Hey all. So this is just a little emo oneshot I cam up with about a week ago. I was watching TLC and this special came on about this mermaid girl and it just made me so sad but also inspired me to write. There's a paragraph in the beginning that doesn't particularly make sense, as I wrote it before I figured out the disease, but I liked it so much that I just kept it in. Anyway, I'm gonna be working non stop the next few days to get up the last chapter of STBI, which will be happy since I can't leave you guys on an emo note during the holiday season :D. OKay I've rambled long enough. Thanks to Corey and I hope y'all enjoy!
She doesn't understand it. Doesn't get why it's happening, let alone to her. She was happy one month ago, coming in to that doctor's office with a smile on her face and her husband by her side. Saw her "healthy" baby on the screen, heard the strong heartbeat above her own. She remembers walking outside afterwards, filmy picture in her hand, and looking up at the perfect sky. Sun shinning bright, perfect clouds scattered in the sea of blue.
Now as she looks out of the window in the doctor's office, she doesn't see that perfect sky. All she sees is harsh sun being hidden by big black clouds that roll in, covering all traces of blue. Her eyes search the darkness and she spots a hole. Bright blue poking through just for a moment. Her hope. That blue being the only thing she has to hold on to.
She's alone. Husband had to work and asking a friend was out of the question. So she sits, waiting for the doctor to come back, and looks at the dark clouds and burning sun. Waits to hear bad news. Waits to hear good news. Waits to hear something.
The door opens and she looks from the window to the doctor. She runs a shaking hand through her dark brown hair and puts a small fake smile on her pale face. "Well?"
She can tell by the look on his face that she'll be getting the bad news.
She calls Lucas when she gets to the car. She tries to tell him what their baby has. She can't pronounce it. It's complicated and has too many letters. She tries four times, gets a third of the way through the word before giving up and tells him that it's bad and considered a handicap. She reiterates, just like the doctor did, that other than cystic fibrosis, they have a perfectly healthy baby. "So what do we do?" he asks cautiously, tiredly and its then that tears start falling.
"We have two options. We keep her or we don't." He doesn't respond.
It's dark outside. It's been dark for a while now actually. Clouds and rain enveloping each day and each night. She stands on the wet concrete underneath her large red umbrella. She's coming from work; dressed in gray slacks and a purple blouse, black boots with killer heels to match. Her black trench is tightly fastened, just above her small bump that pokes through. Her make up is painted on perfectly, making her look as normal as ever even though inside she's a wreck.
She takes a deep breath and rubs her stomach before walking into the beautiful cathedral. She loves how classic it looks. Big arches, huge stained windows with Saints on each. Long rows of pews and beautiful murals on the domed ceilings. Today, however the church looks ominous and frightening; doesn't convey any hope like she feels a church should.
She notices the confessionals off to the side and begins to walk over. She fumbles nervously with her purse and umbrella and opens the first door. She sees an old man who stares back at her with a dropped jaw and her eyes go wide. "I'm so sorry," she says quickly before shutting the door.
She curses under her breath, and then scolds herself for cursing in a church. She moves to the next pair of doors in the row and decides to knock this time. When she hears no one respond she goes in. It's small and she feels closterfobic. She sets her purse and umbrella down and then the little window opens up next to her. She jumps and exclaims "Jesus Christ," something she realizes might not have been a good idea.
It's silent for a few moments and the priest is hidden behind the grate between them. "Have you done this before my child?"
"No. If I remember what little I know, I think I'm supposed to go on some speech about how I've sinned and all that jazz, but I haven't... not recently anyway. I just need help," she answers, looking down in the dimly lit box.
"What troubles you?" His voice is rough and it kind of reminds her of her grandpa.
She laughs a bit before taking her hair out of the short ponytail it had been in for the bulk of the day. "I'm not religious... I'm not even sure I'm Catholic. The only times I've come into churches were either for weddings or funerals because I, most of the time, doubt if God even plays a part in this world. But I need answers and no one else seems to have them. So I figured that maybe because so many other people can believe in God and believe that He will make everything better, maybe I can be convinced. Because I just don't know what to do."
She can see his faintly distorted head no and he seems to push up glasses. "God accepts everyone, even non believers. We are all God's children and He won't turn us away for not seeing the light in his many acts. What answers are you looking for?"
"I'm pregnant."
"Is this your ailment?"
"Of course not," she says with a small smile. "Life is really good for me. I'm happily married, have a wonderful job, and I'm pregnant. These are all really good things... at least they should be." She rummages through her purse in attempts to find a tissue. She needs to busy herself.
"Is something not well with your marriage? Or your job?"
"There's something wrong with my baby." He remains silent next to her and she can almost feel him thinking. He asks her to continue and she takes a deep breath before she does. "She has some disease that practically insures her death. The survival rate past birth is close to zero and life's going to be crap if she manages to make it longer, and even then I'd just be waiting for her to die." She pauses and blinks, her throat tightening up from just talking about it.
"And I don't know what to do. The doctor suggested we terminate. But I don't know if I can do that... I mean, she's my baby. I don't care that she has something wrong with her. That doesn't mean I love her any less or will love her any less... But then I think about the opposite side of it. What if she's in so much pain that she's just miserable? I don't want that for her... I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. And I have the option now to save her from that pain... But then she never gets to live... and who am I to decide that? I just..." The tears rolls down her face but her voice remains calm. "Should I be selfish and keep her because I want her so much or should I let her go so that she won't have to bear the weight of everything and just save all three of us from the pain of her dying? Can you answer me this? Can you tell me what to do?"
"God has reasons for-"
"Please don't tell me that," she says, cutting him off. "Sometimes I truly believe that everything happens for a reason; that we learn lessons from everything that we do. But why does my daughter have to be in the mix of this. How will this teach me a lesson? Can I not be taught some other way? I just don't understand why all of this is happening. Why does her life have to factor in to anything? She hasn't done anything wrong... I mean, I've never been perfect... Is this my punishment?" She's sobbing now. She's just so sad and angry and it all just hurts. " 'God' can punish me all he wants... I'm okay with that and I will accept that. But why does he have to punish my daughter too? That is not fair."
He doesn't know what to say. She can see unclear movements of him repositioning himself and then he clears his throat. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, slowly. "I don't have an answer for you. Things happen, things we don't like happen. We're faced with many choices in our lives. And there are not clear cut answers for everything. The only thing I can tell you is to trust God. Trust that what ever decision you make is what He would want you to do."
"You're supposed to have answers," she cries, more angry now than she was before.
He shakes his head. "We don't... we have faith."
She wakes up and her whole body hurts. She's tired and already irritated. She shouldn't be though. She chose this. She chose the sleepless nights, the numerous doctors visits, all the treatments. She signed up for this. She needs to suck it up.
She throws on her robe that she realizes now in the cold winter that it's much too thin and she should probably invest in a new one. She glances into her vanity as she walks by and sighs. She's changed so much. She's put on some weight and her hair's grown out. She doesn't focus too much on what she looks like anymore. Her clothes are never perfect and her make up is slapped on now. She has more important things now.
She walks into her daughter's room and opens the curtains to let the morning sunlight come in. She sits on the edge of her daughter's big girl bed and smiles. Brushes brown hair out of her closed eyes and then rubs her cheek. "Time to wake up angel," she says softly. It's usually a fight every morning. Her baby likes her sleep and having to wake up early every morning for breathing treatment is too much. But after a few minutes with just her mom, Natalie always comes around. She gets up and goes over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. This is what they do every morning. Sit and rock while Natalie has her breathing treatment. It's been getting harder though. This winter's been hard and the antibiotics aren't working as well as they should. And so much seems to be going wrong.
She's not gaining weight. She's such a small 4 year old... so tiny...
Brooke never loses her smile though. She needs to be happy even though she knows the worse is coming. "What do you want for breakfast," she asks once they're done. Natalie asks for pancakes and eggs and she'll get both. She needs to gain weight. While she makes the food, she gives her a sippy cup full of water. She needs fluids. She needs so much.
Later, when Natalie is eating, Brooke watches her. She's so happy. She knows she's sick but it doesn't stop her. She continues to ramble on about how good the food is and about how she wants to watch a movie and how she wants to play in the snow. She can't though. She'd be likely to get pneumonia and at this point in the game, that wouldn't be the smart choice.
She sets Natalie up in front of the tv with another cup full of water and a Disney movie. Brooke washes the dishes tiredly and frowns. Her daughter's never even touched snow. Has never been out in it for more than a minute on the way to the car. It's such a simple pleasure. Snow. It comes every year and it's free for everyone to take. It's fun and romantic and everything a winter should be. And her daughter can't even go out in it. She thinks about crying now. Because life has just been so hard on everyone. It's hard for them to watch her and even harder for Natalie to watch what she can't do.
The tears are about to fall but then she hears her laugh. Natalie's sweet light laugh and it becomes worth it again. To see her delicate features, hear the childish laugh, to see her eyes light up when we bring home something for her. It's what makes her push on another day.
Something's wrong. Today's her day to sleep in. It's Lucas' day to give Natalie her morning treatment but that's not happening. Instead he's shaking her. "What?" she asks, groggy and annoyed. His eyes are red. His face is wet.
This is not happening.
He tries to say something but it doesn't find it's way out of his mouth. She sits up quickly, throwing the blanket off of her before rushing into her daughters room. She's lying there with her eyes closed. She looks like she's sleeping. Brooke throws opens the curtains and then sits down hastily on the bed.
Natalie doesn't wake up.
"Natalie? Baby?" She's touching her face lightly because she doesn't want to hurt her. She pushes the hair out of her eyes and she forces the smile to stay on her face because her she wants her to wake up so happy. She wants her to wake up to her normal.
She's cold though. Lucas is in the door way and he's sobbing. "Is she waking up?" He knows she wont.
"Angel... why won't you wake up?" she asks softly, first few tears falling on to her daughter's cheeks. "Why won't you wake up?"
She wakes up and her whole body hurts. She's shaking and sweaty and she can't seem to catch her breath. "Are you alright?" Lucas asks, sitting up next to her.
"We can't do it..." she mutters, clutching her stomach.
"Brooke we said we'd think about this a few days longer," he responds and she shakes her head.
"It was horrible... I saw her. She had your eyes, and my hair... and she was so small. And she was sick but she had the best laugh Lucas..."
"And you don't want that?"
"I don't want to see all that only to watch her die."
He tenses up and after a few moments slowly nods his head. He pulls her closer to him and she lets a few tears drip on to his shirt.
Later that day she calls her doctor and makes the appointment.
"You're back," he says and she raises an eyebrow.
"I thought these screen things were supposed to protect identities," she tosses back, sniffling a few times before letting out a deep breath.
"Do you have faith in your choice?"
She shakes her head sadly. She doesn't have faith anymore. Because even though she thought it'd hurt less this way, it just seems to hurt more.