Meanderings and Early Morning Thoughts of a Longer Story

see what you think... not being able to sleep makes for interesting creative writing opportunities...

She laid in bed listening to the sounds of his breathing. It was labored and his tight wheeze had awoken her from a dead sleep. Dead sleep. She hadn’t slept well, restful, dreaming bliss in months, maybe years. Her youngest was still just a baby, not yet five. He was the one who comforted her at night snuggling in so sweetly and whispering “Mommy, I love you.” Dragons and monsters kept him from his own bed, and she welcomed the opportunity to snuggle her youngest one. But tonight, in his fitful sleep, he was not a source of comfort. The clock on the DVR blinked 3:27 am and then 4:23 am. Hour by hour the night didn’t seem to get any shorter and the little one’s breathing didn’t get any easier.

They had moved here thinking things would be better. A promise of a job promotion and the idea that living close to her parents would make a difference brought them from their small mountaintop home to the stark desert city. The trade off to high pollution and long commutes seemed to offer the promise of better things to come. The mountain community paid salaries in beauty and clean air and wide open space, but not enough to make a mortgage or pay for daycare and diapers. The winding dirt roads and breezy summer days filled with wildflowers and cool mountain rains didn’t make the bill payers happy.

She remembered the day she found out she was having twins like it was just yesterday. She had worried she wasn’t pregnant, or that she would miscarry. Years before, the miscarriage had been something that ripped her heart in two and she vowed to never make her family hurt again with news like that. “Momma, the baby died, didn’t she?” the words of her oldest, who was still a baby himself at the time, echoed in her ears and haunted her with his maturity. Jon was a source of comfort to her. His innocence was somehow inhabited by an old soul and he was forever sharing glimpses into his suitcase full of insight.

Her thoughts traveled back to the news of the twins. She took the pregnancy tests at home. She so wanted a little girl. She loved her boys to death but the thought of her having a little girl to hold and love and share life experience with kept her wanting motherhood despite knowing better. Finances were tight and work hours were long. The house was just right for she and Rory and the two boys. Why tempt fate? Fate had taught her that pregnancies could be a cruel joke. The baby, the sweet promise of a baby, was just a dream that had been dashed from her the spring she was told it just never grew, it never grew into a baby. She would need a DNC.

Rory was so good to be by her side. She wondered at times if his heart ached more than hers. He had watched as the ultrasound showed the lack of heartbeat. He had held her hand while the doctor said, “Don’t worry, your body will rid itself of the pregnancy on its own” and while she made the call to a different doctor to beg for a DNC. Life goes on, sometimes as sad as it is. A DNC would move things along and allow them to get on with the business of living.

She walked slowly into the hospital waiting room, holding Rory’s hand, feeling her shoes full of lead and her heart the same. She checked in and told the kid at the desk her name and doctor name. He looked her up in the schedule and said in a much too loud voice, “We always have you see a counselor before a DNC, Ma’am. You’ll need to take a seat and wait.” The words boomed across the waiting area with tall glass ceilings and many many pairs of ears. She was horrified. She wasn’t there for an abortion. She was there to say goodbye to her dreams of having a little girl. Her stone sober face looked at the floor and she longed to melt into the floor below her, just disappear. The tears were long gone from her eyes. The only tears left were in her heart and it sobbed uncontrollably.

She remembered being wheeled into the operating room and counting back from 100 and then waking up holding Rory’s hand. He stroked her face and kissed her forehead. He asked her how she was feeling and told the nurse in recovery she was awake. Her whole body was sore and numb. Her head was fuzzy. She just wanted to go home. She wanted to take a shower and climb into bed and sleep until there were no more tomorrows. The comfort of her pillow and the comforter tucked up tightly around her chin made her wish for sleep.

Her parents waited with worried eyes in the living room with the young boys as they shuffled in with their belongings from the hospital. She barely had enough energy to sit on the couch and make pleasantries before bursting into tears. Once again, Jon offered wise words. “Momma, the baby is in heaven now. It will be ok, Momma.” Younger Noah just clung to her, too young to know how to comfort with anything other than loving snuggles.

Her mother helped her up, and began preparations to get her tucked in to bed comfortably with the reassurance of only medical personnel can provide. Having been a nurse for years, she could compartmentalize things and rationally move to the next step. Her father stayed seated on the couch with the boys, his eyes filled with tears as well. He felt her pain. He allowed himself the luxury of emotion that she and Rory couldn’t feel, or were drained of. He stood to give her a hug tightly as only fathers can. He patted her back and said “We love you babe, you’ll be ok.” She prayed for that to be true. “God never closes a door without opening a window, you’ll see.” She cloaked herself in his reassurances and shuffled off down the hall to find safety in sleep, dreamless sleep.

Should I keep going or just call this a fitful night's sleep and return to blogging the random after more rest?