Winter's Last Gift

My chest was burning. The sensation intensified, searing a path up my throat. Heartburn. A frequent occurrence, especially after an attempt at sleep, and one that meant my current attempt would be cut short. Not even born and my baby had a vendetta against me.  

“You really don’t want me to rest, huh?” I mumbled to my stomach while slowly sitting up from the lumpy, uneven sofa bed where I’d slept for almost six months. The large, glass door to the room squeaked as Maura opened it and pushed aside the curtains, fluorescent light flooding in from the hallway.

“Oh, Alice. You’re awake. Is little Miss Harper keeping you up again? You know what they say about that incessant heartburn during pregnancy…” Maura trailed. She was wearing bright pink scrubs this morning.

I rolled my eyes, although a slight smile curved my lips. “When is she not…And she better come out with a full head of hair if that’s the case!”

Maura’s face lit with laughter and then grew solemn. Her eyes filled with sorrow as she continued to stare at me and the baby girl growing inside my belly. I could almost hear her unspoken words and the pity that lay within them.

“I brought you pancakes from Mimi’s Diner this morning. I know they’re your favorite,” she said, lifting the to-go box with a shrug. Maura placed them on the counter before slowly sinking into the space beside me. She comfortingly rubbed my back, as if she were soothing a distraught child, and her brown messy bun bobbled back and forth while she shook her head.

“Today is not going to be easy, but I will be right here, every step of the way. Dr. Lee should round this morning and give us a time estimate for you, all right?”

“All right.” My voice was barely a whisper.

Maura gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and rose. Those sorrow-filled eyes finally landed on my husband.

“Good morning, Andrew! I’m just going to get a quick assessment in and then I’ll be on my way,” Maura said as she lifted the stethoscope from her neck. Andrew did not respond or move. He showed no sign that he was aware of his nurse’s presence—he never had. Each morning hope would coil around my heart, longing for the moment my husband would open his eyes and give the nurses his mischievous, award-winning smile. And every morning the hope that looped around the organ that only beat for him would squeeze and squeeze, and eventually crush the life from within my chest.

I watched Maura complete her assessment in silence. This was unusual for us. Our conversations always flowed; they felt natural, untroubled. Until today, I can’t remember a time when our mouths weren’t moving, or our eyes weren’t crying from tears of laughter. If we had met at another time, another moment in life, then maybe she could be a friend, and I could be more than the wife to her tragic patient.  

While some might think it fate, as though life generously handed me a new friend because I was losing my best friend, there was no scenario where I could think of Maura and not feel sick over losing Andrew and the surrounding memories. 

Last week, when I chased sleep because of my heartburn, I couldn’t cease my racing mind. I remember running to the bathroom nauseated at the thought of my unborn daughter becoming most familiar with my voice and Maura’s—not her father’s.  

“Alrighty, well, I’m all set. Can I do anything for you?” 

I gently shook my head.  

Maura’s nod was full of understanding. “Have you peeked outside yet? First snow of the season. Looks peaceful.” She wrapped the stethoscope around her neck and inched toward the door. “Just press the call button if you need me.”

The door clicked shut, and I was alone with my thoughts and the continuous beeping that sounded from Andrew’s ventilator. Carefully, I stood up, one hand resting on my belly and the other stabilizing myself on the sofa bed, and shuffled to the window beside him. My fingers grasped the beaded cord attached to the curtain and pulled.  

Bright, white light pierced through the hospital room. Peaceful did not do the scene justice. Andrew’s room was on the far-left side of the hospital, one of the only rooms adjacent to a quaint, little field lined with evergreens. It must have snowed heavily through the night as not a spec of grass poked through the blanket of snow. Snowflakes continued to descend to the ground, awaiting the earth's welcoming embrace. A strong gust of wind pushed off the roof, and a dusting of sparkles glittered in the morning sun, dancing to the wind's melody as they swirled and twisted through the air.  

My racing thoughts froze as a memory stole my attention:

A swift breeze snaked across my exposed ankles. I shivered and crossed my arms. “Is this really necessary?” I asked Andrew, exasperated and freezing. I was not dressed properly for the occasion. 

Andrew whispered “Shhh,” and placed his pointer finger to my lips. “Look.”

I followed his gaze and looked up. The night sky stared back. Although gray clouds loomed above, the sky glowed, aiding the moon with secondary light.

“I’m not sure what you—”

“There!” he shouted.

A moment later, snow began to flutter to the ground. Flurries twinkled beneath the lamppost, and within minutes, sizeable, fluffy snowflakes cascaded toward the bare grass. Andrew stuck out his tongue. I did the same.

Andrew gazed into my eyes, grinning. “There’s something about the first snowfall of the season. They say no two snowflakes are alike, you know? Each one crystalizes to form its own shape and pattern. The 12-sided snowflake is the rarest.”

“I love that brain of yours.” I giggled.

“Alice, you’re my 12-sided snowflake.”

“You’re so cheesy—”

“I mean it,” he said, grasping my gloved hands. “Every snowflake descends from the sky and creates their own path and unique appearance. I often think how incredibly lucky I am to be placed in your path. Each morning I wake up I am in awe of the person you are. I love you. No woman will compare to you. Not even close. And I promised myself that if I found one of those rare, precious diamonds, that I would marry them.” A puff of cold air filled the space between us as Andrew blew out an anxious breath. He gripped the tip of my glove and slid it off my left hand as he got down on one knee.

“Marry me, Alice. Marry me. Because I don’t want to catch snowflakes on my tongue with anyone else.”

My stomach growled, low and steady, and snapped me back to reality. A lone tear ran down my cheek, and I quickly swiped it away with the back of my hand. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, I turned away from the picturesque window and snatched the pancakes off the counter.

Harper, the name we picked for our little girl, craved pancakes. While waffles were my typical choice, I decided months ago that Harper got what Harper wanted. Not that she allowed me to keep anything down other than pancakes and a few other bland options.

I scooted a chair next to Andrew and ate my breakfast, telling him about the first snowfall of the season and the memory it dug up. I told him about our growing baby, who gave me a swift kick in return, and gently placed his still hand on my belly so he could feel that feisty personality and the joy it brought. Knowing Andrew, he would shoot me his show-stopping smile and claim with a kick like that Harper would be a soccer player. And with a steadying breath, I told him about Harper’s room and that I painted it lavender, just like we discussed, and that we would be all right. I’d make sure she knew that it was okay to be cheesy and silly, like her daddy, as long as she felt happy and free. She’d know that Friday nights are cookie and comedy movie nights and that winter was not allowed to pass into spring without catching one or two of those unique sky crystals on your tongue.

Hours passed and my throat was dry and scratchy from my constant chatter. Time was never our friend, and I choked back a sob when I heard the hospital door slide open and Maura stepped into view. We gave each other a knowing glance, and I gulped, rising from the chair. Dr. Lee shuffled into the room, and my stomach churned at his seafoam green scrubs.

Dr. Lee said a lot of words. Words I’ve heard before—words I should have come to terms with over the last few months. I simply nodded and signed each paper, numb and unable to form a proper sentence without crumbling into a pile beside Andrew’s bed.

A crackling sounded from the hospital intercom, and seconds later a dull voice spoke, “There will be a Path of Honor in five minutes. We will be lining the halls of the ICU and the hallways that lead to general surgery. Path of Honor in five minutes. Thank you.”

I didn’t bother wiping the flood of tears streaming down my pale face. Maura took my hand as another set of nurses began wheeling Andrew out of his room and through the hallways of the intensive care unit. A few familiar nurses gave me a tight, comforting hug as we passed and offered grim smiles. I gave Maura’s hand a thankful squeeze, wishing it could convey how incredibly grateful I was for the care she provided for both my husband and I, and released it so I could remember the warmth and security of Andrew’s hand once more. I held on as we continued walking, step by step, closer to the moment all that hopeful pressure in my chest would pop.

Many unfamiliar faces lined the walls of the hospital, honoring Andrew, and celebrating the gift he would give to another human being.

It wasn’t until the operating room doors came into view that Harper began kicking again like she could sense the loss of someone she’ll never meet. I placed a hand on my stomach and hoped I could describe to Harper how amazing her father was—prayed I could do him justice.

The coiled hope in my chest had a vice-like grip on my heart as we came to a stop before the OR doors. I leaned over, ran my fingers through Andrew's hair once more, and placed a soft kiss on the side of his head. “I love you,” I whispered. “I promise I’ll catch snowflakes until I’m old and gray and think of you. I promise I’ll be strong for our daughter, our new 12-sided snowflake.”

I let go of his hand, and the immediate lack of warmth sent a chill through my bones. Dr. Lee gave me a reassuring nod, his eyes full of sympathy, and entered the OR, taking Andrew with him. The OR doors groaned shut, and I stood there, wishing I could turn back time, my feet glued to the linoleum floors. I could feel Maura beside me as people began clearing out of the halls and returning to work. The Path of Honor was over.

“There’s nothing I can say right now that will make you feel better.” Maura took a step closer. “But I think you should read this. It’s for you.” She extended a neatly folded piece of paper in my direction.

I lightly took it from her and opened it, the hole in my chest not caring about privacy as I read the letter, written in small, scrawny font.

To: Alice

My nurse says I am not allowed to tell you my age. But she didn’t say I couldn’t tell you that I just passed the fourth grade. She also told me to tell you about my favorite hobbies. I like to play with my baby brother and go sledding with my dad. I love it when it snows. We haven't gone sledding in a while. My nurse told me that someone named Andrew was helping me so I won’t be so sick anymore. I told her I wanted to meet him but she said that’s not how these things work. I told her if Andrew is helping me then why am I sending a letter to someone named Alice? Mom said I’m too mature for my age and that the kidney I am getting was from someone who was real wise and that it’ll make me even more mature. Tell Andrew I said thanks. Maybe I'll get to go sledding soon and catch snowflakes on my tongue. Have you ever caught snowflakes on your tongue?

From: Maisey