“Okay.” He pushes my hair back. “Okay, please just try to stay calm.”
I nod and slowly relax myself. “I need to know, Wyatt.”
“I held her.” He tells me. “I held her in my palm and cried over her.” I close my eyes and choke back the tears, but they slip past my eyelashes and fall down my cheek anyway. “She’s beautiful and tiny. I told her about how much I love her. I told her how much you do, too.”
“I can’t.” I stop him. “I can’t. I thought I could.”
His body slumps a little, and he leans against the side of the bed. “Okay.” Resignation settles between us. “We don’t have to do this now. When you’ve rested, we’ll go from there.”
There’s nowhere to go—not unless he’s able to bring back what is gone, which he can’t. No one can. We’re going to have to find a way to be childless parents and get through our days. I’ll have to look at my stomach every day for the rest of my life and know she’s gone.
“Honey.” Mrs. Hennington has been talking at me for what feels like an hour. I say “talking at” because I haven’t really been responding. I can’t. How can I talk when I’m dead inside? “We have to make arrangements.”
I don’t want to do any of this. “Please,” I beseech her. “Just pick whatever.” I want her to go away.
Presley shares a look with her, and Wyatt stares out the window. This morning, the chaplain came to talk to us about the loss of a child and how important it was to grieve. As if I didn’t know enough about that. He urged us to name her, spend some time with her, and allow ourselves to let go.
Then the doctor explained that there were no policies regarding infants, and we just needed to let our wants be known.
After they left, Wyatt spoke as I sat here crying and listened, wishing I could soothe his pain. He was in agony, but I was so deep in my own, I didn’t know what to say. I held his hand as he spoke of our baby and all she means to him. He told me how scared he was that I wouldn’t come out of it. That he would lose me too. His pain was palpable as he expressed his guilt and remorse.
It wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t get the words out. Not because I don’t believe them, but because I’m struggling to breathe.
I want them to leave me the fuck alone. That’s what I want.
Everyone.
“Pick whatever you think is best. I really don’t care.” I try for a calm tone, but judging by the way their eyes widen, I failed.
“Did you decide if you want to see her?” Presley brings it up again. “We don’t want to do anything until you’ve made up your mind, Ang. We can’t undo it after that.”
I don’t know if my heart can handle it.
But I have to decide if I want to see the baby I couldn’t protect.
“No.” I turn my head away and touch my stomach. “Not yet.”
Wyatt’s hand touches my shoulder. “We appreciate your help,” he says to them. “Why don’t we let Angie rest, and I’ll let you know if she changes her mind about a funeral.”
They bid their goodbyes and let me have my space.
A few minutes pass without either of us saying a word. I’m struggling with a myriad of things. I’m in physical pain for one, but my heart is broken . . . completely and utterly shredded.
When I sleep, I dream of her.
When I’m awake, I cry for her.
Everyone offers sympathy and support, but there’s nothing anyone can do to fill the hole in my heart.
“I’m not trying to push,” Wyatt says, breaking the silence.
“I know.”
“If you want me to be with you when you see her, I will. I’ll do anything you need, Angie. Anything.”
He’s trying. Hell, we both are. There’s no hiding how difficult this is for him. His tear-streaked face, puffy eyes, and constant worry is evident. I know he’s swimming in the same sea of grief as me. Both of us barely treading water. Both ready to be taken under.
I’ve gone back and forth on what I should do, but I think I know. “I want to see her.”
He nods. “Do you want me here with you?”
This will hurt him again. I know it’ll kill him. But I need him by my side.
“I don’t want to ask you to do it,” I say with a shaky voice. “I know it’s selfish, but I don’t think I can do it alone.”
Wyatt rushes forward, wrapping me in his arms. I don’t care that I’m physically in pain from his touch. I want him to never let me go. Right now, I can breathe just a little bit. “You don’t have to do this alone.”