dear?” Nurse Judy takes my wrist again. “Pulse is settling down.”
“Yes, thanks. I want to stay for my visit.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Nurse Judy feels my forehead.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Kilpi, please ring the bell if you need anything. There’s staff behind that window at all times.” She points to the glassed-in reception desk.
“Wow, you scared me.” Jeff sits beside me on the couch and puts his arms around me, holds me close. I lay my head on his chest, pull my legs up beside me as I lean against him.
“Thought Mom might come,” I say after a long silence.
“Your mom and Molly are at that canteen thing. They said you were only allowed one visitor this time.”
“Oh no …they came all this way.”
“They’ll come back, don’t worry. How are you? You’re so thin.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s the medicine.” I don’t want Jeff to know what I’ve been through. Why make him feel worse?
“Oh.” He rubs my arm. It irritates my skin. “Hard to get any news from here. Are you feeling better?”
“I think so. I hope to be home soon. How have you been?” I look up into Jeff’s face.
“Pretty good …better now.” His voice quavers. “Do you …remember anything?”
“No.”
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Do you remember going into the river …or before that?”
“No. I still don’t remember what happened.”
“All I know is that guy pulled you out of the river …don’t know anything before that,” Jeff says.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” He hugs me again. “Do you remember the funeral, or …before that? The day the funeral director came to the house?”
“I remember picking out the casket, some of the funeral service …nothing really about the day Alexander died.”
“We woke up that morning, and he was gone.” Jeff pats the back of my hand.
“You were on days, then? Who went into his room?”
“Ah …we both did, I think.”
“I just can’t remember that. I miss Alexander so.”
“Your mom and Molly were anxious to see you. I’m sure they’ll be back the next time.”
“Are you doing okay? It’s only been a couple of months.”
“I’m working a lot. We were wondering where your room was when we drove up. What part of the hospital is it in?”
“First floor, far north wing, facing the front.” I didn’t see it coming. Here I am, smack dab in the middle of it, avoidance. If we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist.
We talk about the holidays at home, Jeff’s work, mutual friends. It’s hard for me to hear about life outside the hospital. It’s like watching a movie, life moving along, but I’m not in it. I nod, smile as Jeff talks.
“Rooms nice?”
“Well …it’s a hospital. My roommate is nice.”
Nurse Judy escorts me back to the dayroom.
“Good visit, hon?”
I slump into a chair, exhausted, and stare out the window.
“What is it?” Nurse Judy asks. I don’t have a clue how I should feel. Jeff is a stranger, speaks a different language, a language from my other life, the life outside.
“My husband …he was so distant …I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s okay to talk about it, Luanne.” Nurse Judy sits down beside me.
“I thought Jeff would understand, maybe even feel some of what I do, but he’s shut a door on me.”
“Each person handles grief in their own way,” Nurse Judy says.
“I guess so …You don’t know how it feels.” All of a sudden I’m mad.
“You’re right, of course I don’t.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this.”
“Um-humm.” Nurse Judy nods her head.
“Why would babies die? Alexander never even got a chance.” I start to cry. Nurse Judy reaches into her pocket, pulls out a rumpled tissue.
“Here. It’s clean.” When I stop crying, she says, “Give it time.”
“You sure time will do it? You know that?” I know I sound cold, but I can’t help it. Time?
“That’s how it worked for
“Yes, thanks. I want to stay for my visit.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Nurse Judy feels my forehead.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Kilpi, please ring the bell if you need anything. There’s staff behind that window at all times.” She points to the glassed-in reception desk.
“Wow, you scared me.” Jeff sits beside me on the couch and puts his arms around me, holds me close. I lay my head on his chest, pull my legs up beside me as I lean against him.
“Thought Mom might come,” I say after a long silence.
“Your mom and Molly are at that canteen thing. They said you were only allowed one visitor this time.”
“Oh no …they came all this way.”
“They’ll come back, don’t worry. How are you? You’re so thin.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s the medicine.” I don’t want Jeff to know what I’ve been through. Why make him feel worse?
“Oh.” He rubs my arm. It irritates my skin. “Hard to get any news from here. Are you feeling better?”
“I think so. I hope to be home soon. How have you been?” I look up into Jeff’s face.
“Pretty good …better now.” His voice quavers. “Do you …remember anything?”
“No.”
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Do you remember going into the river …or before that?”
“No. I still don’t remember what happened.”
“All I know is that guy pulled you out of the river …don’t know anything before that,” Jeff says.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” He hugs me again. “Do you remember the funeral, or …before that? The day the funeral director came to the house?”
“I remember picking out the casket, some of the funeral service …nothing really about the day Alexander died.”
“We woke up that morning, and he was gone.” Jeff pats the back of my hand.
“You were on days, then? Who went into his room?”
“Ah …we both did, I think.”
“I just can’t remember that. I miss Alexander so.”
“Your mom and Molly were anxious to see you. I’m sure they’ll be back the next time.”
“Are you doing okay? It’s only been a couple of months.”
“I’m working a lot. We were wondering where your room was when we drove up. What part of the hospital is it in?”
“First floor, far north wing, facing the front.” I didn’t see it coming. Here I am, smack dab in the middle of it, avoidance. If we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist.
We talk about the holidays at home, Jeff’s work, mutual friends. It’s hard for me to hear about life outside the hospital. It’s like watching a movie, life moving along, but I’m not in it. I nod, smile as Jeff talks.
“Rooms nice?”
“Well …it’s a hospital. My roommate is nice.”
Nurse Judy escorts me back to the dayroom.
“Good visit, hon?”
I slump into a chair, exhausted, and stare out the window.
“What is it?” Nurse Judy asks. I don’t have a clue how I should feel. Jeff is a stranger, speaks a different language, a language from my other life, the life outside.
“My husband …he was so distant …I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s okay to talk about it, Luanne.” Nurse Judy sits down beside me.
“I thought Jeff would understand, maybe even feel some of what I do, but he’s shut a door on me.”
“Each person handles grief in their own way,” Nurse Judy says.
“I guess so …You don’t know how it feels.” All of a sudden I’m mad.
“You’re right, of course I don’t.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this.”
“Um-humm.” Nurse Judy nods her head.
“Why would babies die? Alexander never even got a chance.” I start to cry. Nurse Judy reaches into her pocket, pulls out a rumpled tissue.
“Here. It’s clean.” When I stop crying, she says, “Give it time.”
“You sure time will do it? You know that?” I know I sound cold, but I can’t help it. Time?
“That’s how it worked for
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