Don't Leave Me

1

I was running with the gurney carrying my baby boy. A million words were spinning through my mind. Words for myself, "Stay strong, Mary, and he'll stay strong."

Words for my family, "Jack's gonna be okay. Our baby's gonna be ok."

Words for my baby, "Stay strong, Jack. If you stay strong, you'll be ok. I'll be ok. We will all be ok."

Jack started to cry, his head hurt. Doctors came into the room holding clipboards, and they were all huddled over one.

"Mrs. Gnash, it seems cancer has spread to his brain," one doctor said solemnly.

I gasped, my eyes starting to water, "Is there anything we can do? Chemo? Anything?" I pleaded desperately.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Gnash, the tumor has been there far too long for us to be able to fix anything. There is nothing we can do but wait. I'm sorry, Mrs. Gnash."

I grabbed his hand as hard as I could, for what could be the last time.

"Mommy," he said breathily.

"Yes, baby?" I said, taking ragged breaths.

"I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, baby. Mommy's here. Mommy will always be here."

"I love you, Mommy." he breathed weakly.

"I love you too, baby," I whispered as a long sharp beep rang throughout the room. Doctors rushed in and nurses wheeled my baby out of sight.

"Don't leave me, baby, please, don't leave me." 

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I was in the therapist's office as I played that scene over in my mind. My husband had advised that I go; the therapy was supposed to help me control my grief. "Mary Gnash?" the secretary called.I stood up and sighed; she led me to the doctor's office and closed the door softly."Mrs. Gnash, how lovely to see you. Sit, please," he said in an overly friendly voice. "I understand that you son died a few weeks ago, is that correct?"I nodded quietly, "Yes, that is correct.""I'm so sorry for your loss," he said solemnly.And there it is, the most hated phrase after the death of a family member. "I'm so sorry for your loss." doesn't mean anything if it wasn't your fault. Needless to say, I frowned and nodded, forcing down the urge to yell at him."And your husband has said your behavior has become hostile, erratic even," he said, scribbling down some nonsense. I don't understand how he could have judged me already."I suppose that could be true," I stated simply.He nodded, "Have you been depressed lately?" he said, biting his pen."I'd suppose that comes with death." I joked, smiling sadly."Mhm," he said, scribbling down some notes."Look, I don't think-" I started."Mrs. Gnash, it seems you need a form of closure. Your husband says all you talk about is Jack. May I suggest visiting the grave and talking to him? Or writing letters, perhaps?""I suppose that could help..." I said, really just wanting to get out of there."Great, I expect to follow up with appointments. Good day, Mrs. Gnash," he concluded, shutting the notebook."Good day," I walked out of there and drove home.To whom would I write the letters to?