From Heartache To Forever / Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart. Alison Roberts

I will never forget, and I’m so grateful I had that chance.

       You are the best part of me, and I will treasure you forever.

       Sleep tight, my darling.

       Mummy xxx

      The words swam in front of him, and she took the letter gently from his nerveless fingers and replaced it in the box with all the other precious things, then gathered him in her arms and held him while the racking sobs tore him apart.

      She said nothing, just held him and rocked him, and gradually the pain subsided, leaving him feeling oddly cleansed, as if he’d been wiped clean.

      Except not, because Grace’s name, her footprints, her photo, and the memories they’d made that day were engraved on his heart, an indelible part of him just as they were of Beth, and it felt right.

      She handed him tissues, then said gently, ‘I guess that’s been a long time coming.’

      He gave a ragged, fractured laugh and met her eyes, tender with understanding. ‘I guess so. I’m sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be. It’s OK to cry. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve cried for her.’

      He swiped the tears off his cheeks again with the palms of his hands and shook his head to clear it. ‘I haven’t, though. I haven’t let myself. That’s why I didn’t want to see. I suppose I’ve been in denial, really, ignoring it, but it didn’t work, because it’s always been there, deep inside, gnawing away at me like acid. It’s odd. It doesn’t feel like that any more. I’m sad, of course I’m sad, and I guess I always will be, but it’s like a weight’s lifted—does that make sense?’

      She nodded. ‘It makes absolute sense. It’s acceptance, Ry. It takes a while to get there, but it makes it easier. You’ll still have bad days, though, times when things bring it all back and it catches you on your blind side.’

      He nodded and leant back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding her as they sat there quietly together. They didn’t speak, but for the first time he let himself think about the events of that day, the day their daughter had been born.

      He thought about her delivery, how hard it had been all night knowing that at the end of it they would have nothing but memories. They’d induced her, because Beth didn’t want to wait, and she’d refused all pain relief, wanting to feel every last moment of it because it was the last thing she could do for her daughter, so he’d been there for her, supporting her as well as he could while his heart felt as if it had been locked in ice.

      It had been a long night, and then as the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon and touched the sky with gold, the midwife lifted Grace’s tiny body tenderly into Beth’s waiting arms.

      He’d stood there helpless in the deafening silence, the silence that should have been filled with a baby’s cries, feeling as if he had no place there, no role in the tragedy, no way of making it better, but he’d been unable to leave them and so he’d stayed, eyes dry and gritty with exhaustion, his body as tight as a bowstring, his heart numb while Beth wept silent tears and spoke softly to her daughter.

      And then she’d placed the baby in his arms, and his heart had cracked in two. It was the first and last time he’d cried for her, until tonight, and even then he hadn’t really let go.

      A week later they’d gone together to register her birth and death, and then they’d held a quiet funeral service for her. Three days later he’d been recalled for his next posting by MFA and she’d told him to go, so he’d gone, relieved to be able to escape the all-consuming grief and get on and do something useful that would help someone somewhere, even though he couldn’t help her or himself.

      Except of course there had been no escape, just a fierce suppression of his emotions until he’d become so used to it he’d thought he was over it.

      Apparently not. Not by a long way.

      He broke the silence at last, needing to acknowledge what she’d been through and his guilt for leaving her to deal with it alone. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t more help. I don’t know how you did it—how you were so strong, so brave, through all of it.’

      ‘I wasn’t brave, Ry, not at all. I was just doing what had to be done, and then once it was done I just felt empty.’

      ‘I shouldn’t have left you.’

      She took his hand and kissed it, then held it in her hands, warm and firm and kind, Beth all over.

      ‘I sent you away, Ryan. I couldn’t deal with your grief as well as mine, and that was wrong. We should have grieved together for our daughter, but we didn’t know each other well enough. We still don’t, but we’re learning, day by day, and we’ll get there.’

      He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ He glanced at his phone and sighed. ‘Beth, I’m sorry, I need to go. It’s after eleven and I’m sure tomorrow will be just as long as today.’

      She chuckled softly. ‘No doubt. I’m on a late, but you need to get to bed. You’ve had a hectic few days, you must be exhausted.’

      ‘I am. I tell you what, that bed had better be comfortable,’ he said wryly. ‘Did you try it?’

      ‘No, I didn’t have time, but if it isn’t there’s always the sofa. At least you know that’s comfy.’ She cocked her head on one side, her eyes searching his. ‘Are you all right, Ry?’

      He laughed softly and nodded. ‘Yes, Beth. I’m all right. You?’

      Her smile was sad. ‘I’m all right. I’m used to it now. It’s the new normal.’

      He nodded, wondering how long it would take him to reach that point. He got to his feet, pulled her up and into his arms and hugged her gently.

      ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything. You’ve been amazing, ever since I got here. You’ve always been amazing.’

      ‘Don’t be silly.’

      ‘I’m not. I mean it. You’re the strongest person I know, Beth, and the kindest, and I don’t deserve you. Thank you.’

      She hugged him back, then let him go. ‘You’re welcome. I hope you sleep well.’

      He laughed. ‘I’m sure I will.’

      She walked him to the door and he turned and kissed her, just the slightest brush of his lips on hers, and let himself out and drove home, then paused a moment on the drive, staring up at the stars twinkling in the clear, dark night, just as he had everywhere he’d been sent by MFA.

      He loved the stars. They never changed, untouched by all the madness around him, the one constant in a changing world, and they never failed to centre him and put everything back into perspective.

       How small and insignificant we are…

      He let himself in, checked his email and looked at the bed—his new bed, carefully put together by Beth to save him the trouble because that was the kind of person she was—and felt another wave of guilt for leaving her alone when she’d been so sad and lost and torn with grief.

      She would never have left him. He knew that, but at the time she’d been adamant that she didn’t need him. Only now it turned out she had needed him, but she’d been unable to cope with his grief, too, because they didn’t know each other well enough to grieve together.

      Well enough to make a baby, but not well enough to lose one. Maybe, given time, they would find that closeness and with it some closure. He hoped so.

      He looked at the bed again, but tired though he was he wasn’t ready, so he made himself a cup of chamomile tea and went out into the garden, sitting on the steps where they’d sat together only a couple of days ago, Beth’s letter to Grace echoing in his head.

      Should he do the same? Write down his thoughts about his tiny daughter, the