Sunday, June 22, 2014
“Maybe I should have had a goodbye party or something. It feels weird—just up and leaving, and never coming back,” I told Kyle while placing clothes in a large suitcase on our bed.
Kyle shrugged. “Let’s have one then. We can delay the trip a few more days so you can say your goodbyes.”
I frowned. “Is it bad if I say no? I don’t feel ready for goodbye yet, you know?”
“Tessa, you can do whatever you want. This is your time.”
I consider his words. “I just don’t feel like I’m... gone yet. I still feel like me.”
“So, we’ll wait.” He smiled, a slight uneasiness under his expression. “There’s no rush.”
That wasn’t true. Everything felt rushed to me. There’s a timer on everything I do now, and not enough time to do it all. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet, but once I moved, it would be too late. All my family and friends were here, not in Vermont. Luckily, the people more important to me—Kyle, my dad, and Elly—were coming with me. Beast, too, of course.
My dad walked into the bedroom holding an envelope up. “Tessa, I printed your confirmation info, but you’ll need to get your boarding passes at the airport.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I took it and tucked it into my purse. Returning to packing, I opened my nightstand and transferred my medications and vitamins to my suitcase. No small feat since there were so many.
“Are you and Elly going to be ready soon, sir?” Kyle asked my dad.
“Yep, boxes are already good to go. I’m picking up the rental van tomorrow morning, packing it, then driving to Vermont. I’ll pick up Elly along the way. By the time we get there, hopefully you kids will have picked a place.”
“The real estate agent is taking us this afternoon to a few furnished homes. We’ll stay at a hotel for a day or two until everything is finalized,” Kyle confirmed.
“Hotel confirmation is in that envelope, too.” My dad pointed at my purse. “Oh, and Beast’s papers, too.”
I put a hand over my heart. “Thank you so much for everything, Dad. You’ve been my rock through this.”
“I agree, thank you,” Kyle echoed.
My dad waved his hand dismissively, heading out of the room. “Don’t mention it, kids. I’m ready to take you to the airport once you’re packed, so let me know. We need to get a move on. Your flight is in six hours. At this rate, we’re going to be late.”
I rolled my eyes and traded a knowing look with Kyle, who was trying to hide his smile under his hand.
“Did you hear that, Beast?” The dog jumped on the bed next to my suitcase. “You’re going on a trip!”
“I packed his things and enough dog food for a couple days,” Kyle said, ruffling Beast’s fur. “We can buy more when we get there.”
I took Beast’s face in my hands, giving him a kiss on the bridge of his nose. I was nearly packed since we were only bringing a few days of clothes and personal items. My dad and Elly would drive the rest up.
“Did you talk to your boss?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah, he was very sympathetic. He said he had a temp working there while I was on disability, so he’ll probably hire her on to fill my role.”
“That’s good. I know you were worried about leaving him stranded.”
“I liked my job.” I sighed. “It wasn’t too taxing, but I enjoyed it. I felt important there. I made a difference, in my own way.”
“Tessa, you’re important no matter where you work, or what you do, or what happens in the next few months.”
“Five months,” I added, still unsure how time could feel as if it were racing full speed and stuck on pause all at once. The doctors couldn’t give an exact estimate, but I was clinging to their guesses anyway.
“It could be longer. We don’t know,” Kyle reminded me. “No doctor can predict that with real accuracy.”
“Did you get my birth certificate out of the safe?” I switched topics. “We should probably bring any important papers with us. I need to go to the DMV to get a Vermont identification card.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it, but I think you’ll have to wait a couple more days for a lease to establish residency.”
“You’re probably right; I’m just anxious.”
“We have time, Tessa.” Kyle zipped up his suitcase then turned to me with a frown. “I mean, sort of.”
I nodded, because he was right—time was the one thing we didn’t have.
• ღ • ღ • ღ •
Sunday, June 22, 2014
“That’s the last bag,” Kyle informed us as we stood around his car ready to go to the airport.
“I’m going to walk Beast around the block quickly since he’ll be cooped in the carrier for a few hours.” My dad gripped the dog’s leash and headed down the driveway.
Turning toward the house, I headed for the front door. “I want to double check that I didn’t forget anything.”
I heard Kyle reply, but couldn’t make out what he’d said since I was already stepping inside. I closed the door behind me and stood still, surveying the now-bare coat and shoe rack to my right, then the large mirror on my left. My reflection still startled me on occasion, even though my hair was growing, a thicker film of fuzz covered my scalp. I still wore my mother’s scarves. I’d regained a few pounds, but not many. My color was returning. Sweaters looked large on my frame, and makeup still couldn’t help my hollow appearance.
All the times I’d stood in front of this same mirror, prepping to go out on the town, or on dates with Kyle, felt so long ago now.
Inhaling slowly, I walked farther into the house, coming to a stop in the kitchen this time. I ran my hands across the top of the kitchen table, every meal with friends and family replaying in my memories. The kitchen was stark and cold with Beast’s bowls and toys missing from the floor. Swallowing my nostalgia, I continued to the living room, just as comfortable and homey as it had always been. A few pictures were gone from the shelves. We had packed them to bring with us, wanting to keep those memories close, but the loss didn’t make this room look any less lived-in.
Big plush couches and colorful throw pillows welcomed me and so I sat, and stared out the window as I’d done a thousand times before. The small back yard hedged against a busy road on the top of a small hill. Chicago unfolded before me and it was busy and gray, but beautiful all the same. This had always been one of my favorite places to sit and write because of this view.
“Tessa?” Kyle entered the living room behind me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just saying goodbye to the house.” This wasn’t okay. None of this was okay.
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want me here or should I wait outside?”
“I think I want to be alone for a minute.”
I stood when he left. There was nothing in this room for me anymore except the view. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and snapped a picture of it, so I wouldn’t forget.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized its absurdity. I scanned through the large album of photos I’d taken over the last few years in my phone. The images burst through the screen, reveling in the most photogenic moments of my life. They were the instances of beauty, the times I found love, and the joy I wanted to bring with me into the future.
I hadn’t known I wouldn’t have one.
My chin dropped to my chest, and I exhaled it all, leaving only the throbbing pain of goodbye traveling through my veins. I left the living room for the stairs in the hallway. I normally took them two at a time before the cancer had weakened me, forced to move slower with small, careful steps. Right now, though, it’s a choice. I inched up the steps with purpose—demanding to be in this moment. To feel the familiar give of the creaking wood beneath my toes when it dipped slightly. I might never feel it again and I’d walked past it more times than I could count without giving it a second thought. It was crazy to miss a broken stair, but I knew I would.
The top of the stairs came faster than I’d wanted and the room on my left made me pause. Staring at the doorknob, I wondered if I could even go in there.
I’m not ready.
I walked past it to the door at the end of the hall and entered my bedroom. The large bed beckoned me and I crawled onto it, cherishing the softness as I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. There was an odd paint swipe in the white that was slightly darker than the rest of the ceiling and I wasn’t sure why I’d never seen it before now.
Turning my head to the right, I saw our small window that faced the street. I could hear Beast barking out front and my dad’s voice. It never was very well insulated, but I hadn’t minded. I wasn’t bothered by other people’s noise—I often found it comforting. A reminder that there was life in the world and I wasn’t alone, even when Kyle was deployed.
To the left, the bathroom and closet doors were open, the shelves bare and the products that normally littered the counter gone. It looked like it had the first day we moved in, before we’d filled it with love and loss.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the bed beneath me. I remembered every tangle of bodies from the very first time Kyle and I made love to the last. I found comfort in knowing Kyle will be the only man I’ve ever given my body to in that way. I’d dated before I met him, but never went very far physically. I wasn’t religious or a prude, I just only had enough room in my heart to give it away once.
A lump formed in my throat when I realized that wouldn’t be true for Kyle. I hadn’t been his first, and I wouldn’t be his last. I wanted him to find another great love, someone who’d give him everything I had, and more. I wanted him to have a family, even though I wouldn’t be a part of it. My fingers brushed the tears from my cheek. My chest ached and swelled as I lay the hopes I’d had for my future with Kyle down beside me. I pulled myself up from the bed and left those dreams behind.
Closing the bedroom door behind me, I made my way to the top of the stairs. The long forgotten door beckoned me again and this time my hands found the knob. I stepped into the room and turned, closing the door but keeping my nose inches from it. Staring at the white wooden panels, I pressed one hand against the grain and filled my lungs.
I could feel everything I’d lost behind me. I wasn’t sure I could turn and look at it. But I did, slowly.
I hadn’t been in here since before my diagnosis, since before I’d known we’d never fill the crib against the wall. We’d never coax our child to sleep in the rocking chair, and we’d never laugh and play with the bin of stuffed toys to the side. Thick, inescapable drapes kept the room as dark as possible, but I could still see everything I’d meticulously designed and put together in preparation.
I’d been almost three months pregnant when I’d painted the pale purple walls for the child I hadn’t known was already dying inside me. It had all been still so new, and yet I loved our child with every possible part of me. Kyle had been deployed and wouldn’t be home until right before the birth. I was strong enough to handle pregnancy on my own. I was sure of it.
I was also in this room when I’d felt a sharp pain in my abdomen, when fear clutched my heart and never let go, when I knew, suddenly, I was empty. It wasn’t an agonizing pain, just enough to make me pause. I didn’t know the exact moment, but I knew I felt life inside me, and then I didn’t.
She was just gone.
I reached forward and ran my fingers along the top of the crib’s railing, spotting something inside I’d forgotten. I retrieved the worn teddy bear and held it to my chest. Dipping my head, my cheek rested on the soft surface.
My mother gave me this teddy bear before she died. I’d watched her sewing it and filling it with stuffing. She’d told me what was happening, and how she wouldn’t be around to see me grow up. She’d said she loved me so much that she couldn’t take it all with her, so instead she was going to leave her love inside the bear. She’d sewn in a small red, fabric heart hidden in the stuffing, and told me to give it to my child one day so she could love them too.
I’d promised I would.
Tears cascade down my cheeks, soaking into the bear as I leaned against the crib and slid to the floor. Sobbing, I buried my face in the bear on my knees. My cries shook my body with such strength I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t just die right now.
I cried for the child who would never feel his or her grandmother’s love, and for the promise I could never keep. For the child I had loved, but hadn’t protected. For the man I loved who had been as broken by the loss as I had been. And I cried for me.
I cried for everything I’d never be, never see, and never feel.
The door creaked open and a path of light fell on me. Kyle closed the door behind him and came to sit beside me. He lifted my frail body into his lap, peppering soft kisses against my streaked cheeks. I curled into his chest, the teddy bear squeezed between us, and twisted my fingers into his shirt. His arms trembled around me, his chest moving unevenly beneath my face, and I knew he was crying, too.
We sat against the crib of our dead daughter and we cried for her—for the grandmother who’d never hold her grandchild, the child who’d never be held by her mother, and the mother who only had a few months left.