by Samantha Elliott

Created on: October 01, 2010   Last Updated: December 09, 2011

Waiting stoically behind the wheel of her husband Jeff’s sedan, Sarah felt imprisoned. It was Christmas day and they were struggling to get up the icy driveway in the midst of an angry blizzard. What she really wanted was to disappear under some blankets and be away from him and all that this day represented.

As Jeff shoved underneath the bumper like a linebacker, she lightly pressed on the gas pedal. The tires screeched with displeasure, refusing to leave their rut. “Okay sweetie, I’m going to try the shovel again. Just turn her off for now.”  She complied with a soft click of the key and remained silent. He started clearing the newly fallen snow with the precision of a soldier as it swirled with a maddening ferocity. The wind smacked his reddened face and whipped already-soaked strands of hair into his eyes, but he persisted. In minutes the windows were blanketed again, and she could no longer see outside.

Frustrated, she studied the individual snowflakes within the white sheets that walled her in. How intricate and lovely they each were, she mused. It always caught her by surprise- these little moments of escape from the tragedy that consumed her mind. The backseat should have been filled with the excitement of a baby with twinkling eyes and a dimpled chin, cooing and giggling over the wonderfully strange morning of the holiday. Instead it was still and orderly, occupied only by neatly wrapped presents stacked in crisp, tall shopping bags. She leaned back on the headrest, matting down her long hair with indifference. Isolated by grief, she was suffocated by a too sympathetic husband, so accommodating that she wanted to rake her fingernails down his face and make him feel how she did.

Seven months and twelve days ago was when her life veered off the rails. A routine ultrasound had failed to locate a heartbeat in her swollen, third trimester belly. She would never forget the technician’s change of expression from routine pleasantness to confusion to thinly-veiled panic. The woman walked out of the room just a little too quickly. When the radiologist came and could not hold eye contact, Sarah crumbled.

Her husband was cathartic at first. Every night he held her until sleep was merciful enough to take them away from their mourning. He took on dinner and housework, while she sprawled on the couch day after day, numb and expressionless in front of the television. Then, it started to gnaw at her-the relative ease with which he

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>