I nod.
“Have you thought about that therapist thing we talked about?” She mentioned it early on in my pregnancy. Just a way to work through my last one and to somehow segue into this one. I never did, of course.
“No,” I answer, my voice guilt-ridden. She doesn’t judge or question me, rattling off a rant of inquiries about my mental health. It’s not her style. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“You can just try one session,” she suggests. “And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again.”
“You think I won’t like it?”
“No,” she answers honestly. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped. You have options, and you should get the help you need.”
“I guess.”
“Do you…feel like you need to talk?” she asks in an encouraging way that isn’t necessarily implying Ionlytalk to a therapist. She’s here now, folding tiny baby clothes while offering a nonjudgmental ear.
“I don’t know,” I say, reaching for a pair of teeny-tiny sweatpants. “I think this whole pregnancy happened so fast, and I…” I pause, pushing aside the clothes as my attention wanes. “I don’t know. This feels really stupid, but I feel like I have to…move on.”
“Move on from what?”
“The miscarriage,” I confess. I feel like I just admitted a sin, something immoral and dishonest. After more than three years, I’m still deep in this mourning period. I’m one melancholic episode away from changing out my entire wardrobe to black and dark shades of gray.
“And you don’t think you’ve moved on?” She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. A jumbled-up Rubik’s cube ready to be solved but no real way for her to start.
“IknowI haven’t. And then there’s this guilt that just sits low in my stomach, and I don’t know how to get rid of it. I want to love this baby with my entire heart, but doesn’t that mean I’m leaving our first baby behind? I’m just forgetting about her and that means I’m a horrible, horrible person, and if I’m a horrible person, then what kind of mom am I going to be?” Tears have started to stream down my face, and my words have blended and blubbered together. I barely got them out, and I know there’s more. I gave her the short, watered-down version. The more palatable one. I didn’t mention the darker thoughts that possess me. The ones that feel empty and final.
“You don’t have to hold onto your grief just because you feel guilty,” she tells me, scooting closer so her hands are resting on my knees. I notice some of my tears splat on her knuckles, but she doesn’t bother to wipe them. “You’re allowed to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
I nod, knowing I can’t tell her no. No, I’m not allowed to be happy. I definitely don’t deserve it. I’m not allowed to move on and live my life as if I didn’t suffer a loss at some point. She doesn’t know the things I witnessed. She wasn’t there while I watched my little girl die in my arms. And I let her. I let her drift away when I should’ve been doing everything I could to save her. But I just sat there, crying like a cowardly fool.
No. I can never move on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
James
NOW
From: [email protected]
Hi Bean,
It’s been years since I wrote to you. To be completely honest, I didn’t think this account still existed, but I guess I was wrong. I don’t even know what to say after all this time. I guess a part of me forgot about you. I’ve held onto the loss of you. All the pain I felt when we lost you is still there, but I forgot about you. I only held onto the pain, and I forgot about how happy we were about you. How excited we were, and I don’t want to forget that anymore. I want to remember that you made us happy. Even though it was for a short time, you brought us joy.
I miss you, Bean. We miss you.
Daddy
It’sa rare occasion when I see Leo. I never told my sister, but after she left her now ex-husband, I kept my distance. Not really intentionally, but when there’s this huge elephant in the room, it’s hard to just shoot the shit and act like it’s not there. We’d been friends since college so it took some time getting used to those abruptly cut ties. There were times when I talked to him, mainly at the start of their separation when he wanted to plead his case and try to win my sister back, but other times it was to merely keep the peace. She was already going through so much, I didn’t want to add to it by starting drama or going over and beating the shit out of him. She never really asked me to cut ties with him, but it was hard to keep a relationship, regardless of having known him for so long. Still, for the sake of Sadie and with the understanding that his and Teeny’s co-parenting relationship is as healthy as it could be, we manage to check in every once in a while without really intending to. Much like today. Leo picked up Sadie to spend the weekend with him, and Teeny asked me to pick her up during the week on my way home from work. Teeny’s request for my help may have been as innocent as her asking her big brother when a work-related interruption came up for her, but I also think she didn’t want to have to send her new husband in her place to awkwardly greet her old husband.
I’m on the stoop of Leo’s two-story townhome. It’s quiet here, a little tranquil and placid, and the home itself is quaint.
“Hey,” Leo greets me as soon as he opens the door.
“Hey,” I answer with a nod. I’d already texted him on my way over to let him know I’d be picking Sadie up instead of Teeny, so he isn’t surprised to see me. In fact, he looks relieved.
“Come in,” he urges. “Sadie’s just finishing up her pizza in her room.”
