Crazy Girl(88)

Wren.

I had hated so much of the way he was. I hated how iron rod he could be. But in that moment, as I thought about him and our times together, the things about himself he had shared with me, his beliefs and mindset, I realized what strength he had. He never froze in his pain or grief. He never wallowed in his setbacks. He took them on and went on, shouldering it. He never laid down in the face of difficulties. I finally saw it. I finally saw him.

It took some strength, but I managed to pull her grip from my arm and put a little space between us. Her eyes were glossed, cheeks wet, face red. Her hair was stuck to her neck and forehead. Taking her face, I pressed my forehead to hers.

“You can do this, sweetie,” I asserted, my voice low but firm. “It fucking sucks.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered as she gripped my wrists.

“Yes, you can. You can do this. You’re strong, Deanna. And I’m here with you, right beside you.”

“My baby,” she whispered.

Kissing her forehead, I inhaled a steady breath. “You’re going to deliver this baby. You’re going to give birth to your son.” Bending, I looked into her eyes. “And we’re going to clean him and dress him, and you’re going to hold him for every second you’re able to. You’re going to tell him his name and how much you love him.” I took a deep breath to steady myself, to stop the trembling of my lips. “You deserve that, and so does he, Deanna. That little boy deserves to be held by his mother. You have to do this for him, and for you. You have to push.”

Releasing my wrists, she turned from me, taking one of my hands in hers. Her lips were pressed together as she attempted to contain her crying and she sniffled. She nodded a few times, letting me know she’d heard me; that she was ready.

As she pushed, her groans of exertion would end on broken sobs. Everyone else in the room was quiet except for the doctor that kept telling her when to push and stop. There was some sniffling, and when I looked up, I realized a few of the nurses were weeping, too. It was the rawest moment of my life. A place where beauty and wonder met broken dreams and nightmares. I watched the world every day, I watched people; the way they moved and interacted. I sponged inspiration from reality, hoping to weave it into a story. I overwhelmed myself trying to lurch emotion in my work, to create a place for my readers where they could find beauty in tragedy. But nothing compared to the real thing.

There was sadness. Oh God, there was sadness. But there was beauty, too. There, with my friend as she made her body give the world her most precious dream, her baby, knowing he was gone before he’d ever arrived. What strength. What aweing and inspiring strength that took.

The way when he arrived the room was silent, lacking that banshee cry a newborn baby makes after its first breath. The way she held him and brushed her thumb over his fragile little hands. She was memorizing him. Soaking him in. Taking what little of him she could with her. As I stared at her, she gazed lovingly at him, the saddest smile capturing her features. The tears in her eyes had been fear and hurt before, now…now they were something else. Her heart was breaking, yet somehow she smiled because she knew this moment was precious, and she was grateful. Her tears were of gratitude. Pressing her lips to his forehead, she murmured quiet words to him.

“You are so loved, little one,” she told him. “Thank you for being mine. I’m so sorry, my love.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched them.

“Deanna,” a hushed voice cut across the room, jerking our attention to it. It was Allen, standing, his feet seemingly cemented to the floor, as he stared at his wife and son. His expression was tortured, the hurt in his gaze was heavy. Deanna pressed on a soft smile, her eyes heavily glossed, as she reached out a hand to him.

“Come and hold your son, Allen,” she rasped. His feet moved as if they were weighted, dragging as he walked. Just before he reached the bed, he fell to his knees and reached up a shaky hand, cupping his son’s head. And then he sobbed, pressing his forehead to his wife’s lap.

And that’s when I saw it again. Beauty. Love. Kindness. My friend. My gorgeous, kind friend who had just given birth, held her lifeless baby boy in one arm, and used her free hand to comfort her husband. It was the kind of moment that slams into you; the kind of moment that changes everything. Wren had been right. If I didn’t allow people in, I wouldn’t be living. The kind of love and warmth I witnessed today was what sustained a person. I was weak, and I was hiding. I was a coward. Not one thing had happened to me that I could not overcome.

Deanna glanced up at me and tilted her head. Jutting her chin toward the door, she frowned. She was asking me to go and felt bad for it. I nodded a few times in understanding before gathering my belongings. They needed to be alone with their child, as a family. Before I left, I quickly walked over to her and kissed her head. “You did good, mama. I’m so proud of you.”

Looking up to me, she said, “Thank you for being my rock, Hannah. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Squeezing Allen’s shoulder, I told them I would check in with them tomorrow. I gave baby Justin a loving glance, my heart breaking for the little boy that deserved a long and happy life that was stolen from him.

Then I left.

When I got in my car, there was only one place I wanted to go. It was the only place I could go.

Wren.

I needed to see Wren.