2
As the couple ate in bed, Sunday was reminded that in a week she would have to be back in Washington for the 2nd convening of the 107th Congress. While she valued her role as Congresswoman, there were times she wished all her mornings could be spent with Henry, carefree and comfortable. This year would also be a Congressional election year, and Sunday was torn between whether she should run again or throw in the towel. She bit her lip when she realised it was trembling. A familiar ache stabbed at her heart, and she laid her fork to rest on the plate.
Henry raised his glance from The New York Times. "Sunday," he said with a measure of concern in his voice, "what's the matter?" "Henry," she whispered softly, his name almost catching in her throat. His eyes widened in comprehension. Tossing the paper aside and placing the dining tray on the floor, he gently gathered a now weeping Sunday in his arms. He felt his own eyes welling with tears as he tried to comfort his wife.
A month earlier, some time before Christmas, Sunday had suffered a miscarriage. It was a devastating loss for the couple, as it would have been their much-anticipated first child. Sunday had blamed herself, believing her membership in Congress had been too stressful and that she had ignored the warning signs that she was getting too busy. Henry had tried to convince Sunday that it wasn't her fault, but knew that with her headstrong nature, it was a conclusion she would have to reach on her own, in time.
Her sobs subsiding, Henry released Sunday, and she slid out of bed and went quietly into the master bathroom. He heard the noisy splashes of water in the sink, and realised Sunday must be washing her face. She's still angry at herself, he thought sadly, wiping away a tear that had escaped down his own cheek. She's angry at herself, and she won't let me help her.
Henry had suggested grief counselling for the two of them after they lost the baby, but Sunday had been against it, believing that the tabloids would have a field day. Henry had been surprised at that reaction, since she had taken all the media attention during their whirlwind courtship and marriage in stride. But then he realised that this time, the situation was different, and let Sunday try to tough out her grief on her own terms.
Still it tore at his heart to see her in such emotional anguish. She had come close in previous years to losing her own life, and had almost lost her mother who had required by-pass surgery. Henry himself had lost both his parents and was an only child. But the loss of this life was different. It was the first taste of true, bitter pain, and Henry prayed for the strength to get through it somehow.
Sunday was standing in front of him. "I'm sorry," she said. Taking her hand and pulling her to him, Henry said "Shhh, darling. Don't be. You're allowed to grieve, Sunday. We have to support each other."
"I just didn't want to upset you," Sunday responded.
"This is a marriage, Sunday. We grieve together. You don't have to protect my feelings. Don't ever think you have to."
"I think…" Sunday started slowly, "I think we should see someone…"
"Are you sure?" Henry asked, surprised. "You're not concerned about what the media will do with this?"
"Let them do what they must. Henry, I just can't continue like this. We can't continue like this."
"Alright. I'll see about setting up something, then." Henry again kissed the top of her head, and continued to hold her.
(The First Sorrow)
