Bigger Than The Whole Sky
"I'm so sorry Mrs. McCord," the doctor says. Turning away from the screen, he meets her eyes. "I'm afraid I can't find a heartbeat."
Before she was rushed to Lenox Hill Hospital at 4 a.m., she woke up to cramping in her belly. It turns out they were contractions— a quick exam told her team of doctors that she was in early labor. Having birthed three children, she should have known.
A subtle ache in her lower back the night before kept her up late. Luckily, her chief of staff chatted with her on the couch, keeping her company while she sipped on chamomile tea. Overnight, the pain intensified. When she woke, clutching her stomach, she stumbled toward the bathroom. Seeing blood in her underwear, she screamed her assistant's name.
"I realize that this is difficult, Elizabeth, but…"
Lying in the hospital bed, she can see the doctor's lips moving, but she can't hear his words. Her brain buzzes, remembering the strong whoosh-whoosh sound of her baby's heartbeat during her last ultrasound. Now, the room is silent.
After complaining of repeated nausea in the mornings— screw you, stress —her husband jokingly suggested that she take a pregnancy test. Sitting together on the sofa, she laughed, mumbling a rendition of this baby factory is closed for business, but when she still felt miserable the next week, she sent Blake to the drugstore. Alone in their bathroom, she nearly doubled over when a faint line appeared. Three days later, her doctor confirmed the pregnancy.
Given her age, she was scared. There was a higher risk of complications that could harm both her and the baby. Of course, Henry was worried too. Ultimately, after much discussion, they decided to have the baby.
For obvious reasons, they kept the pregnancy to themselves until she reached the second trimester. In July, they told the kids who took the news as expected— Stevie faked a smile, Alison gushed about decorating the nursery, and Jason ranted about how their family would be a topic of discussion on the evening talk shows for the foreseeable future. Then, she told her staff who offered their congratulations. In their private offices, some bit their nails while others debated how this would play out in the press— hello, now the whole world knows that Msec is still having sex!
Staring up at the doctor, she begins to wring her hands. "Why did this happen?"
"Well, there are numerous causes, but from the ultrasound, I would say we're looking at a problem with the placenta."
"I— I've done everything right," she says before she looks down at her lap. She takes her prenatal vitamins, limits her caffeine intake to one cup of coffee, and, as uncomfortable as she is at night, she doesn't sleep on her back. As she chokes back a sob, tears blur her vision. "My baby was fine at my last checkup!"
Why did this happen?
How is she going to tell Henry? The kids? They would have to notify the nursery school they were accepted to that they no longer would be enrolling. God, she would have to tell the entire world that she lost her baby.
After the doctor leaves the room, presumably to prepare a team for her delivery, Nadine steps up to the hospital bed, offering her hand. Hesitantly, she takes it because she doesn't know what else to do— what can she do?
"I can't," Elizabeth cries.
Instead of shushing her, Nadine encourages her to cry. "Your husband will be here soon."
She wants to ask if he's flying— would driving save time? —but she can only think of her baby. When she had Jason, they hadn't yet decided whether he would be their last, so she hadn't slowed down to truly appreciate her pregnancy. This time around, she savored every moment— feeling the first kick, hanging the sonograms on the bathroom mirror, and listening to Henry sing his favorite nursery rhymes to her belly.
Why did this happen?
Soon, nurses begin filtering in. While one checks her over, talking softly, another preps her arm for IV access— she tries not to wince. When the nurse misses her vein for the second time, she snaps.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes, shutting her eyes.
For the next couple of hours, she moves around the hospital room, stopping to double over and breathe each time a contraction happens. It's more painful than she remembers. While Nadine rubs her back, Blake anxiously hovers, plying her with ice chips and a cool cloth for her forehead.
Leaning over her bed, Elizabeth says, "I shouldn't have come to New York."
When her husband finally arrives, duffle bag in hand, she's already 8 centimeters dilated. Silently, she thanks God (if there is one) for epidurals but curses him for taking her child away from her far too soon.
Why did this happen?
She wants to be brave, but once Henry takes her hand, muttering an I love you into her ear, she breaks into a million little pieces.
"I'm here," he tells her.
Blinking back tears, she realizes that they're alone in the room. Although she's shaking, she tries her best to give his hand a firm squeeze. "Our baby, Henry," she gets out between sobs. Now that he's here, she could fall apart without worrying.
"I know," he whispers. Balancing on the edge of the bed, Henry leans into her, resting his forehead against her own. "I know," he repeats, touching her arm.
The next time a nurse comes into her room, looking over the monitor, she tells her it won't be long. Thirty minutes later, she's pushing. While the doctor coaches her, encouraging her between contractions, Henry helps hold one of her legs.
"One last push, Elizabeth," someone says.
And then the doctor places a beautiful baby boy on her chest. As expected, she cries because the room is far too quiet. There is no wailing of a minute-old baby yearning for its mother.
Once she delivers the placenta, they're left alone with their son. Carefully, Henry swaddles him in a blanket from home, replacing the one provided by the hospital. Together on the bed, they exchange a few soft words, mostly making comments about their son's appearance— he has your nose, he has your thin lips, and his eyes, oh Elizabeth, his eyes. Neither one of them worries about wiping away their tears.
"He's so perfect," she whispers.
It's too soon that they have to say their goodbyes.
After a nurse wheels him away in a bassinet, she feels like she wants to die. At the very least, she wants to scream. The doctor tells her it's normal to feel in shock, but is it normal to feel this angry?
The rest of her time in the hospital is a blur of tears.
Late the next night, they return to her suite in the Towers at the Palace. Out of habit, she rests her hand on the curve of her stomach in the elevator. When they cross the entryway, she fights off a shiver— the marble floors feel unwelcoming, the modern furniture makes her anxious, and the room is a painful reminder of how scared she felt two nights prior. The only thing she wants more than her baby to be alive and in her arms right now is to be at home in DC.
Standing behind her, Henry brushes a hand along her back. "Want me to call down for some tea?"
Elizabeth nods.
While Henry disappears into the study, she settles into the bedroom, not bothering to switch on a light. After setting a bag down at the foot of the bed, she runs a hand over the duvet. The bedsheets have been changed. One glance to the right tells her that the bathroom has been cleaned up too.
Why did this happen?
Slowly, she crosses to the window to stare out at the city— the streets of New York are lit bright with lights of yellow. When she gets tired of standing, she sits down on the ledge of the window, letting her feet dangle above the carpet.
Two nights ago, she sat on the sofa with her chief of staff, discussing the details of the nursery. Out of excitement, she showed Nadine pictures of the pale blue walls. While she was away, Alison finished painting.
Elizabeth begins to cry.
Leaning forward, she tugs the stuffed bunny out of the duffle bag on the lounge chair. Before she clutches it to her chest, she runs a finger over the block letters embroidered on its right ear.
"Noah," she whispers.
The thought of going home to an almost-finished nursery makes her stomach turn. Now that their baby's gone, would they repaint? When would they disassemble the crib? Will she ever be able to move on?
Her mind begins to shoot off a million questions that she doesn't know the answer to— how will the children react? Should they have come to the hospital with her husband? Is it selfish to want to be alone? How is she meant to help the kids process when she's drowning in her own grief? Would it be easier if they were still small and oblivious to what was going on?
And most importantly, why did this happen?
When Henry sits beside her, she takes his hand.
"I'm sorry," she tells him. Sniffling, she leans her head against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
Palming her cheek, he rubs the pad of his thumb beneath her eye. "Sweetheart, this isn't your fault."
"But I lost him," she cries.
If God is real, why would he do this to their family? To Henry? To her? And to their innocent baby? It isn't fair! When she turns in her husband's arms, she stares up at the sky, wondering if Noah is up there. Is he out there somewhere? Is he alone?
Her heart aches.
"Henry," she begins. Before continuing, Elizabeth anxiously fiddles with the stuffed bunny's ears. "Do you think he's in Heaven?"
A moment passes before he says, "Yes, I believe that he is."
"Even though he wasn't baptized?"
Although she doesn't know what she believes, she knows that Henry is almost always certain in his faith. After the births of their other children, he was firm about baptism. As the kids grew up, they completed the other sacraments: First Communion, Reconciliation, and Confirmation.
"Honey…"
"Will we get to see him one day?"
"I hope so."
Later that night, she drifts off to sleep, still wondering about the fate of their baby.
If God is real, is Noah with him?
"Mommy."
Opening her eyes, Elizabeth realizes that, instead of being in bed beside her husband, she's sitting in a meadow, surrounded by green grass. And it's beautiful. Unlike the gray November skies, the sun shines bright, reminding her of summertime in Virginia.
"Mommy," someone calls out again.
Looking around, she tries to spot the person that the voice belongs to, but she sees no one. Then, she hears laughter— it's contagious. For a moment, it mends her broken heart.
"Mommy."
Suddenly, a boy appears in front of her— he has Henry's nose, he has her thin lips, and his eyes, oh, his eyes. They are still a brilliant blue.
"Mommy, don't worry," he says, placing his little hands on her cheeks. "I'm home."
When she jolts awake, Elizabeth gasps, grabbing for her husband's wrist.
"What?" Henry asks as he frantically reaches for the switch to the lamp. "Are you alright?"
Breathing hard, she says, "I— I saw our son."
If God is real, she knows Noah is with him.
In the morning, Elizabeth watches Henry step into a pair of jeans. Once he pulls up the zipper, he quietly moves around the room, searching for his shoes. After he finds them by the closet, he sits on the lounge chair to tie up the laces. Then he stands, walking toward the door.
Before he reaches it, she asks, "Where are you going?"
Hearing her voice, he turns back. "I'm going across the street to the cathedral."
"Oh," Elizabeth mumbles. Carefully, she sits up in bed. "Would it be okay if I came with you?"
Instead of answering, he crosses the room, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. Taking her hand, he says, "Of course you can come with me, but I know that you… If you don't want to be alone, I can stay here."
"No, I— I think that I'd like to pray with you."
"Okay."
Hand in hand, they walk up the center aisle toward the altar, stopping to sit in a pew a few rows back from the front. While she slides in, Henry bends one knee, holding onto the edge of the pew with his left hand as he signs himself with the Sign of the Cross using his right. When he sits, he gently touches her arm.
"Now what?"
"Usually, I like to sit in silence for a little while, but we—"
"No," she says, patting his thigh. "Let's just sit."
After watching Henry bow his head, she can't help but look around, taking in the architecture— the columns, the marble floors, and the stained-glass windows. Luckily, it was still early, so no tourists were milling about yet. Other than them and her security detail, the only other person in the cathedral was an elderly man sitting near the back.
What was he praying to God about?
Elizabeth wondered if God would hear her if she asked him to help her and Henry through losing their son.
She wants to ask him why this happened.
Would he answer?
Is he real?
"I want to believe, but it's just so hard," she admits.
Taking her hand, Henry tells her, "That's why they call it a leap of faith."
As people begin to trickle in for the morning service, they walk toward the back, planning to head back to the hotel. When they run into the priest celebrating today's masses, Henry introduces himself. She stands by his side, holding his hand, while the men exchange soft words.
"My wife, Elizabeth," he says, motioning to her with his free hand. "We um… Unfortunately, we've just experienced a loss."
Instead of looking to her husband for an explanation, Father Michael turns to her.
Locking eyes, Elizabeth can't help the tears that roll down her cheeks. "We lost our baby boy," she tells him.
"I'm so sorry," he says. "There are no words for the loss of a child." Looking between her and Henry, Father Michael asks, "Would you like to pray together?"
Feeling compelled to do so, she nods.
After Father Michael clasps his hands together, he bows his head. "Compassionate God, soothe the hearts of Henry and Elizabeth and grant that through the prayers of Mary who grieved by the Cross of her Son, you may enlighten their faith, give hope to their hearts, and peace to their lives. Lord, grant mercy to all the members of this family and comfort them with the hope that one day we will all live with you, with your Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit forever and ever." He pauses, taking a moment of silence, before he mutters, "Amen."
Reaching out, Henry shakes his hand. "Thank you, Father."
Once the man steps back from her husband, he takes both of her hands into his own. Staring into her eyes, he tells her, "May God give you peace in your sorrow."
"Why did this happen?" She can't help but ask the question that has plagued her for the past two days. "Why would God do this?
"God's answer to our pain is his presence, Elizabeth." Before Father Michael drops her hands, he says, "His answer to our pain is not an explanation, but an entrance. He takes our suffering into himself, so our tears are not just consequences of living in a broken world. All that has been lost will be reunited in Heaven."
"Mommy."
Suddenly, a boy appears in front of her— he has Henry's nose, he has her thin lips, and his eyes, oh, his eyes. They are still a brilliant blue.
"Mommy, don't worry," he says, placing his little hands on her cheeks. "I'm home."
"Is it too late for me?"
"It's never too late to grow in your faith," Henry answers.
Before they leave, she and Henry say a prayer together while lighting a candle in remembrance of their son, Noah Benjamin McCord.