Eclipse of the Heart

"Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round. Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears."1

The song drifted woefully out of the old speakers and past the man who seemed to be half listening, half staring out the living room window. It flowed across the room, over the breakfast bar, and into the mind of his wife who was aimlessly wiping the kitchen counter for the sixth time.

I used to know that song, she thought and her hand paused its circling.

"Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by."

The green stripes of the tile became fuzzy and then faded as tears filled her eyes. A drop hit her right hand. She raised that hand to her face and stared blankly as the tear ran down her wrist.

"All the best years have gone by," she whispered, just audibly. She gave a deep uneven sigh, turned around and leaned against the counter. Her eyes closed as her head rolled back.

Gone, she thought, ten years. Ten years harried with hopes and tests and trails and this method and that method. For what? A very small coffin and a dark hole. My baby, my little sunshine. So much brightness in six short months, all dark now, all gone.

She turned back around and leaned on her hands at the edge of the sink. She reached for the tissue box in front of her on the ledge and felt the rattle inside. It was the baby's favorite, hidden there by her brother Greg, yesterday after the funeral. He had stayed with her in the cemetery for a while after everyone else left, then had brought her home.

They were greeted by her husband. "Mother is straightening up a bit. Why don't you go lie down?"

His tone was too insistent, and she felt a knot format the base of her skull. "Where is she, Mark? What is she doing?"

He must have seen her growing panic because he took her shoulders and begged, "honey, she means well. Mother has been through many crises and heartaches. She knows best. Please."

She yanked out of his grasp and ran for the baby's room. Greg followed. Once there, she screamed, "no, what are you doing?"

Her mother-in-law was methodically packing all the clothes, all the toys, into dark boxes with tight lids. She calmly, without stopping explained, "it's time to move on. I'm not taking her away. The baby will always be with us.

"Tisha my dear," she said as she clamped a lid firmly, "you are so emotional. If her things stay as they were, the temptation to enshrine this room will be too great. You must grieve for her in pieces, until you have rid yourself of all your pain. These things will be here for you to go through whenever you are ready." She placed the box on two others and carried them to the closet.

Those words were a further darkening of the shroud that had wrapped her heart. She scanned the room to see what else was in that closet. Greg swiftly scooped the rattle off of the changing table, nodded slightly and stepped out of the room.

Tisha ordered her mother-in-law out of her house, grabbed a stuffed cat and held it tightly. The woman protested as Greg returned, stood by Tisha and placed an arm around her.

"Mrs. Tobias, it would be a good idea if you left," he said quietly. "Tisha is in no shape to think sensibly right now. Come back in a couple of weeks."