The Empty Jar(24)

All I can do is shake my head. And sob.

Nate winds his arms around me, holding me tight against his bare chest. His lips brush my hair as he speaks. “Then what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

“I-I-I just love you s-so much,” I stammer brokenly. And that is one hundred percent true.

At my words, I feel the muscles in his chest relax. He’s no longer ready to go to battle; he’s ready to comfort.

“I know. Because I love you that much. Maybe even more. I hope you know that.” His voice cracks on the last as he struggles to control his own emotion.

“I do. I do,” I assure him. “I wanted so much for our life. If I could have done it any other way, I would have. I would’ve given you everything.”

“You already have. All I ever wanted was you.”

I weep onto my husband’s skin as he holds me. I weep for what will never be. I weep for what I hope can be. I weep for the secret I carry. I weep for the tiny life I might not be able to sustain. But most of all, I weep for the future, the future I will never see and the family I will never get to share with my husband. He will have to do it all alone.

Without me.

Forever.

But still, he will have our baby. Hopefully. He’ll finally have the best pieces of both of us, all wrapped up in a little person he can watch grow and thrive, play and laugh.

If I can just make it that far…

When I collect myself enough to pull away from Nate, I drag my stinging eyes to his face. I reach up to cup his cheek, now smooth from a recent shaving, and I wonder what his expression will be like when I give him the news. If I could carry the baby until we get back to the States, I will tell him right after I see the obstetrician and my oncologist. I’ll tell him when I know there is a chance that this could work. Then I will watch his mouth drop open, his eyes mist over, and I will see a pleasure erupt from his face, like the warm spray of a deeply hidden geyser.

But until then, I have to keep it together. For Nate. I will protect him as long as I can.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when I say nothing, just holding his cheek in the palm of my hand.

“That I can’t wait to see Vatican City with you,” I answer with a watery smile.

“You sure you feel up to driving over there? We can go another day if—”

“No. I want to go today.” I’m firm on this. I’m prepared to pull out every stop, exhaust every resource to make our baby a reality.

That includes trying to believe in a God that my father briefly introduced me to so many years ago.

********

Vatican City.

If the outside of St. Peter’s Basilica could be called breathtaking, the inside would be called magnificent.

Spectacular.

Glorious.

Every ornate carving, every beautiful brushstroke, every carefully selected detail is so superb that I could spend the entire day simply enjoying the splendor of it. Even the light, the way it pours through strategically placed glass in the ceiling of the dome, seems to shine in exactly the right way, the sun itself a part of the artistry.

Believed to be the house of the tomb of Saint Peter, one of Jesus’ twelve apostles, the Basilica has long been considered one of the holiest locations in all the city, if not all the world. And while I would never have considered myself to be a religious person (at least not after the death of my father), even I am not immune to the piety of the place. In fact, I’m moved to tears by it more than once as we tour the hallowed halls.

Earlier, when we arrived at the base of the wide, graceful sweep of stairs that led to the Basilica, Nate, standing silently at my side, reached down and laced his fingers with mine. It wasn’t a casual gesture, not as any onlooker would suspect. It was a slow twining of his fingers, his life, his hopes, and his fears, with mine. He was comforting and drawing comfort, supporting and receiving support. We are two halves of one whole, in it together until the bitter end, whenever that might be and whatever it might bring.

The moment we entered the church, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and rightness. I could practically feel the prayers of countless generations humming through the air as one long, peaceful vibration. I stood quietly at the entrance, letting the tranquility of it wash over me. I needed something from this place; I just didn’t know what. Healing from my disease? Absolution from my deceit? A miracle for my child? Something I couldn’t name and didn’t understand?

Maybe.

Maybe one of those.

Maybe all of them.

Neither Nate nor I spoke as we made our way to see some of the most revered sights on the planet—Bernini’s Chair of St. Peter with its crown of golden angels, the long nave with its intricately arched ceiling, the Pieta by Michelangelo with its heartbreaking depiction of Mary holding the body of her dead son, Jesus.

The last spoke to me like no other. Life, now more than ever, had taken on a sacredness that I’ve never known before. Maybe it’s that my own existence is drawing to a close. Maybe it’s that I will struggle in my last days to give life to another. Or maybe it’s that I’m contemplating life as it relates to the loss of it. I can’t be sure, but the sight of a woman holding her dead child was nearly my undoing.

Every square inch of the church is bathed in beauty and grace. From the floor, intricately designed and polished to a high shine, to the walls, all adorned with ornate columns and sculptures, the Basilica is grand. Even the ceilings are decorated with gilt stucco and richly framed windows that allow natural light to pour in and illuminate every divine detail to perfection. It has to be one of the most awe-inspiring places on Earth.