I woke up today with the feeling I couldn't go on. It had been five weeks since we buried Emily, Charlie and Fred and I couldn't seem to stop myself from wanting to join them. I never thought that I'd be someone who'd contemplate suicide, but the very thoughts of staying on this earth without them seemed too much to bear. I knew in my heart that I wouldn't really go through with it, but I was just so depressed and I felt like I had nothing to live for, even Bosco. I was just the noose around his neck.
Thoughts of my children plagued my every waking moment. Memories of them clinging to me like a vine, threatening to choke the life from my lungs, bringing me home to the darkness where I belonged. I tried to sleep away those thoughts, but when I slept, I dreamed of them. Emily's long blond hair, cascading below her shoulders as she tugged on my hand, asking me to come with her, begging for me not to leave her alone. Charlie, holding his arms out to me, crying because I let them go into the ground. And finally, Fred. His face all twisted, shouting at me, telling me that I was a rotten wife and mother and that I had got what I deserved. Every time I woke from one of those dreams, it was the same; I woke with my hands clenched into fists, tear stains soaked on my pillow and an ungodly hatred in my heart, twisting and pulling on my heartstrings, threatening to break me once and for all.
After the dreams came the tears. Hot, scalding tears that usually sent Bosco into a frenzy, as he ran in to see how he could comfort me. He would hold me and stroke my hair, telling me that he loved me, asking what he could do to help. I knew that this was getting tough on him and wondered if he would be much better off without me. He could go on and find someone new. Someone emotionally stable, without complications. Someone who would love him and be there for him, and not the emotional cripple that I was.
For weeks he had done everything he could think of to make me feel better. No matter how hard he tried, nothing could melt away the ice that had attached itself to my heart. No amount of warm words, no whispers of love or promises could make me feel whole again. I'd never feel whole, with my babies dead and gone.
On this particular day, Bosco had decided to go into work early, claiming that he had some extra paperwork to do. I knew that he was just trying to get some time to himself, but didn't mention it. I'd want to get away from me, too, if I were him.
I decided to get out of bed, actually feeling hungry for the first time in days. I made my way to the fridge, carefully holding on to the wall for support. I was so weak from not eating that I found even the short walk to the bathroom a mission in itself. Before I could reach the kitchen, however, I felt a powerful wave of nausea come over me and I had to make my way to the bathroom. I couldn't believe how much I threw up, considering that there was nothing in my stomach.
It continued for a good ten minutes and by the time I had finished, I had never felt weaker. As I got up to get myself some mouthwash, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and gasped. I had lost so much weight that my face was gaunt and sickly pale. My blond hair, usually so sleek and smooth was matted to my head and tangled. No wonder Bosco had fled the apartment, I looked like a witch. Disgusted, I slammed my hand into the mirror, wishing I could just disappear into thin air.
I fell asleep soon after, but was awakened again by the need to throw up. I barely reached the garbage can before it came out, making my nose burn and my throat ache. The last time I had been sick like this, I had been pregnant with Charlie.
That was it: I was pregnant. I had to be, for I'd only been sick like this twice in my lifetime.
Electricity rippled through my body as I digested my thought. I thought back to when I'd had my last period. It hadn't been for weeks. I desperately tried to remember, thinking that maybe I was just off track because of all the stress I was under. I concluded that it had been at least five weeks or more. Bosco and I hadn't been careful when we'd made love either. It was always a spur of the moment thing that couldn't have waited. We had just gone ahead and tried to comfort one another, oblivious to what may happen.
For the first time in weeks, I felt hope spring within my hollow heart. How strange for me to be thinking about ending my life, when I quite possibly had a new life growing inside of me. I found myself hoping that I was right. I realized that I did want to give life one more try, especially if God was sending me a new child to love.
What would Bosco say? Would he be happy? What if he didn't want to be a daddy?
Thoughts ran through my mind at top speed. With everything that had happened in the past few weeks, I hadn't even considered the depth of my relationship with Bosco. I knew I loved him and he loved me, but were we ready for a baby? It wasn't something I'd thought about. What if he didn't want to have kids? We hadn't discussed anything along those lines. Come to think of it, we hadn't discussed any part of the relationship beyond 'I love you'. The day we had professed our love for each other, was the same day that my family was killed.
A new found hope started to spring inside of me. If I was indeed pregnant, I knew that I wanted this baby. Gauging from the two times I was pregnant before, I knew that this time my gut was right.
I was scared, I was happy, I was nervous. All the perfect combination to make me want to throw up again.
I called the pharmacy down the block and got them to deliver two pregnancy tests. One of the best things about living in New York is that you can get anything delivered, no matter what it is, you just gotta know where to ask. I wasn't strong enough to walk anywhere just yet, but I made it to the door to pay the man from the pharmacy.
With newfound strength and hope, I carried the two tests into the bathroom. I peed on both and found that I was absolutely delighted with the results. I was pregnant.