Waiting For Sunday

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{forty}

I’m so sorry.

Those three little words seem so inadequate. Is it possible to feel so grief-stricken about something— someone who was no bigger than a grain of rice?

Yes, it’s possible. It’s so fucking painful that nothing feels real anymore. No one knows the feeling of your body failing the one thing it’s designed to do. To grow another human being. The perfect mixture of you and in my case, the man I love.

All I could remember was lying on the hospital gurney, pain relief in my hand as my eyes shut tight, the pain agonising, nothing but blood seeping from my body. I couldn't help but scream as I felt the same sharp stabbing pain as my body expelled the one tiny thing it was meant to grow safely for 9 months.

I’d failed. I’d failed myself, I’d failed Oliver and most importantly, I’d failed to protect my own baby. I can remember it now, laying in bed nearly a week later. The blood. There was so much blood. I had to keep sitting down, a cardboard bowl underneath me as crimson clot after crimson clot fell and landed inside. Eventually, I felt it and then I knew, that had been my baby.

As tears soaked my cheeks, I couldn’t think of anyone or anything other than my baby. Of the little girl or boy, they’d never grow into. Would they have their daddies lashes? His beautiful dimpled smile? His kind heart, his brilliant mind? I’d never know. We’d never know. Because they were gone.

Life is— and can be cruel.

“Sunday?” Oliver whispered as he peered around the door. I’d been discharged from the hospital and had been home no more than two days. As I lay in bed, feeling nothing but emptiness, my hand resting against my stomach where a small bump should have been growing, I didn’t speak. I’d barely spoken from the moment we left the hospital and when we’d crawled inside our bed.

His arms wrapped around me as we wept, grieving for the life that we’d begun to look forward to, planning our future around the tiny person that would soon have consumed our lives, but now they’d gone.

It was us— just us now.

“Sunday?”

“Hmm?” I hum as I turn my face towards the door.

"Do you want anything to eat? I made some soup, could you manage that today?” I shake my head and return my face to the pillow, no tears left to cry as I stare into space.

The bed dips beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder.

“Baby, you need something to eat,” he whimpers as he sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m not hungry,” was all I could say. Oliver laid beside me, pulling me into his arms, but I don’t say anything, I just rest my head against his chest, listening to him as he tried with all his might to keep his tears hidden from me, frightened it would make me burst again, but I couldn’t. I had no tears left.

As day turned to night, Oliver barely left my side. His arms constantly embracing me as we hid ourselves away. Not really talking, just— existing.

Another couple days past and when Amalia had fought her way in, she’d clambered onto the bed beside me, stroking my hair from my face as she wept for me, for Oliver, for the baby she would never get to meet, and if my heart hadn’t already been broken, then it would have broken there and then.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. There they were again. Those three little words. Words that had no meaning. Not to me at least. She tried her best of course to soothe me, but I’d become almost mute. She understood, but when she left the room, I could hear her murmuring, asking Oliver if I should see a doctor, take some pills.

I didn’t want pills. I didn’t want doctors. I just wanted my baby, our baby.

After nearly ten days, only leaving the room to shower or to pee, I finally pulled myself up and slumped down onto the sofa, crawling into Oliver’s lap when he sat beside me. His arms wrapping around me protectively, I nuzzled my face into his neck and sobbed.

“I’m so sorry,”

“What for?” He tearfully asked.

“For losing our baby,”

“You didn’t,” he cried.

We sat shrouded by silence as we wept, mourning the loss of the baby we missed.

Day turned to night again, and as we sat at the dining table, neither of us with much of an appetite, we barely spoke.

“How about we get away?” He asked me. My eyes snapped up to his, my mouth falling open just a little.

“Why?”

“We need out of this apartment, out of this city,”

I nod, not really caring where we went, I just knew— I just knew I wanted the same thing.

“When?”

“As soon as possible,” he breathed.

“I’ll ring Amalia, you ring your boss,” I said, as Oliver agreed.

“Where will we go?”

“San Francisco,” I suggest. Oliver cocks a brow, reaching out to take my hand in his and pulling me around and towards him, sitting me in his lap.

“You sure?”

“Oliver—, I just—, I—,” I whimper but he cups my face, the pads of his thumbs stroking gently against my cheeks.

“San Francisco,” his voice whispers as he kisses me. My eyes close, the smallest of sparks igniting in my chest.

“Tomorrow—, we’ll go tomorrow,” he tells me. I nod as tears tumble against my cheeks again, our tears mixing together as we taste the saltiness against our lips.

“I love you, you know that don’t you?” He breathes against my mouth.

“I love you,” I say, kissing him again.

As Oliver stands, he pulls me into his arms, scooping me up and carrying me back to our bed. Undressing me slowly, he covers me with the sheets and undresses himself, climbing in behind me like always and wraps his arms around me, pressing my back against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as his lips pepper my shoulder.

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t take the pain away, I couldn’t save them,”

“There was nothing you could do Oliver, it wasn’t your fault,”

“I know—, but still, I couldn’t protect you, I couldn’t care for you like you needed me too,”

I twist my body around, facing him as I feel his chest heave, sobbing uncontrollably. My already broken heart aches for him again, knowing that on that day, I hadn’t been the only one to lose someone. He’d lost a baby too. His baby.

“Shh,” I soothe, holding him as he cries, sobbing as his tears soak his pillow and me.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begs as he sobs.

“Why would you say such a thing? I could never leave you Oliver. If anything it should be the other way around,” I croak, my throat tightening.

“Sunday,” he murmurs as his lips find mine. His kiss deepens as his tongue swipes against my bottom lip and I readily let him in.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers against my lips.

“Then don’t let me go,” I sniff as he nods, his forehead pressing against mine.

“I won’t, I'll never let go,” he cries as his arms pull me against him again. Our breathing becomes slow, our tears still flowing but eventually like the changing skies, our eyes close and we both fall asleep, still clinging to the one thing we have.

Each other.

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