Empty Baby Blanket
He opened the front door. She stepped inside. He picked up her bag and carried it upstairs. He stopped at the room they were going to use as a nursery. Happily decorated in the jungle theme that would celebrate their baby's African heritage, it was now a source of deep sadness. He set Kem's bag down just outside the door and walked into the room. Slowly he took in the sight of the empty crib and then sat down on the rocker where Kem would have nursed the baby. He buried his face in his hands and cried.
Kem remained downstairs. Numb from her experience, she didn't have the strength to go upstairs. It meant having to go by the nursery; the empty nursery. The room her child would not sleep in. His rest was eternal. She would never be able to hold him in her arms, never see him laugh or play or fall down and scrape his knee. She sat on the sofa. She buried her face in her hands and cried.
Hours passed this way. The house quiet except for the mournful sobbing of two broken hearted souls that came home with an empty baby blanket.
The morning gave way to the afternoon sun. It flooded into the room and he felt its warmth, but it was no comfort. He felt empty, hollow. The life he thought he would soon have, disintegrated with the stillbirth of his son. Everything had hinged on the baby. They'd been together only six weeks when she told him she was pregnant, but it had been the happiest six weeks of his life until the news of the impending arrival.
Unsure of how to move forward, it seemed practical to start by putting one foot in front of the other. He picked up Kem's bag that still sat outside the door and carried it into the bedroom. He unpacked it for her and went downstairs.
Kem was still on the sofa, softly crying. "Can I make you some tea?" he asked. She shook her head. She didn't feel like drinking tea or anything else. She didn't feel like eating. She didn't feel. It rather helped to shut herself down like that. It helped ease the pain of not feeling the one thing she wanted to feel; her baby in her arms.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked tearfully. She shook her head. The only thing she wanted, he could not get for her. She knew he meant well. She knew he was trying to be a comfort to her. He truly was a loving and devoted man. She appreciated that, but she didn't want to be comforted. She didn't want anything but her baby.
"Kem, talk to me" he said as he sat down on the sofa next to her. She responded by getting up and walking across the room. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want company or conversation. They spent several uncomfortable moments in the resulting awkward silence.
The somber stillness of the house was broken by the doorbell. "I'll get it" John said in a broken voice. He walked over to the front door and opened it slowly. Barely audible, he told the visitor "Hi".
Her voice, quiet and comforting, she told him she brought them dinner. "Come in" he said. Walking into the room, the emotional devastation was readily apparent.
"Why don't you take these into the kitchen. There's, um, some roast pork and a salad." He took the dishes from her. He quietly thanked his friend for thinking of them. Of all the people he knew, she was the one that would have the best appreciation for what they were going through.
She watched him disappear into the kitchen before turning her attention to Kem. "I'm sure cooking is the last thing you want to think about doing, so I brought you some dinner. You should eat."
There was silence from Kem.
She had a great compassion for what Kem was going through. She took a deep breath "Three years ago, I came home from the hospital without my baby. He was born healthy, but I didn't get to take him home. He" she had to fight back the tears "went home with another woman. I came home alone, no baby, just all the thoughts of what I was going to miss."
Kem nodded through her tears, but still said nothing. John came back into the room. "She hasn't said a word since…" he couldn't finish, he couldn't say the words.
"It's okay, John."
He shook his head, not completely successful at holding back his tears.
Jing Mei put her hand on his arm. With intimate understanding, she explained "It's the most difficult thing she'll ever go through. Give her time. She's had a baby growing in her belly for nearly 8 months. A little life she's nurtured, felt kick and squirm. When you're pregnant, your baby is with you every day, always. And now he's not. That's hell."
He looked at Kem. She nodded thru her tears and began searching the far corner of the room.
"I'll leave you two to work on this your own way." She walked over to Kem and gave her a sympathetic hug. "I'll bring dinner for you tomorrow night too." Kem nodded, still unable to speak.
John walked her to the door. He opened it for her and as she stepped through, he told her in small, thin voice "thanks, Deb, for everything".
She gave him a nod and a small smile.
Closing the door behind his friend, he leaned on it and watched Kem as she sat back down on the sofa and cried.