The past seven months had been hard for them and they were finally beginning to heal. The crisp air was a perfect medium from the fluorescent sky. A morning stroll was exactly what they needed. The park was quiet this time of day, just a few joggers, nannies strolling little people to their playdates, and the usual seniors feeding the birds. They wandered down the path hand in hand; in between John planting gentle kisses on Mary’s forehead whispering to her I love you. As they neared the exit they saw a silver-haired elderly woman sitting alone on the bench. She was weaving away at an infant size red sweater smiling at them as they passed her. John turned and looked at Mary with wide eyes, he broke down.
I was sure that I was ready. I almost made it out of the entire park without shedding a single tear. I’m supposed to be strong for her, for us, what am I doing? It was the exact same sweater my mother knitted for Dylan. I refused to let Mary get rid of any of his clothes or change his room; we will have another son. Sometimes I catch her staring at his sonogram pictures framed in his room telling him how she will hold him again someday. Dr. Ian suggests we grieve for some time before we try again.
“We should have found a surrogate.” I told him. Sometimes I feel like I’m the one to blame for all of this. Coping with Dylan’s loss is still hard for us; he would’ve been seven months today. I know John tries to be strong in front of me but I told him it’s okay to cry. We are going to get through this.
Oh shoot, I forgot to put my teeth in again. If only my dear Henry was still here to remind me of these silly things. I didn’t mean to frighten the poor boy; they seemed like such a lovely couple.