No More Tears

A tear trickled down my cheek and dropped off my chin. It landed on the comforter on top of the queen size bed. The covers were pulled up and tight. The corners were tucked under the mattress. I picked up the closest pillow and fluffed it before I put it on my side of the bed. My side of the bed started to show the trickle of fallen tears.  

No. I won’t cry about this. Not anymore. My hand wiped the remaining tears off my cheeks. I inhaled as deep as I could and took my time with the release. Inhale peace, exhale chaos. I watched my chest rise and fall with a repetitive rhythm while I calmed my heart and mind.

It happened again. I had to tell Isaac, again. No more tears. My heart wanted to climb back into the bed that was already made, to make a mess of the covers, and hide while my whole body sobbed. It was an appealing thought. I deserved a day of sulking in my heart ache, grief, and pain.  

I rubbed my face, shaking off the desire to cave into the darkness. The depression was desirable but I went there last time. I couldn’t go back to that path. No more tears.

I looked out the window. Snow was on the ground. The grey light tried to come in and lighten up the room. Time was still moving forward even when I wasn’t. I was stuck. Paralyzed. Wrecked. Broken. No more tears.

I adjusted the blankets a final time and took another deep inhale before walking from the bed and over towards the vanity. My reflection caught me off guard. The woman in the mirror had strands of silver hair displayed through her dark hair. Wrinkles formed around her eyes and brow. Dark circles sunk under her empty eyes. She looked lifeless.

No more tears. No more crying.

I closed my eyes to avoid seeing my own reflection. I didn’t like seeing her….me...that way. I always thought I’d look different at this age. I knew the wrinkles and grey hair would appear, I just thought I’d always look happy, no matter my age.

Isaac and I celebrated our 15th anniversary a few months back. He will be 40 this year and he still looks happy, full of life, and handsome. But not me, I look old, bitter, and broken. Maybe because I am. No more crying.

I have tried so hard to be a loving wife and to give everything Isaac has ever wanted. I love him, I always have, and I know I always will, but I don’t know if the feeling is mutual anymore. I can’t give him the one thing he has always wanted. The one thing we have always wanted.

I walked towards the kitchen. Isaac moved around the kitchen as if he were a cook on the line. Eggs sizzled in the frying pan. The smell of brewing coffee filled the room. Water ran over the dirty dishes in the sink. Isaac turned off the burner on the stove and grabbed a plate. He slid the two over medium eggs from the pan to the plate with one graceful movement. He moved towards the coffee pot and waited for the final drop of coffee to fall into the pot before dumping it into a mug.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” Isaac leaned over the plate and mug and kissed my forehead. Did he really love me or was he going through the familiar motion out of habit?

My face fell into my hands. I had to tell him. Be brave. No more crying. My eyes felt like I’d just walked through fire. The burn and ache could be fixed by adding water but I had to stay strong. Shaking took over my insides and my strength faded.

“I know.” I blurted out before the sobs fell from my body. Isaac rushed to my side. His strong hands held my shoulders as I shook. I brushed his hands off of me and pushed myself against the wall. His touch made the pain go deeper in my chest. “It didn’t work...” I gasped between sobs.

Isaac remained as still as a statue. He pressed his lips together. Blood drained from his face. He swallowed slowly. Light and life fell flat from his happy eyes.

“I can’t…” The words escaped from my lips once I caught my breath again. “It didn’t take. We can’t afford to try again. My heart can’t try again.” My confession felt weak because my desire to bear a child with and for my husband was still stronger than my current heartache. I wasn't pregnant. Again.

Isaac still didn’t speak. The distance was growing cold between us. I longed for his touch, why did I push him away? We were becoming strangers who shared a life together. We couldn’t comfort each other when it came to the topic of children.  

The eggs and coffee were cold to the touch. The smell was as stale as the feelings inside my heart. I wanted motherhood. I wanted 3 a.m. feedings and changing diapers. I wanted a reason for the dark circles under my eyes. I wanted loud cries of a baby in my ear. I wanted a little Isaac look-alike, wild and half naked running around the house tossing toys around which I would pick up later. I wanted that life so badly I could see it and feel it every second of the day. Isaac wanted it, too. We’d risked our savings on fertility treatments and it still hadn’t worked. The anticipation of starting a family and constantly failing at it was damaging our marriage bit by bit.

In the stillness of the hostility, Isaac placed his hand on top of mine. Our wedding rings clinked together. His hand was warm and I could feel his energy trying to reach my lifeless soul. He had hope. Reason. Love. No more crying.

“Becca,” Isaac started and then paused. His eyes met mine. His beautiful, brown, hopeful eyes locked on mine. “We’ve been so consumed with getting pregnant. It’s put a huge strain on our marriage.” 

The weight of the strain was unbearable. It was a slow suffocation, buried alive, weight of the world, kind of strain. Isaac let go of my hand and walked over towards the table. I could see the stack of papers now. The coldness consumed me. It was Valentine’s Day. How could he? Now? No more tears, no more tears.

Fear grabbed me by the throat. He really didn’t love me anymore. As if being unable to bear children didn’t shame me enough, now he was going to divorce me? Was divorce going to be the newest addition to my life? No bundles of joy in my future, it would only bring more pain.

Isaac's delicate movement towards the paper almost had a joyful bounce in his step. He gathered the papers in his hands. Was he really so happy to rid himself of me after 15 years together? Was I the burden he couldn’t handle anymore? No more tears.

I didn’t even know how to prepare for this blow. Isaac put the papers in front of me, where the eggs and coffee had been. My vision blurred as I tried to read the words on the paper but I couldn’t focus.

“You remember Jasmine from work?” Isaac said. He should have grabbed the knife off the table and stuck it in my heart. 

I put my hand up. I was defeated. I couldn’t handle any more hurt, not today.  

“Don’t.” It was the only word that would come out of my mouth. It was dry. I could feel my heart in my throat.  I couldn't even look at him.

Isaac’s brow curled along with his curious smile. “Hey,” his voice was soft. “Listen to what I have to say.” He placed his strong and steady hand over my shaking hands. “Her youngest sister is 28 weeks pregnant and she doesn’t want the baby.”

I opened my eyes, unsure if my ears had heard what he’d really said. “Isaac, what are you saying?” My eyes were blurry with tears.

“When Jasmine heard her sister wanted to give the baby up for adoption, she told her our story. She asked us to adopt him. I didn’t want to say anything until it was official, but the paperwork is here and ready for us to become his parents.” Isaac’s smile grew and his bright eyes glistened with tears.

I collapsed into his arms. My head rested in the comfort of him, my loyal and loving husband. A blotch of wet tears became visible on his shoulder. I released myself from his embrace. “It’s a boy? We’re having a boy?” I cried happy tears for the first time in a long time. “Where do I sign?” We looked at each other, watching each others tears fall, speechless in the moment.

“We’re in this together, forever and for always.” He kissed my forehead and handed me a pen. “Here you go, mom.”

More tears. Happy tears.