The next morning, I’d woken up alone with nothing but a worn black-and-white photo to comfort me, and I’d realized he was right. I had been stuck in the past. No matter how much I’d wanted to move forward, I had been bricked in behind a solid wall, separating myself from everything I wanted because I was drowning in my own regrets.
Unfortunately, my realization hadn’t come with a solution or an instant cure. Eight years of blaming myself for something that, deep down, I knew I had no control over hadn’t been an easy hurdle to overcome. Eight years of buried emotions take time to unearth and as much as I wanted to run back to Garrett and tell him I was miraculously cured, I knew I had to find a way through this by myself.
I’d spent the first few days going through the motions of my life, putting on a happy smile even though I felt like I was crumbling. Leah had blessedly been off work, so my happy-go-lucky routine had been, for the most part, overlooked. I’d managed to skate by without much notice. My nights had mostly been spent in silence as I had gone through every old photo I had, remembering the life we had and the life we were going to have.
I’d smiled and laughed at the goofy photos, remembering the sunny summers we’d spent at our spot by the river. My mother had never allowed me to wear a bikini, and I’d hated every suit she’d ever bought me. Much like the great shoe rebellion when I was sixteen, I’d snuck out and bought a bright pink two-piece. I’d never seen Garrett’s eyes flare so feverishly. He’d dragged me into the water and pushed me against a smooth boulder, and he’d shown just how appreciative he was of my new purchase.
Not every photo had brought back happy feelings. There was one that had instantly made my lips tremble and my womb ache with emptiness. We’d taken it the day I confirmed what I’d secretly been expecting for over a month.
After many tears and a few panicked moments, Garrett had jumped off his childhood bed and reached into a drawer in his dresser, pulling out a camera. As I’d wiped tears from my eyes, I had asked him what he was doing, and he’d said he wanted our son or daughter to know how happy we were when we found out about them. So, we’d cuddled close, nudging our heads together, and snapped a photo. My eyes were rimmed with red, and my lips were puffy, but both of us were grinning from ear to ear. We had been ready for it all, but it was never meant to be.
I’d spent days doing this, dwelling in old photos, while my future was wasting away—and Garrett was waiting for me to take the leap and leave it all behind. Guilt and regrets were a funny thing. I had wanted nothing more than to run out my front door, jump in my car, drive in the direction of Garrett’s apartment, and tell him I wanted him and only him for the rest of my life. But every time I’d looked at the front door or coaxed myself into putting on my shoes, I would remember the day I’d lost our child. Fear would settle back in, and I’d sink back further into my hole.
He’d said he didn’t care. He’d said he wanted me. But what would happen in a few years when everyone our age was pushing around a stroller or complaining about daycare costs? How would he feel about his decision then? Would he resent me?
On one of my many nights of photo-bingeing while lying on my bed, letting my self-deprecation sink in deeper, my eyes had settled on the photo of Garrett and me standing with his parents. A twinge of pain had hit sharply at the sight of Garrett’s father standing next to Garrett with an identical grin on his aged face. Garrett looked so much like him, but his eyes were all his mother’s. She’d passed that trait on to both of her children, and those signature green eyes were hard to miss.
The next morning, on my day off, I had driven to a sleepy neighborhood in search of something only a mother could provide—comfort. Since my mother had never been more than a disciplinarian, I’d gone to the one woman I’d always looked up to and loved since the first minute I met her so many years ago.
“Mia,” Mrs. Finnegan greeted me at her front door with an inviting smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Finnegan.”
She gave me a pointed look, and I laughed, remembering her previous request that I call her Mom.
“Sorry. Hi, Mom.”
Her smile broadened. “Better. Now, come on in. It’s hotter than blue blazes out there. I don’t think summer is going to give up quite so easily this year.”
We made small talk as I followed her into the kitchen. She pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge, and I helped by grabbing two tall glasses from the shelf, remembering where they were from my earlier visit.
“How are you doing? I feel terrible about not visiting sooner,” I said as she poured our glasses and handed one to me.
“I’m doing a little better every day. There are times when I come into the living room and expect him to be sitting in that favorite chair, yelling at the TV over some stupid football game, but for the most part, my life has adjusted as best as it can.”
I sat at the kitchen table, and she brought over some freshly made cookies.
“Clare made these and brought them over. She keeps bringing over sweets. I believe it’s her way of coping, but I think I’m going to bust out of my clothes soon!” She laughed.
“I guess we all mourn differently.”
“Yes, we do. Each of us handles loss in our own way.”
She paused, and I looked up and found her comforting green eyes.
“How did you mourn, my dear?”
I took a cleansing deep breath, knowing now why I’d come this morning. It wasn’t just for comfort. It was for healing.
“I don’t think I have,” I whispered quietly.
She nodded as if she understood or recognized the pain.
“I think it’s time you let yourself do that, sweetheart,” she said gently.
“But I don’t know how. How do you mourn the idea of something? How do you let go of a life that never happened? There are no memories, no stories. She didn’t even have a name.”
“You give your lost child a name and let me do the rest.”
That conversation had been a turning point for me. It had given me the strength and courage to do everything I’d accomplished in the last two weeks, and it had brought me to where I was now—standing at Garrett’s front door. I was ready to say good-bye to my regrets.
With a steady hand, I took a deep breath and knocked.
I heard the radio kick off, and a set of footsteps grew louder as they made their way to the door. My heart rate accelerated with every step he took, knowing what I was going to say.