Vilomah
It was too early. Aki knew it was too early. The excited young couple had known they were having a girl for months. They'd named her, bought clothes and diapers and all the typical supplies. They'd decorated the nursery, a small spare room in their barely two-bedroom apartment. Artwork of the child's name, Koyuki, hung proudly above the crib, along with photos of her parents, posing with her before her face had even seen the sun or felt the breeze. Aki packed a hospital bag months ago out of pure excitement. They were prepared in every sense of the word, but they weren't prepared for this.
It was too early. Aki's due date was December 12th. But one rainy day in early October, Aki's water broke at four in the afternoon. For a moment she'd been ecstatic. She was incredibly eager to meet her child; she'd been counting down the days since she first discovered she was expecting. Then she came to her senses. She remembered she was nowhere near that due date. As much as she wanted to meet her sweet baby girl, she knew this was all happening much too early.
Just that morning she had told the grocery store cashier that she was due in December. "Getting close," she had told the cashier. The cashier, a mother herself, told Aki that "those last few months seem to take the longest."
If only that had been true.
With wet socks, she hurried to the landline phone on the kitchen wall. Her hands shook as she dialed her husband's work number. With hitched breaths, she sank to sit on the floor while she waited for his phone to be answered. He didn't answer. She scrambled through the phone book kept beside the phone, where she found the number of the office secretary and called it. The secretary informed her that her husband was in a meeting and wouldn't be out for at least another half-hour. Aki informed the secretary of the situation.
"My water broke," she said frantically, "I'm calling an ambulance, tell him to meet me there!"
Neither Aki nor Shun owned a car. None of their neighbors owned cars. In fact, she couldn't think of one person she knew who owned a car. An ambulance was her only option.
Ten minutes after placing the call, the ambulance arrived at her apartment. The paramedics assured her everything would be fine. It was likely their easiest call of the day. An expectant mother, not yet dilated enough to actually give birth, rather than a stroke patient or victim of an accident.
Aki kept telling them it was too early. She wasn't due until December. She knew they heard her, so why did they not seem as worried as she was? They tried to calm her down, reminding her that getting upset would only raise her blood pressure and endanger the baby. They inquired about her husband, told her they'd help him find her once he arrived to the hospital. They asked her to breathe and when she couldn't, they strapped an oxygen mask to her face. That helped until a contraction had her doubled over, fogging the mask with tormented breaths.
Shun arrived at the hospital only a few minutes after the ambulance did. His boss owned a car and graciously drove him. She knew how excited the young couple was for their first child. She also knew it was much too early. And so did Shun. Everyone knew, but panicking wouldn't change the outcome. Shun's boss urged him to remain calm for Aki's sake. He tried his very best. He tried to picture Aki holding their brand new Koyuki, still covered in vernix caseosa and crying from the bright hospital lights. He tried to imagine himself holding her hand, crying tears of joy as he stroked the newborn's fragile head.
Aki was still on oxygen when he entered the room. She was crying as the nurse helped her through a contraction. But the tears were not from physical pain. Shun could instantly tell. As much as he wanted to hope things would work out, he was dubious at best. Without any information from a doctor or nurse, he knew the best possible scenario would be a preemie baby spending months in the NICU and Aki on bedrest. And the worst? Well, he wouldn't let himself think about that.
Shun held Aki's hand and tried to be a calming force. He told her everything would be alright. He wanted to believe that. So did she.
Five painful hours later, the nurse called out the birth time. Tears streamed down Shun's face as he and Aki waited to hear the baby's cries. But they never came. Instead, they heard the doctor quietly tell the nurse another time, before handing the lifeless child to Aki. "I'm so sorry," the young doctor repeated over and over. Aki could barely hear him over the sound of her own strangled cries. Shun cried along with her, no longer strong enough to hold it together for her sake. Neither of them had ever been more devastated. Shun put his arms around Aki and the child as Aki convulsed with tears.
Upon Aki's request, a woman came and took a photograph of the child in Aki's arms, and then in Shun's. Having their hearts physically ripped from their chests would have been less painful. Aki shouted at the nurse when they finally had to pull the stillborn baby from her arms. She screamed for her baby long after the door closed behind the nurse. Her throat was raw by the time they decided to sedate her. Shun begged them not to. "We've just lost our child! Let her mourn!" He shouted at the nurse. They ignored his pleas and did what they knew was best.
Aki's parents arrived while she was still sedated. Shun, who didn't have the pleasure of being sedated, was tortured by their arrival. All his life he'd been told that men don't cry, especially not in public. He felt ashamed when they walked in to him hyperventilating at his sedated wife's side.
But Aki's parents were loving. They didn't judge him for "showing weakness," as his own mother had called it. Pati, Aki's mother, held him and cried right along with him. She thanked him for taking care of her daughter, for loving her, through the hardest day of her life.
When the sedatives wore off and Aki woke, she hardly had the strength to speak. Her throat was raw from crying and screaming and her eyes were swollen from tears. Shun let her parents speak to her alone for a while. He sat anxiously in the hall as they did so. When he saw Aki's nurse, he apologized for shouting at her. She brushed it off without a question. "I would have been more appalled if you hadn't. You're allowed to be upset. This is likely the worst day of your life so far." He hated that she added, "so far." But he thanked her for being forgiving.
When Aki's parents departed for the night, Shun pulled his chair as close to the hospital bed as possible. All he really wanted to do was climb into the bed and hold her through her tears, but he knew the nurse would yell at him and he knew giving birth was no pain-free endeavor. The last thing he wanted was to unintentionally hurt her. So he pulled his chair as close as he could and leaned his upper half onto the bed. Aki's tears were silent now and so were Shun's. Aki stroked his hair with what little strength she had left.
They stayed two full days in the hospital. The doctor visited her on the second morning. Aki had been vocal about blaming herself for the baby's death. He informed her the baby had a heart defect. She'd likely died several days before Aki gave birth. Nothing anyone could have done would have made a difference. He urged her not to blame herself. She only cried harder and said she should have noticed something was wrong sooner.
A grief counselor came to speak with them that afternoon. Both Aki and Shun were too far gone in the depths of despair to comprehend what she was saying. She left her card and insisted they set up an outpatient appointment when they were feeling up to it. Aki tossed the card onto the nightstand that was now littered with handouts and documents from everyone who'd come to see her. She wished everyone would just leave her and Shun alone.
On the third morning, she was cleared for discharge. The doctor had a word with Shun privately. He was worried about Aki's wellbeing. He suggested that Shun take some time off work if he could, to make sure she was well looked after. He called his boss and begged for some time off. She gave him a week. He pleaded for longer. She said it was the best she could do.
When the end of that week came, Aki was worse than she'd been when they left the hospital. She cried so much the skin around her eyes was red and chapped. She would hardly eat or even drink. Shun practically had to force-feed her, and even then she never managed more than a few bites. She only left the bed to use the bathroom. Shun had helped her bathe once but seemed to take more energy than she had. The door to the nursery was permanently closed because it made her too sad to pass it in the hall on the way to the bathroom.
At the end of the week, Shun called his boss again and begged for at least another week. She couldn't give him what he asked for. He crafted a letter of resignation after the phone call. He could find another job, but he couldn't leave Aki alone. Aki was working as a secretary for a large corporation at the time, a place where people were easily replaceable. Shun called her boss and told him the news. The boss said the best he could do was give her the standard eight weeks for maternity leave. Shun accepted it but he knew there was no way she'd be able to return in eight weeks.
When Monday morning came, Shun made the hard choice to tell Aki he'd quit his job. He considered lying, telling her his boss had given him time off to grieve, but he decided it was best to maintain the trust they had between them. She panicked when he said those fateful words, "I quit," but Shun assured her that his parents would not let them starve. One way or another, they'd manage.
And they did. His parents sent him a check to buy food and pay their rent. Aki's parents had less money to part with, but they helped out as well. It was rough, but they managed.
Shun learned to cook Aki's favorite meals. He could tell he was improving when she started to eat more than a few bites at a time. It still wasn't nearly enough, but it was progress. And that's all he could really ask for.
When Aki's eight weeks ran out, she was still in no state to work. She'd stopped crying for the most part, but she still hardly ate, and hardly had the energy to leave the apartment. She resigned from her job. Shun knew he couldn't go back to work just yet, but soon maybe he could manage something part-time. In the meantime, he continued to gratefully accept help from both their parents as he stayed home to ensure Aki's wellbeing.
On those rare, unusually warm winter days, he would open all the windows just so Aki could feel the breeze and smell the fresh air. They went for a walk once, but it ended disastrously when they passed a woman with newborn twins in a stroller. She hadn't wanted to leave since. He wondered if he was doing the right thing by letting her stay cooped up inside. But the way she cried when she saw those babies was heart-wrenching. And all the progress she made suddenly slipped away. She couldn't bring herself to eat for two whole days. So he let her stay home, even if the doctors told him it would make leaving harder in the future.
When December 12, the baby's original due date, rolled around, Shun found her crying in the nursery. She sat in the nursing chair holding a framed picture of Koyuki's ultrasound. "I wish we had a real picture of her," she wailed when Shun found her stroking the glass tenderly.
"We do," he reminded her. She had been sedated shortly after the picture of Shun and Aki with the stillborn child had been taken, clouding her memory. "Remember? They take pictures of all the newborns and they took some of Koyuki too. I have them, but they aren't easy to look at."
"I want to see," she decided bravely.
Shun left the room and returned with the envelope from the hospital. He handed it to Aki. Inside there were several pictures of Koyuki. Aki pulled out the first cautiously. It was a close-up of the baby in Aki's arms. If one didn't know any better, they might assume she was simply sleeping. But upon a closer examination, it was clear her face was lifeless and her skin wasn't red and healthy like a baby should be. Hers was slightly gray. And she was tiny. So, so tiny. She made Aki's petite hands look large.
Aki bit back tears as she pulled out the second photo. It was taken from further out, enough to show Aki's face as she stared down at the baby with tears streaming down her cheeks. The third photo was of Shun holding the child. He was crying as he held the impossibly small baby close to his chest, his cheek pressed up against her small head. And the last photo featured them both. Aki held the child as Shun sat close beside her. She could only look at the pictures for a few minutes before stuffing them carefully back into the envelope. Shun set them aside on a dresser.
"She should have been born today," she said tearfully.
"I know, darling, I know."
Surrounded by the baby's should-have-been things, and wrapped in a baby blanket Aki had knitted, they did nothing but cry that day.
The photos helped her accept the death a little more. Shun found her looking at them several times since he first showed her. He hated looking at them; it reopened the wound every time he saw Koyuki's tiny, lifeless face. But if it helped Aki, he was willing to blur his eyes and look through the photos, rather than at them. He purchased beautiful gold frames and framed them for her. She treasured them and eventually, he was able to look at them too.
By the end of January, Aki had improved greatly. She wasn't her normal self yet, but she was eating normally again and even leaving the house. She insisted that Shun could go back to work, that she would be alright. The company he'd resigned from was hiring again. He swallowed his pride and embarrassment and applied for the position. He was hired without an interview. Apparently, the person they hired after him was a massive downgrade. They desperately wanted Shun back the entire time he was away. They had to fire the replacement in early January. When Shun applied, they were more than happy to have him back.
In February, they finally started grief counseling. It helped more than either of them thought it would. By March Aki was able to return to work. Unlike Shun, her position had been filled by someone equally competent. But every office needs a secretary and it was only a matter of time until she was hired again. Working helped her return to her normal life. By April, she was almost entirely back to her smiling self. She rarely cried outside of grief counseling and was even able to pass babies without falling apart.
In June, she asked Shun if they could try again for another baby. He broke down crying and said he wasn't ready. He couldn't handle the pain of losing another child and was scared to try again. Aki respected his decision. The topic became the focus of many counseling sessions.
In August, Aki asked again. This time, Shun said yes. By early October, Aki was pregnant, but they didn't know until early December.
The following nine months were incredibly hard for them both. The doctor informed her that the last miscarriage had been unusually rare for a woman like herself. She had no preexisting health conditions, she was not overweight, she wasn't advanced in age. Koyuki's death was an anomaly. However, one stillbirth increased her risk for another. He scheduled her appointments more frequently than he did other patients, to ensure that she and her baby were healthy. It eased her mind, at least a little. Still, she cried at night. But she had asked for this, and she wanted it. She desperately wanted to raise a child with the love of her life.
When she started showing, everything got harder. She was lucky enough to not have many symptoms, save exhaustion, in the first trimester. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was pregnant. But when she started showing in the second trimester, she was reminded of her pregnancy every time she passed a mirror or as she dressed or as people commented on her growing belly.
At 20 weeks, the ultrasound technician informed them they were having a boy. Aki and Shun both cried tears of joy when they saw him squirming around in his mother's womb. They instantly began thinking of names for their sweet boy. They decided on Eiji, in honor of Aki's beloved grandfather who had passed a few years back.
They began buying clothes for Eiji, but since they already had a nursery all set up, they didn't need to buy much else.
Aki couldn't bring herself to take down the pictures of Koyuki or the artwork of her name.
"We'll add baby Eiji's pictures when he's born, but I can't take down Koyuki. They're both our babies. And I want to see them both."
Shun agreed wholeheartedly. As much as he found the pictures difficult to look at in the beginning, he'd become attached to them now. Taking them down would be a sin.
When she reached the point in which she'd miscarried Koyuki, Aki became more and more anxious. The final stretch was almost unbearable.
Finally, on May 2nd, around 10 PM, Aki felt her first contraction. She and Shun went immediately to the hospital. She cried throughout most of the labor process, so incredibly nervous for the same outcome as the first pregnancy. It was a much longer process than the first. Her parents met her at the hospital, holding her hand along with Shun as she entered the final stretch.
As the doctor told her to push, her heart was nearly beating out of her chest. It pounded so loudly in her ears she could focus on little else. She tried to breathe and brace herself for whatever was next. At 4:47 AM, on May 3rd, the nurse shouted the time, and the room filled with the piercing screams of Eiji Okumura.
The nurse cleaned him off and placed the warm, crying, alive baby upon her chest. Aki exploded with tears, blubbering praises to the gods. She let Shun hold him for a moment and then began nursing him. Her eyes met Shun's as Eiji's cries were silenced as he nursed. As their eyes connected, they both laughed through happy tears.
When they returned home from the hospital, this time they had a newborn with them. It was a better feeling than anything either of them could imagine. Eiji's pictures joined Koyuki's on the wall. And although Eiji had a nursery all for him, Aki found herself falling asleep in the nursing chair with him in the crib beside her most nights. She treasured him above all things and didn't want to let him out of her sight.
She quit her job again, this time not out of sadness. This time, she quit so she could raise her son. Eight weeks wasn't nearly long enough. She told Shun she'd rather survive on one income than see her child be raised by someone else. He had no complaints.
Around three months of age, Eiji developed colic. He cried for seemingly no reason. He was healthy, eating plenty, sleeping, but still, he cried. It made Aki sad that Eiji was sad, but she was so happy to hear a crying baby that she never complained, even when his cries woke her at 3 AM and then 4 AM and then 5 AM, she never complained. It only meant she got the chance to hold and comfort him more.
She'd occasionally cry when she realized she should have had this same experience with Koyuki. But she pushed those thoughts away. They wouldn't change anything, they would only make her sad when she should be celebrating new life.
Aki and Shun adored baby Eiji. They loved and treasured him and thanked the gods for him each and every day. And when he learned to talk, he said he loved them too.