by Kathryn LaVon Davis

Created on: December 14, 2008

Hope is Born on Christmas Morning

Feeling the chill air at her shoulders, Nicole snuggled deeper into her goose down warmth. These were luscious moments, the moments before consciousness, the moments before awake. Coming out of a dream, she reached over for Ethan.

Gone.

Willing not to depart the innocence and painlessness of sleep, she tried to force herself to return to her dream.

"Ethan," she whispered, "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, my love." She couldn't fight the tears that streamed lightly down her face. She had to acknowledge the emergence of the "hole" in the middle of her self, the hole that closed up only temporarily during sleep. The pervading sense of emptiness and loss had been her constant companion since life had ended in her constant companion.

She thought back to the Thanksgiving day. There was no preparation. Everything was the way it always was and a moment later, her world had changed forever.

She'd never seen him as destructible. She held the naive belief that both she and Ethan were somehow indestructible. She knew she'd never hold that belief again. She'd never be that naive.

For moments, days and weeks, she thought she'd die herself, so great was the pain. She felt almost guilty in the acknowledgment that she found herself unwilling to die.

She was unwilling at the moment to get out of bed. Everyone expected that she should return to life, that she should make the attempt to celebrate Christmas with the family. She'd received more invitations than in previous years from friends and family.

It was beautiful, the light streaming through the room to the all-white cloud that she lay in. She remembered when Ethan had first slept in her bed, it was how he described it; "Nothing feels like this. I will never leave this white cloud of love." He never did in their seven years together. Not until Thanksgiving.

She cried again and realized that she didn't feel like getting out of bed. While she was here, Ethan was here; somehow his soul was with her. These moments brought such pain, but such comfort as well. She could live with his memory. For a while, still, she could feel him.

Her thoughts flashed to blood on the sheets. Blood in the shower, both of them; naked, holding each other and sobbing, shocked that the baby they dreamed of would be washed away by the water and climbing into bed and holding each other until they had prepared the strength to call the doctor. They'd lost two children, children they both had great desire for. She should have fallen apart, but somehow he'd held her together. He took her in his arms and they held each other through the loss. Each day, it was less. And somehow, they found a way to try again.

That loss felt a bit like how she felt now, only this was much more and the pain hadn't decreased. They hadn't given up trying for that child, trying for the third time. They'd promised they wouldn't give up. They knew that their life included a child, many children. The thought startled her. She realized in that moment, in that single moment on Christmas morning, that she should have had her period right about Thanksgiving. She hadn't given it a thought. The days bled into weeks and each day had been spent in a daze of shock and grief and loss.

Again, tears. "No" she whispered aloud and then "Of course......... Ethan......... We're having a baby." She pictured their baby in their white cloud of love and she was certain. She hugged her pillow tightly, hope intermingling with her grief.

Sobbing, she walked over to the bathroom and turned on the furnace and the hot water. She continued sobbing, spotted herself in the mirror and sang a bit to herself "Little altar boy, I wonder can you pray for me......"

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