Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Seventeen

That Friday, an alarm went off on my phone.

"Get yo' ass to the church on time!" the notice blared. I had completely forgotten about that alarm, having made it in a fit of drunken revelry, giggling over the wit of a religious reminder for a completely atheist ceremony. It showed 24 hours until the alarm expired. In 24 hours I was supposed to get married. If only I could find my groom. If only I had a groom.

What was I supposed to do instead? Was there a proper way to spend the five or so hours that were previously allotted for my nuptials? Should I mourn the lack of celebration? This was a unique sort of conundrum that I never thought I'd face. In a moment of curious inspiration, I Googled "how to spend your wedding if your fiancé died." Strange. No relevant results. I did, however, get, "How to cope with a nervous fiancé." Oh, the problems people have. What I would give for a nervous fiancé. I would even accept a cheating one, which was another result I got. ("Is my partner cheating on me? 7 red flags.") The Internet was failing me. And everyone thinks Google is taking over the world. Pshaw.

Okay, I was done distracting myself with silly diversions. But I really didn't know. How does one spend their wedding day, if said wedding day is canceled due to a death of the groom? For once, I didn't feel that Julia could help fill this particular hole. She would try to understand, I knew that, and loved her for that, but she never would be able to and therein lay the reason I didn't call her. Amy, too. She loved me. She'd been working hard to speak to me, really speak to me, for the first time I could ever remember. But she had had her wedding, had her husband now. That was enough to keep me from calling her. I had an itch to go to group right then, to face that circle of endlessly empathetic faces and spill everything bottling up inside me. But even then—even them—would they really be able to empathize? No one could truly understand. For the first time, I regretted leaving my gown in the store. I had the keen urge to burn it, though I can't be certain what that would have accomplished.

In the meantime, I had a doctor's appointment today. I was supposed to learn the baby's gender, and I was really looking forward to that. I didn't have a preference one way or another—boy or girl, this would still be our bittersweet miracle baby—but I was hoping the gender would allow me to see the future more clearly, to envision a life of sorts with me and my child.

Mom was coming with me this time; she had been hinting that she was offended at not having been invited to any of the other appointments, as though they were parties I was keeping from her. I found them mostly unexciting and hadn't realized that she might be interested in coming. When I thought about it, though, I realized in a normal life, a baby's ultrasound was a beautiful event for the mother and father, a chance to hold hands and wipe away tears in silent appreciation for the life they created. For me, it was another confusing layer to add to my already off-kilter world. This time, I extended an invitation to Mom like a gift, explaining that we'd learn the gender and, "I really want you there." Her eyes lit up, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to keep her from any of my future appointments.

"Are you ready, Jen?" Mom called down. It was an hour until I was supposed to be there. The doctor was a ten minute drive away. She was a bit over-exuberant.

"I'll be ready in a half hour, Mom," I called back up, trying to keep exasperation from my voice. This was her grandchild, and she had the right to be excited. I just wish she weren't so excited in my direction.

I took my time getting ready, mostly to show that I could. It's a good thing I'm having a child; I'm clearly mature enough for it.

"Ready whenever you are," Mom called down ten minutes later, a false note of lightness injected in her voice this time. Literally. Ten minutes on the dot. I pictured her setting a timer to let her know when to nudge me again.

"Not yet!" I called back. Okay, she would have to win. If I let this game go on I might kill someone on the way to the doctor. I threw on my jacket and huffed my way upstairs. I heard chairs shuffling as I climbed, and came into the kitchen to find Mom flipping casually through a magazine, the very image of carefree waiting. It would have been a lot more believable if she weren't already dressed, coat on, and the magazine weren't a Sports Illustrated. God knew why we still got that to this all-female household.

"Oh, are you ready?" She looked up, miming surprise.

I rolled my eyes. "Ready."

"Honey," Mom said as she drove, and her tone made my insides squirm like I was in trouble. "I don't know if I ever told you, but I think you're very brave for doing this."

"Going to the doctor with you? You're not that bad a driver."

She looked over at me sternly. "You know what I mean, Jennifer. Having this baby. I don't think I could have done it, and I'm proud that my daughter is such a strong person."

I was a little taken aback, but mostly uncomfortable. Since when were we mushy like this?

"I don't know, it doesn't really take a lot of strength to be pregnant. The ability to withstand nausea for large parts of every day, maybe. But not strength."

"It absolutely does," Mom said vehemently. She paused, and her tone softened. "When your father died, I thought my world was over. I could hardly imagine taking care of myself, let alone you and your sister. To think about being pregnant on top of all that? I would have simply given up on everything and stayed in bed for the rest of my life."

My mother? Giving up and staying in bed? I don't even remember her crying. Could she have been mourning that whole time, hiding it from me? Why didn't she say anything? I could have handled it. Then, too—I had only spent a few days in bed, mourning. After that, I was all about the action. Maybe I was more like my mother than I thought. Maybe my resentment for how she had mourned the father I'd loved so dearly had been completely misplaced all these years.

"But you know what?" she continued. "It was you and Amy who helped get me through everything. So even though you're pregnant now, soon you'll have a wonderful child who will remind you of all the brightness and love that life has to offer. I just hope that baby as incredible as you and your sister are. In fact, I know your baby will be."

Well now I was just utterly confused.

"How did I help?"

"Just by being you," she said simply, and we pulled into the parking lot. She turned off the ignition and shifted to face me. "You know, I don't know if I should tell you this, I don't know if it will put unnecessary pressure on you, but you've been a real inspiration for me these past few weeks. When your father died, I was so worried about you. Amy, she was getting the help she needed, but you—you seemed to take it in and I just had to watch you be in pain. And now to have lost someone else you loved, so young, again. It would break anyone else. It would have broken me. But you have been handling everything so well. And I don't mean by being productive, like I would have been. I mean you really, truly mourn him. You let yourself feel your pain but you don't let it stop you."

She looked down and then back up. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that. We can go see your baby now."

"Thanks, Mom," I said slowly, then gathered up my bag. Mushy talk and bizarre discoveries would have to be put on hold for now. We sat down in the waiting room and pulled out our magazines. I don't know about my mother, but I knew I was only pretending to read, my mind still going over what she had said in the car, another part of my mind revving up to prepare myself for the coming news.

"Miss Shore?" Always a miss, never a missus.

The technician rolled her magic wand over my engorged belly and I held my breath. Now that the moment was here, I realized just how excited I was to hear the gender. Very.

"Do you want to know the baby's gender?" She asked politely, the screen turned away from us, as if either of us would be able to interpret the blobs into the specifics of genitalia.

"Yes!" Mom exclaimed. "Oh. Sorry. I think she was talking to you."

I smiled. "Yes, I do. Please."

"You're having a girl," the technician smiled back. "Congratulations!"

Together, Mom and I started crying. A girl. Al would have wanted a girl. I want a girl. I'm having a girl. We're having a girl.

Congratulations. That word finally felt right.