After Forever Ends by Melodie Ramone
Lance sat in the back of the room with Josh McGuigan and Gareth Hughes, a boy Oliver used to play rugby against from Kerry. Loads of people came. It was truly amazing how many people cared. None of them said much to us. There was no need. They were there. It was all that mattered. My father came to call later in the day. He drew me close in what was supposed to be a fatherly way, but I was too stiff in his arms and he let me go.
“I'm so sorry, Silvia,” He said sincerely, cupping my face in his dry hands. He brushed the hair from my shoulder, “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”
“No,” I answered him simply, looking a little too hard into his eyes. I was so angry with him. I was his daughter. I was his healthy, living, breathing daughter and he’d sent me away, sent me off to school like I was some rubbish he hadn’t the time to deal with. My daughter was dead. My daughter had been torn away from me before I had the chance to even know her. How dare he come now and try to be my father when he’d had every chance before and passed them by?
He knew I was angry with him. He's known I was angry with him for years, but he'd never worked out why. If he had taken the time to look at himself, really look at himself, maybe he would have seen me there, lurking, begging for the attention I never got from him. If he had taken the time to notice, maybe he would have seen he had a daughter who once loved him with all of her heart, but didn't need him at all now. He'd never been there when I did and I'd learned to care for myself. Even in this chaos, even in all of my pain and suffering, his daughter, me, didn't need him. And not only did I not need him, I didn't want him. It was too little too late.
He said nothing else to me, but turned to Oliver instead. Oliver, in his kind way, put his hand on my father's shoulder and squeezed it, “There's nothing you can do,” He said simply, “Thank you for being here. Lucy's quite torn up, though.”
Dad nodded. He seemed relieved to be set free and hurried over to Lucy, who made a loud huffing noise when she saw him and fell into his embrace.
“Good,” I thought, “They can take care of each other and leave me to my business.”
I hid my face in the coat of Oliver’s suit.
Dad lingered awhile, but he left later without saying good-bye.
Oliver’s entire family including aunts, uncles, his ancient Gran, and all of his cousins came by in sets. Most of his cousins were near our age and they all had little ones. They’d dressed them in clothes fit for Easter and held on to their little hands, worried that their presence would bother us. Oliver told them no and to let them run about.
“Let them do what Cara never will,” He told his cousins, Karenna, who by then had a boy and a girl who were toddling about, and her brother, Mike, whose son, Rhys, was getting into everything he could reach. “Let them play.”
Ana scolded Rhys when he stood on his toes and leaned against the casket with his hands to smell the flowers.
“Don’t touch that!” She screeched and made to slap his shoulder, but Oliver leaned back and touched her arm.
“It’s all right, Mum,” He said quietly, shaking his head. He pulled one of the flowers from the spray and handed it to Rhys, “Here, Lad. Take this one and leave the rest, yeah?” He didn’t smile, but his voice was soothing. He looked back at Ana, “Mum, it’s all right. Really. None of this is what anyone wanted. It’s just what it is. He‘s a child. Let him do as a child does.”
Ana fell silent. She nodded and sank into a chair. I watched Eddie take her under his arm as she began to cry. Oliver looked away.
There is nothing more terrible in this world than a coffin made for a baby. By the time the service was done, the casket was filled with plush little stuffed animals, a rattle, some plastic rings, a book of nursery rhymes, even an empty bottle, a jar of strained peas, and a silver spoon. . It haunts me still, the sight of that delicate, rose pink box laid on a slab of white marble like some sacrifice on a pearl polished alter, covered in beautiful flowers so it could barely be seen.
We left her there, in that place, lying alone beside the wall. We went home and we sat together and we said nothing.
Our Cara was buried with her toys the next morning. Oliver and I leaned against each other so that we could stay standing as the reality of what had happened finally sank in. It was only moments before Edmond and Alexander had to support us. They collected us under our arms and kept us vertical, all of us in a cluster, while we went limp and sobbed. They kept us standing as we watched our baby being lowered into the ground and then they practically carried us across the grass and to the car when her casket had been swallowed by the earth.
Oliver and I fell against each other in the car and we wept as neither of us had ever wept before. I pulled away from him as the car left of the cemetery, straining to see the spot where she lie, pressing into my memory the picture of the place where we had buried every dream we never even knew we had.
And just like that she was gone. Cara, who should have been our miracle, had left us as quickly as she had arrived.
Bizarre, really, that tradition dictated we have a lunch after, as if either Oliver or I could think of taking a bite of anything. The only thing I could think of was drinking and drinking heavily, but I was too numb to lift the glass. “Tell me it’s not real,” I whispered to Oliver, “Please, lie to me.”
He blinked several times before he placed his hand against my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb. He said nothing, but his eyes replied, “Tell me the same.”
After, we went home to the cabin. Alex drove us, afraid we would be too distracted to get there safely. Lucy sat with him in the front of the car, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Nobody made a sound. Alex and Lucy saw us inside, both still unnaturally quiet. I went straight to the kitchen and took a sedative that the doctor had given me. I didn’t want to be awake. I didn’t want to think. All I wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up to find that it had all been a nightmare. The pill stuck in my throat and burned as it dissolved.
My sister made a pot of tea and sat with me at the kitchen table until the medicine overtook me. Neither of the cups touched, she helped me into my pyjamas and put me into the bed. Oliver had taken a pill as well just after me, but it seemed to take longer for it to affect him. I could hear him speaking quietly with his brother from the other room, their Welsh words mingling in the otherwise silent house.
Lucy lie with me on the bed, holding me the way a sister holds her sister when she’s afraid to let her go.
When I woke up hours later, the house was soundless. I knew Lucy and Alex had left long ago, probably at Oliver’s request, but I wished that they hadn’t. I stumbled out of the bedroom to check on Oliver, a feeling of worry sweeping me. What if something happened to him? What would I do without Oliver? Again, the thought plagued me. My heart and head both pounded as I caught my weight with my hands and held myself up against the wall.
I didn't see him at first. It was dark, but I saw Alfie was in the window watching him sleep on the sofa. The owl turned his head and blinked at me. He nodded and shifted his weight as if to engage me in a conversation.
“Hi, Alfie,” I whispered, “Thank you again for helping me.”
The bird closed his eyes and turned his head away as if to say it was nothing.
I stood for a few minutes and watched Oliver sleep. Bathed in the light from the moon, he looked almost like a child. He was so peaceful that I couldn’t bother him, even though I wanted to have him hold me more than anything in the world. I didn’t wake him to ask or crawl on top on him without permission like I normally would have. Instead, I went back to our bed and I cried alone.
A week passed before we slept again in the same bed. It had been a long, dreary day, raining off and on. He’d left for work at four that morning and stayed until six that evening. He was hot and tired, still had his studies to finish and didn’t seem to be in a particularly good mood. Nor was I. I’d sat in the front room and cried from the moment I woken up, but I had forced myself to stop and go to the grocery a few
“Dinner looks good, Love,” He told me as he pulled off his work shirt and washed his hands in the sink. He didn’t mean it, although red fish was one of his favourites. He hadn’t even glanced at the table to see what was there. His deliberate politeness put me off just a bit.
“Thank you, Sweetheart.” It was the last thing either of us said for about twenty minutes.
We sat on opposite ends of the table and picked at our meals. Neither of us looked at the other.
I hated it. I wanted to jump up and scream. I wanted to flick butter at him or kick the table so it bounced and his peas hit him in the nose. Anything to get him to smile or even shout. Anything to get him to speak. My God, this was us! Us! Oliver and me and we were sitting at supper like we were strangers or, worse, as if we were angry with each other. I hated that something was wrong and that something had come between us. I felt so frustrated and alone, but I sat and pushed my vegetables around on my plate instead of saying a word.
Oliver must have had enough silence, because he decided he’d break it. He didn’t look up at me when he spoke. In fact, he posed the question directly to his plate, “Do you want to try for another baby?”
I was not surprised that he had asked the question so boldly, but I was a little at the tone of his voice. It was so plain that he may as well have asked me to pass the vinegar. I took a minute to answer, waiting for him to look at me. When he didn’t, I responded with a joke. “I’d like to practice.”
He took the bait and laughed, “Me, too!” He raised his eyes to mine. It was such a relief to see him smiling, even if it wasn’t his usual mad grin, “But I’m serious. Do you want to give it a go for another? I mean, once you’re healed and the doctor says we can?”
I sighed, “What I want is to go on with our lives. I want to go to school and go to my job and come home and make you dinner. I want you and I to make love at our leisure as we always have, when we want and where we want. I hate that we can’t right now. I hate not being close to you. I hate it, Ollie,” I found myself sighing again, “I want to get back to being us. And if a baby comes out of that, then so be it. That’s magic. And if we never are lucky enough to have a baby, then so be that. We’re lucky enough to have each other. I think that’s magic enough.”
I had carefully crafted the answer so he couldn’t argue it. He nodded and returned quietly to his meal. After a moment he asked, “Do you still want the dog?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve had a time of it getting my hands on a Scottish terrier, but Alex found a breeder in Colwyn Bay. I was thinking that we could give them a call and make a trip if they have any pups.”
“Oh, I don’t care if it’s a pup. An older dog would be OK, too. Not too old, mind, I want to keep him awhile, but a dog one or two years old who maybe doesn’t mess on the floor.”
Oliver nodded, “Right. I’ll give them a ring tomorrow.” He looked down at his plate again and took a half-hearted bite of rice.
“Are you all right, Sweetie? You seem a little gloomy.”
“What’s out there is gloomy,” He jerked his fork toward the open door. “The weather’s affecting me. I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“Well, I want to talk about what happened to us. I’m just not sure you’re willing to.” He took that moment to look me dead in the eye.
I looked away from him. The pain of the miscarriage was still fresh in my mind and heart. I’d spent days thinking about it, pulling myself back and forth between anger and sorrow, fear and confusion. I had taken the week off of work and school on my physician’s advice and done my best to make things seem normal at home, even though they weren’t. I couldn’t stand the tension between Oliver and me. We’d had our arguments, but this kind of strain between us had never existed before. He was my best friend. We’d always been able to be honest with each other. I had always been able to fling myself into his arms and cry if I was sad or stand in front of him and rant if I was annoyed. We giggled together more than anything. But now, it was like we were afraid to touch or speak, like we were suddenly estranged. It was the oddest, most uncomfortable thing I’d ever experienced.
Still, the truth was that I really didn’t want to talk about it. But if he felt he needed to I knew I must. I couldn’t let us get any further apart from each other than we already were. We were together, but both of us were lonely. That wouldn’t do for Ollie and me. Plus, I knew that I really had not given him a chance to express anything about how he felt. Honestly, I had never even considered how he felt. I was suddenly ashamed of myself.
“We can talk about it,” I said finally.
“It won’t upset you?”
“It might, but I’m already upset. I’ve just been hiding it from you.”
“No you haven’t. That’s the thing, Sil. You can’t hide anything from me. You shouldn’t try to, either. It doesn’t make me feel better that you don’t want to trouble me. It troubles me more that you push me away.”
“I’m sorry, Oliver.”
“I know. I know you are.” He leaned back in his chair and gave me a careful look, “I thought we’d have had one by now,” He said it slowly as if he were measuring my reaction, “The rate we go and nothing, then,” He paused, “Before we even have the chance to be excited about it, it’s over. I found out I was a father when I found out our baby was dead.”
I looked at my husband with tears stinging my eyes, “It was the same for me. I didn’t know she was inside me until she was torn away. I should have known! Something should have told me I was pregnant! But I didn’t! I had my cycle! Every single month! I was spotting, but I thought it was stress. It was light, it had happened to me before, and I really didn‘t gain much weight…I thought it was just me gaining a bit and losing it like I always do…”
“Silvia, there wasn’t anything you could have done. The doctors explained it over and over. It just happens for no reason sometimes.”
I wanted to believe that they were right. I knew Oliver believed them, even if it was difficult for him to accept, but I felt so guilty about letting that child die. I had been responsible for her. She had lived inside of me. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I wish we’d talked about children, Oliver. We never did. Not seriously.”
“Yeah, we should have. It’s not like I don’t think about it. I’ve known since the first night we were together that there was the constant possibility we might be pregnant.” He paused, letting his breath escape through his nose, “At first, mind, when Alexander called me I was only worried about you, but now it’s like whiplash. I’m so relieved that you’re here and you’re all right. That’s really the most important thing to me. Really, it is, but I can’t help feeling that I’ve lost someone.”
“You did,” I picked up where he trailed off, “I need to keep that in mind. I keep thinking that it only happened to me.”
“It’s didn’t, Sil. It happened to both of us.”
“I know.”
“It’s just so…and none of it is your fault, mind, but it’s bloody disappointing. I think about things sometimes. I imagine the future. I always pictured us with at least two, but more like three or maybe four children. All of them piled up like a litter of pups on the floor.” He almost smiled, but it flickered away, “And then this happened and I’m sitting here now and truth is I’m shaken to my core.”
“Me, too. I’m so sad. I‘m frightened.”
“I am as well, Sil. Seeing you lying in that hospital…that was frightening. Seeing blood all over Alexander’s clothing, up and down his arms…that was frightening. Losing the baby…that’s just…I don’t know,” He put his arm over the back of his chair and looked away, “It’s wrong.”
I hadn’t realised he was angry about it. I didn’t say anything
“There are people out there with children and they ignore and abuse them. You hear about some stupid bint who leaves her kid alone in the car for hours or some cold-blooded bloke who shakes his to its death because it’s crying. And there are teenage girls getting pissed at parties and winding up with a baby they don’t want. Girls are out having abortions because they didn’t have the sense to take the pill or use a condom. And then there’s me and you and we weren’t trying, but we would’ve given that baby everything we got. We would’ve loved her. We’d have cared for her. We never would have hurt her. So why? Why did we lose her? I want someone to tell me why this happened to us. To all three of us. I want someone to tell me.”
He didn’t sound angry to me any longer. He sounded as heartbroken as I felt.
“I wish I could answer that, Oliver. I’d like to know, too.”
“Dad says it just wasn’t the time and that there must have been something wrong. Well, we know that, don’t we? He says it’s better it happened because if she had lived through the abruption she would have lost so much blood and oxygen that we might have had a child who had no quality to her life. He’s all logical about it, which is really fucking aggravating to me right now. I just can’t see a plus sign. And Mum…she just clicks her tongue at me and says nothing. She gets very upset, you know how she is. She wants to help, but she makes it worse because she cries and I don‘t need that right now, then I feel guilty-like because I‘m annoyed with her and maybe I shouldn‘t be,” His face was stiff, his mouth pulled into a tight frown, “The doctor…you know… says…you know…tells me that it just happens, sometimes there’s a reason why and sometimes it just happens for no reason at all that they can find. I know in my mind he’s telling the truth and that’s the best he can explain it, but my heart can’t accept what I’m hearing,” He shook his head and looked straight into my eyes. Anger and sadness had taken over his face. His voice was suddenly hoarse, “I saw her! I held her! She was perfect! We did everything right putting her together! It's bullshit!” He tapped his fist against the table, but not with any strength. He did it as if he were in perfect control of how hard he was touching it, as if he had allowed the full force of what he meant to do come through his hand he'd have smashed the table to splinters, “God must have wanted her, Lance told me and I almost punched his face! If it had been anybody but Lance I would have beat the--” He stopped. His breath caught in his chest before he began again, “Alexander, you know, he says there’s no reason for it at all. Two, young, healthy people losing a healthy child, and he agrees it doesn’t make sense. And he feels bad-like because I feel bad, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes. I hope he never does. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say, so he tells me I’m perfectly correct to feel like I feel,” His eyes were full of such pain I wanted to reach out and touch him, but something told me not to. Something told me if I did he would stop talking and I knew that was what he needed to do. Talk it out until what we’d been through either made sense or he could accept it. “I don’t know, Silvia. That’s the thing. I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m so bloody thankful that you’re OK. I’m so bloody thankful, but our Cara dying…it’s just not right. She was just a wee little girl! What’d she ever do to anybody?” He trailed off and then took a deep breath. His voice was just above a whisper when he continued, “I’m so angry about it. I want to shout at somebody. Not you. Just somebody. I want somebody to have to tell me why. I want to grab God by the throat and make him say he’s sorry for what he did to that little girl! I want him to tell me why he chose our Cara,” He pivoted in his chair from me. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew instinctively that he was crying.