Seventy-Two Hours (12 page)

“And you’re saying you do?”

“I think I understand you better. I’d
certainly be there for you more. You told me you were on your own most of the
time. That it’s like being a single parent. It shouldn’t be like that. Marriage
is a partnership.”

I took a deep breath. “Right now, I don’t
deserve anyone either,” I said succinctly. “Look, Steve, I’m sorry if my
behavior misled you in any way. Please understand me when I tell you I don’t
want to see you anymore. It was wrong of me to get involved before and it
wasn’t at all fair to you. I didn’t anticipate how hard ending my marriage was
going to be, but it is. It’s made me recall a multitude of memories I haven’t
thought about in a very long time.”

“I could help you—“

“No,” I said rather gruffly cutting him off.
“I don’t want that. This needs to be the last of our contact outside of school.
I have to go.”

I ended the call on his final words not
wanting to hear what he had to say. I needed to end things with him and
disconnecting like that definitely sent a message to him. But would he get
it? That was another matter altogether.

October 12, 1991 – Manhattan, New York

The hotel room was nice. Very cookie cutter
nice. As were all chain hotels. Even the more expensive ones such as that
one. Chris was pulling out all the stops in an attempt to bring me out of the
mood I’d been in since we lost the baby. It was a sadness that had set in so
deeply, so profoundly, I seemed to be going through my days on autopilot. I
entered into each new one simply wanting to get it over with. I couldn’t
remember the last time I had a genuine, carefree laugh over something.

My Master’s program was going well. I was certainly
more focused on my studies, but then again, depression didn’t allow much time
for a social life. Other than Chris and our families, I preferred keeping to
myself and even with family, it was hard for them to draw me out of my shell.

“So, what do you want to do first?” Chris
asked as he came up behind me and pulled me to him.

“I don’t know. Whatever you want to do.” I
replied as I looked out the window to the street below.

“How about we just venture out? I’m sure
we’ll find something to do.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

It was sweater weather in New York as we
strolled down streets with the smell of autumn and a persistent briskness in
the air. We ate a light lunch at a café while Chris perused a tourism guide.
It was our first time in New York on our own. So much to do and see and yet not
even with the action of Times Square all around me, could I find enjoyment in
my surroundings. After walking around for hours, we returned to our hotel
room.

While I toed my shoes off, Chris dropped into
an arm chair with a loud sigh as he ran his hands over his face. Maybe he was
feeling as tired as I was. His school schedule was demanding. I didn’t know
how he managed to fit a free weekend into it.

While I considered changing out of my khakis
and sweater for sweatpants and a t-shirt, Chris surprised me with, “What can I
do to help you?”

“What do you mean?” I smiled as I gave him a
cursory once over. He looked so serious.

“Jenny, I don’t know what else to do for
you. I thought getting away like this would do you some good. Take your mind
off of it even if it was for a little while, but it’s much worse than I
thought.”

“I’m fine,” I stated as what he said began
setting in.

“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for
months.”

My lips began to tremble first. Then the
tears began welling up. I was treating his statement as an accusation and not
the way it was intended. Now, in this unfamiliar setting, I felt trapped.

He sighed again. “I should have listened to
your mother. She was right. Weeks ago she said you needed counseling and I
told her you just needed time,” he said tiredly. “But she was right.”

“You’ve been talking about me?” I asked in
disbelief as a feeling of betrayal began creeping up my spine. “With my
mother
?”

“She’s worried about you. We’re
all
worried about you. My parents. Your parents. Jen, you’re trapped in this…this
perpetual sadness and it isn’t good for you.”

“I’m sorry I’m not as think-skinned as you
are.”

“It’s not about being think-skinned. I lost
her, too, Jennifer,” he said in a stern tone. “But you can’t let it consume
you. It was three months ago. It’s unhealthy. You aren’t eating. You weigh
next to nothing. You’ve gone into this withdrawn state. Everyone is concerned.”

“I hurt,” I choked, “all the time. Don’t you
understand?”

He was blinking back his own tears and ended
up closing his eyes tightly. “I was with you. I went through it, too, and I
hurt, too. But, my God, you can’t let the grief take over your life.”

“What the hell do you know?!? Huh? This was
your fault anyway,” I spewed out what had been bottled up inside of me for
weeks.

Only, since that bitter thought first entered
my mind, I had had the presence of mind to keep it to myself. I was simply
being spiteful to throw it at him now and in such a way.

He was up and stormed over to me in a few
quick strides. “Me? My fault? How can you say that?” he asked with a stung
expression where anger boiled underneath.

I was shaking. Almost violently so. My head
sort of felt disconnected from my body. Hands and feet numb. I wondered if
that was how an emotional breakdown felt; like it was some basic self-preservation
instinct that came out urging me to crawl into a shell instead of continuing.
I was so beaten and tired.

Chris grabbed my upper arms. “Answer me,” he
ordered firmly.

“You talked me into it. I wasn’t ready,” I
got out before stammering ridiculously fast with the rest, “and now this…this leftover
me. I feel so empty and sick every day. My heart hurts every day. I don’t
even want to get out of bed, but I do. All I want to do is sleep.”

“Both of us were involved in making our
baby. Both of us wanted her. Don’t you dare blame me for what happened.
Nobody is to blame. Not even you. It happened. End of story,” he said
through tightly clenched teeth. “It’s been over three months. You need to
stop dwelling. If you don’t, it will destroy you.”

“You think I should be over it by now, huh?
You and the others? As if I can just turn it off like a switch?” I confronted
him with as I pounded myself in the chest. “Don’t you think I would if I
could? Do you think I like being like this? Miserable? I guess you’ll just
have to put up with it until I’m not miserable or…” I trailed off with the rest.
I’d let him do what he wanted to finish it.

“Or what?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“I want you back, Jen,” he said on a whisper.
“I miss my wife.”

“Maybe you should be home more.”

“You wanted to stay home to start your
Master’s. I had to go back to Rochester for mine. It didn’t leave us with
many options.”

He was speaking the truth. After losing the
baby, there was no need to change our schooling plans. I was attending Elmira
College and living at home with my parents. Chris was finishing out his
semester at RIT and commuted home on the weekends. It didn’t leave a lot of
room for privacy or time to work through the mess our lives had become.

“I think you should stay in Rochester for a
while. Maybe we need space.”

He let go of me so quickly I almost fell
over. I hadn’t realized how much I was relying on him to hold me up. “I’m
calling Reverend Drake on Monday. Your mom says he’s a counselor.”

“No.” The last time I’d seen my priest was during
the small internment service we had for Spencer. So many bad memories. I’d
never sit through counseling with him. Never. “I don’t need it.”

“If you think you don’t need it, than prove
it.”

For the first time since Chris and I had been
a couple, I felt helpless and weak. I told myself he wasn’t trying to be a
bully. He was genuinely worried about me.

I looked to the tan carpeting. “Sometimes I
wonder if it happened because I didn’t want to have her at first,” I admitted
something else I’d been keeping to myself.

“God, no, Jen.”

“Really? It’s never crossed your mind?” I
asked.

“Never.”

“It has mine.”

He stepped closer and took my hands before
kissing the backs of each of them. “It was no one’s fault. You did nothing
wrong.”

“It happened under my watch, so to speak.
During the easy part. All I had to do was follow some simple dos and don’ts,”
I explained as I laid out the facts, perhaps, in such a way, as to try and convince
him of my obvious neglect. “Simple, and yet I failed at it somehow. Don’t
know how, but I did. It’s punishment. I’m being punished for not wanting her
when I first found out.”

“Is that what’s been eating away at you?” he
asked softly and I reluctantly nodded. “That’s crazy talk. You’re an
intelligent person. You know better.”

“Is it? Don’t tempt fate, isn’t that the
saying?”

“If anything, this has taught us just how
precious life is. No, we didn’t get to know her, but it doesn’t mean we didn’t
love her all the same,” he reasoned. “And maybe, in time, we can try again.”

His last comment caused my stomach to roll.
“I don’t know if I can do that again,” I confessed as fear continued to play
havoc with my digestive track.

“I completely understand. It isn’t something
we have to make a decision about today. We’re young, Jen. We have lots of
time,” he said while cupping my chin and tipping my face up to meet his eyes.
“I love you and I only want what’s best for you. For us. Whatever it takes,
we’re going to get through this.”

“I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself
credit for. You will overcome this and it will make you even stronger,” he
soothed.

“Then why does it feel as if it’s crushing
me?” I asked in a forlorn whisper.

He put his forehead against mine and said, “Then
don’t let it crush you, my darling.”

“You planned this nice weekend and I can’t
even bring myself to enjoy it. The entire time we were walking all I could
think about was who would have been watching the baby for us while we were
away,” I confessed my foolish thoughts. “I do that all the time. Wonder about
what might have been.”

“I’ve done that, too.”

I did a double-take not believing my ears.
“You have?”

“It would be impossible not to. She’d be two
months old now. I’ve wondered if she may be sleeping through the night yet.”

I was somewhat relieved knowing I wasn’t
alone. Chris suffered the same loss I had, but I’d never taken a moment to
think about how he was coping. Since he so easily went back into his normal
routine, I’d assumed he had overcome the grief. In a way, I resented him
because of it and it only forced an unnecessary wedge between us.

“That night, when she was moving around so
much,” I stated softly. “If I’d only known.”

“You didn’t know. We didn’t know. It isn’t
like we could have acted fast enough for it to make a difference anyway,” he
reasoned. “You heard the doctor, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

We were told the baby’s over-active movements
that night could have actually been caused by her struggling due to a lack of
oxygen. It would have been counterproductive and only resulted in making the
cord tighter. While we lay there together, marveling at her movements and the strength
behind them, she was slipping away from us.

A strangled cry escaped my mouth. I’d
promised myself weeks ago I was done crying in front of others. Especially
Chris. I had done pretty well until just then. An onslaught hit me and I had
no other choice but to let it go and I was taking my husband of six months
right along with me.

He tried holding me tightly to him as I shook
and trembled, burying my face in his chest and clinging to his chambray shirt
as if it were a lifeline for my very survival. Even with his firm embrace, I
was so limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he couldn’t contain
me. Finally, he swept me off my feet and carried me to the bed so I could more
or less spill over it in a pathetic mass of tears and sobs. It went on for
what felt like an eternity.

I wouldn’t have blamed Chris if he chose to
walk away at that point. I really wouldn’t have. Three months was a long time
to put up with the way I had been. Pushing him away when all he wanted to do
was help. Or maybe pushing him away when he needed help, too. I’d been very
selfish while I allowed myself to drown in misery.

“I’m sorry,” I collected myself enough to say
to him.

He searched my face as his bottom lip
quivered just a fraction. “For what?” he asked in a murmur.

“For everything.” And it was a long list.