People told her it would get better in time. It hurts now, Bridge, but you'll see that everything will go back to normal.
People told her she had to be strong. Be strong, Bridge. Hang in there. If not for you, for Billy and Mabel.
Be strong, be strong, be strong . Those word resonated constantly in her head, even more so when she looked at her children. Her very young children who hadn't had enough time to enjoy their father, especially Mabel who had only three months of interaction with him.
Those bloody words. She hated them. The way they echoed endlessly; they drove her crazy. Particularly now, looking into Mabel's crib, her small form sleeping peacefully. Bridget envied her sometimes, how tranquil her sleeping was. Dreamless sleeps. No horrible nightmares of explosions hunting her in the middle of the night, startling her awake, sweating, fighting to catch her breath.
A small tear trickled down her cheek and she caressed Mabel's soft, chubby cheek with her index finger as she remembered Mark's last conversation with his daughter.
"Sweet, little Mabel. I'm going to miss you so much, but I'll be back before you know it." He cooed as he rocked her in his arms, moving around the bedroom while Bridget finished folding a jumper and placing it neatly in his suitcase. She smiled slightly at the sweet moment he was sharing with their three month-old, but on the inside she couldn't shake the bad feeling she'd been having for the last couple of days. Despite Mark's assurance that it was safe and that everything was going to be okay, she couldn't help but feel as if someone was sitting on her chest.
"Mummy will take care of you, but I know you love me more." He whispered to her tiny ear and Mabel smiled as if she understood.
"You don't have boobs that feed her, so I'm guessing I'm the favourite parent for the time being." Bridget remarked with a hand on her hip as she walked towards them. Mabel kicked her arms and legs at the sight of her mother and cooed.
"You don't get to win on some technicality, love. It's not fair." He pouted.
Bridget chuckled and gently cupped Mabel's head with her hand. "I'm going to see what Billy's up to."
"Okay. I'll stay with her for a little bit." Mark announced walking towards the arm chair.
"All right. Dinner will be ready in an hour." She said as she left. She lingered for a while outside their bedroom and walked away after a few minutes of silence.
As if Mark knew, he spoke as soon as Bridget left. "I love you, Mabel. So, very much." He kissed her head and closed his eyes, enjoying the delightful baby smell. He smiled.
More silent tears fell and she sat on the edge of her bed. Her nights had been the same ever since she was given the news that Mark had died. A nightmare of a dramatization - or at least a dramatization her imagination had made up - of Mark's death, followed by waking up with a panic attack and running to Mabel's crib. Then, sitting on the edge of the bed, tears running down her cheeks like streams and staring into nothing, remembering the wonderful memories about Mark. She tried not to, though. She sometimes felt as if her mind was playing some kind of game with her, torturing her with the fond memories she tried so hard to forget.
"Mummy?" Billy's voice interrupted her musings as he walked in, something that never happened in the middle of the night. The door creaked and a little light from the corridor came in the room.
"What's wrong, darling? Why aren't you sleeping?" Bridget said, quickly wiping her tears and drying her cheeks.
"I had a nightmare and I can't sleep." Billy informed with a pout as his chin slightly quivered. He was looking down at the floor and playing nervously with his hands.
"Oh, sweetheart. Come sit next to me and let's talk about it." Bridget patted a spot next to her in the bed, but Billy lingered by the door. A few moments later though, he walked towards his mother and jumped on the bed next to her.
It was unusual of her son to wake up in the middle of the night, especially by a nightmare. He didn't have nightmares until Mark died, which triggered her concerns. "What was the nightmare about?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"About Daddy." He simply said, restlessly moving his knee from side to side. Usually, his nightmares involved monsters and dragons and unusual things, which was something odd to have been triggered by trauma. But she wasn't concerned about the content of the nightmares, but that he had nightmares in the first place.
This time around, however, she felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Tears started to form again and she sniffled.
"Oh." She was speechless.
"Is Daddy coming home?" Billy asked sadly.
Be strong, be strong, be strong. "No, love. I'm afraid not."
"Oh. Whenever someone talks about Daddy you cry. Is Daddy in heaven?"
"Yes, he is. And he is watching us right now and loving us as if he were here."
"Oh. That's sad." Billy said matter-of-factly.
"It is. Very sad." She looked down at her lap and played with her fingers, letting a tear or two roll down and fall on her silk pyjamas. She sniffled and turned her head away from her son. He had just told her he noticed whenever she cried, and she didn't want him to see her cry, not ever.
Suddenly, she felt him crawl onto her lap and grab her face, making her look at him the same way Mark would try to make her look at him whenever she was sad. Like father, like son.
"Mummy. I love you." He smiled and placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, wrapping his little, yet long arms around her neck and hugging her tightly. She rubbed his back and kissed him on the head.
"I love you too, darling. Very, very much. And don't worry. The nightmares will pass. Until then, you can come in here with me and Mabel and sleep with us. How does that sound?"
Billy released himself from the embrace and looked at her intently in thought. He smiled again and nodded, returning to their embrace. "It'll be okay, Mummy. It'll get better in time."
And this time, hearing her son saying these words, she didn't hate them. She welcomed them.