Journal Entry #2
August 22nd, 2013
Miles woke me from a disoriented nap this afternoon. When I grabbed the phone, I realized I had been crying in my sleep. The tears…they never stopped. Zach has been gone a week today. Our conversation went something like this:
Miles – “Hey. Just thought I’d check in before my next meeting. Everything alright?”
The words had stung like a bee. Everything alright? No, not even close, so I had lied, choosing to avoid lighting an emotional wildfire.
Me – “Yeah, I’m fine. Just doing a few things around the house this afternoon.”
Miles – “Don’t overdo it, Alana. The doctor said for you to take it easy for the next few weeks. I agree with him.”
Me – “I know you do, but I can’t just sit around this place. The quiet is too much sometimes. I have to keep myself busy.”
He had sighed heavily at my reply. He did a lot of that lately. Sighing, like the thoughts in his head were too much for him to say aloud. Instead of letting pieces of himself go, he just buried them deeper, within a long drawn out frustrated sigh that he used to cover his brandished hurt. Miles had always been such a support to me, a man of great words, but his inner voice was missing. The man I knew and loved, was hiding within the shadows of his misery, alone. I wasn’t expecting an invitation for me to join him anytime soon.
Me – “Perhaps we can talk…”
Miles – “This is not the time nor the place for talking about this, Alana.”
Me – “I know, but when will it be time? We can’t let this just drift off into the distance; pretend that it never happened. It did, and I’m so afraid of moving on.”
The line grew quiet after that, and my question remained unanswered. Just like always.
Me – “I’m afraid of moving on without you, Miles.” Still silent. My throat burned badly as I tried hard to swallow the bile that had risen quickly from my empty stomach.
Miles – “You’re not moving on without me. We’re in this together. I’m just not ready to open up the wounds just yet. Please respect my wishes this once, Alana. That’s all I’m asking.”
And all I wanted was to find truth in his words. The words he refused to say aloud. The diversion between us opened up a little wider, as my heart grew a little weaker.
Miles – “Listen babe, I’ve got to get back to work. Hang in there, okay? I’m trying to do the same.”
Me – “I’m doing my best, Miles.”
Miles – “I know you are. Just take it easy. I love you.”
Taking a deep breath, and closing my eyes, I had said what any good wife should. “I love you too.”
So here I sit. Bent over, head aching with sheer force as it lay within the sweaty palm of my left hand as I write. This is so much more than losing Zach; this is the beginning of losing myself. Miles and I had been married for almost seven years, and what an amazing seven years it has been. Even through our struggle with infertility, the two of us stuck together, hand in hand through every test, procedure, poke, prod and agonizing wait for test results, without fail. After losing Zach last week, I feel my hand slipping slowly from within my husband’s. The reason for our bout with infertility was because of me, and the loss of our miracle baby…was also because of me. I couldn’t give my husband what he wanted more than anything; a child. A child that he could love, lead and cherish until his dying breath.
My gift, my everything, stolen.
Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com