I took out my calendar and flipped through it. The rest of the year had been purposefully kept empty because we expected the days to be filled with baby business. Now, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to scramble to fill the days, to occupy my mind so I do not think of my baby, or try to forget and move on. I suppose time will show me the way.
I turned to the week of July27. On July 27, I wrote “Black Friday” and on July 29, I wrote, “Ferdinand’s birthday”.
I felt compelled to open Ferdinand’s memorabilia box, even though I know it will just bring me sadness. I am just not content to hold a lock of hair in a plastic bag; or to look at a pair of footprints on a piece of blue paper and cry. I want more. No, I don’t really want “more”. I just want what I set out to create, is that too much to ask? You make a piece of clay and you put it in the oven to fire it and in the end you bring home your artwork. I put my work in the oven and it cracked and broke and I have nothing to bring home. I am so frustrated.
R asked the other night as I cried in bed again, cradling me in his arms, “Why does it still hurt so much, Janis?” I do not know why. I am also not sure if the hurt is supposed to decrease over time. I guess the wound is still too fresh. And I guess I do not have the wisdom I thought I have to deal with it. I guess i do not want to accept that he decided that the stars are a better place to be in than on this earth with his mortal parents and mortal sisters. I do not want to be left behind. Like a little girl, I want to go too. But I cannot find the ticket booth. My brain is also not able to adjust so quickly to a new reality that was not planned for. For months, my body nurtured a life and was prepared to nurtured it for years on end. Suddenly, things change. But the mind and body cannot move with the change. My breasts overflowed with milk for more than a week, thinking a baby wants the milk. I leaked milk the other day; and I know there is still milk in my breasts. My body still thinks there is a baby. My mind still wants that baby. It hurts. I hate it.
The river flows, and the sun shines on it, creating sparkles on the water surface. At one place, the water is only in the sparkle for a brief moment; perhaps not even a second. Ferdinand was like that. One blink of an eye, and he was gone. Now, the river soothes me, and yet it also keep stinging me as the sound of it flows over my fresh wound.
We received 1,205 peace cranes from our friends. When I first saw the paper bag and heard that they were for us, I felt tears come to my eyes, but I did not cry. My heart filled with gratitude, and I felt sorry that our sorrow had to overflow into other people’s lives. Of course I thought of Ferdinand, flying freely, with the cranes. That evening Val said, “I am going to hold a peace crane and make a wish. Do you know what wish I am going to make?….. I wish that we are all on a beach, a special beach, where the peace cranes are flying. And we will see Ferdinand; he will be riding on the cranes. He is so light, you see, mummy, he is just ashes, so he is light enough to sit on the cranes. Is that a nice wish, mummy?” Very nice…. …. I was jolted to the reality that Ferdinand is now ashes; I have no warm body to hold on to. My heart ached and I really felt like screaming.
R woke me up early Monday morning to watch the Perseids. I should not go out, but I would not miss it. I knew I will see Ferdinand. I bundled up and sat on the chair that R had placed in the middle of the road, beneath the expanse of stars. I looked up and see but a small part of the map that Ferdinand must be using. There was a bright star just over the horizon where I faced; it twinkled brightly and so animatedly at me. R noticed it too. I knew it was Ferdinand greeting us, telling us he is safe, and ok, and having a good time. I told him that we miss him, and my tears flowed and could not see the stars properly. It was quiet and sacred. Just R and I sitting in the middle of the road in-front of our cabin, enveloped in darkness. Just still and silent, waiting for the shooting stars to zoom by us in quiet magnificence. The Perseids were great, and we saw Mars in its red glow, but my eyes kept looking to the twinkling star just over the horizon. It was so far, and yet so near… …
We got hold of a copy of the pathological report. I don’t know what the hell it is talking about. I did a quick search on the terms and it is not helping either. I need an expert to talk to me. I need an answer. I so desperately want an answer! I have a pervert desire to pin myself down if I am truly the murderer of my own baby. What had happened? All those medical articles are useless for that- possible this, and probably that. Could be this, could be that. There were no viral inclusions. So then, what caused the scarring and the infarct? The doctor had said my placenta looked like it belonged to someone who smoked, or used drugs. But I do not smoke and I think I inhaled second-hand smoke maybe once throughout the whole of my pregnancy. And I do not use drugs either. So what the heck happened? I know I am being too attached to this thing, but how can I not be? I do not trust my body anymore; I view it with suspicions. Is there a monster living within that kills and murders? I do not care if 60% of stillbirths have no reasons, no explanations. There has to be a reason. I want that reason.
