'd seen the last time we'd gone through hell. "I love you," she said, squeezing my hand and pulling me close. I ignored the pain caused by the sling on my right arm getting caught on her damn bed. "The nurse said that we can see our daughter as soon as you're awake this morning," I told my wife. Heather's eyes grew wide and even though she tried to say something, nothing came out. Then it hit me... Our son didn't make it, but our daughter had survived. You see, Heather was carrying twins. When I'd told her that our son had died I guess she assumed that our daughter had also. Our daughter was taken by C-section, and although she was three weeks early she was doing fine. She was just over four and a quarter pounds and would need to spend some extra time in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital. I was told she could home once she reached five pounds. The doctor said her position in the womb is what saved her. She had gotten knocked around inside when the force of the crash had broken my wife's amniotic sack, but the quick response of the paramedics and going right into surgery had saved her. We'd lost one of our babies and would have to deal with that sorrow, but our daughter would help us get through the hard times over the next couple of months. I still the blame myself for Heather being in the car with me that day. She keeps telling me to let the guilt go, but it's hard. If I had waited a split second longer to turn, or if I'd been by myself, I'd be playing with both my daughter and her twin brother. I've gone over it in my mind a million times, however, in the real world there isn't such a thing as a do over especially when it comes to something like this. So, the next time I say to myself, 'if only' I'll think about our lucky Penny. You see, that's what we named our new little girl, and we do feel lucky to have her. It took a lot of soul searching and the love of my wife to show me I should be satisfied with what we have, not what we could have had.