VI.
I could still remember the time we mourned the loss of our first child.
I still remember how helpless I felt as the doctor informed us the heartbeat was no more. I remember how the scream that escape your delicate lips cut a knife deep in my heart. How helpless I felt when I couldn't even comfort you myself. I can still remember you crying that you were not good enough, how you couldn't nurture our child to term. These things sometimes happen, Mrs. Solo. In no way was this your fault. I can refer you to- The soothing voice of the doctor drowned out, simply nodding numbly to the suggestions, with a promise on following-up.
Sweetheart, I wish I were able to help you better. I wish I could keep my vow I made to myself, to not let your light fade away. But how the fuck am I supposed to do that when our child, our baby was no more? I could barely remember the drive home; it was just a blur. I remember helping you out the car, holding you close to me as we walked in our home. A house we bought just before we found out you were carrying our child. I remember how you mechanically walked to the room that would have been the baby's, and the heart-wrenching howl you let out.
I cursed whatever God was up there for inflicting you with the worse pain possible. I got so fucking angry, Rey, I don't even think you noticed my departure. I needed to vent, to hit, to break, anything. I ended up running, and got to the beach where we wed, screaming at the ocean, the sky, anything I could see. I fell to my knees, thinking about the unfairness of it all, how fucking livid I was at the universe for making you live this horrible pain. After an hour, I made my way home, and found you in the room.
I could still remember you softly calling my name, and how cold you felt in my arms. I remember how tense you felt, even as I sunk you into our large bath filled with hot water, and how you just shook from crying, as I washed you patiently. I remember holding you in my arms until you had cried out your light, trying to comfort you to be best of my ability.
I could still remember how you restlessly slept, crying for a child we will never have known. A child who we already loved more than life itself. Mourned the child to whom we promised a life filled with love, that we'd protect until our last breath.
We mourned the broken promises we had made.
We mourned the parents we could have become.
