Never a Joyful Day for Many Years to Come

They say the anticipation of death is worse than death itself.

‘True,’ I thought as I paced through the gloomy halls of the maternity ward.

Now that death had laid its gruesome fingers on Samantha, I realize death is no way better than its anticipation. I prefer to anticipate. I prefer to have Sam laying there once again, with her eyes open, and with me peering in them like I was searching for a paedocypris in the deep Atlantic. I could at least anticipate until we could enter the new year together. But no, the grim reaper would not have it that way.

                                           ***

I enter the ward and stand by her bed. Unconsciously, I take her hand gently, just like when we were in high school, stare at those lips I constantly devoured and eye that gentle face that was responsible for attracting my attention back then. Tears fill my eyes as I take a silent step closer to my beloved.

Death did not seem satisfied. After taking Sam it left its trail behind, as our baby lay in the incubator, fighting for life. ‘Why me?’ I ask.

The atmosphere too is wounding me. It does not just smell stale and musty but it carries something heavy and utterly hostile. Everything seems to be going awry so much that I can even sense the atmosphere’s very antagonism. 'How is that even possible?' I wonder.

Even the air outside appears glum and the snow-frosted pane seems symbolic of my emotions; blurry and confused.

My shivering hands leave her cold frozen one. I place it on a chair, pull it towards me and my eyes grow fuzzy as I sit. Once I begin to caress her strewn hair, gravity encouraged my tears to drip and soak the white crumpled sheets of the hospital bed. My heartbeat accelerates, and tears constantly find their way down the sides of my face, allowing my mind to drift to the very first day I met her.

She wore a blue bodycon and her hair was braided in small cornrows. Her smile was such that it brought that joyous feeling when you feel the rays of sunshine stealing through your curtains early mornings while stretching on your bed. I admired her face, its tenderness and the sweet aura that surrounded her being.

Now she looked so troubled even in death and possessed that same look she had when the pain began surging through her body that very dawn. I try to smooth her hair, littered all over the saliva stained pillow. It was no use. The undertaker would consider the state of her hair the least of his worries.

                                      ***

The manner in which I rose almost immediately the doctor entered the room was as if a wave of electricity coursed through my body. He held something so tiny, wrapped in a thick blue blanket, and motioned it towards me.

Henrietta.

He gently placed her in my arms and I cradled her softly as tears run down my cheeks like water gushing out of a tap .

The lullaby I even tried to sing to calm her down was choked with tears and sniffles. It was as if she was aware of the tribulations going on. The piercing sound that reverberated throughout the halls from her toothless mouth was a tune that had been playing ever since she was ripped from the womb. So we simply cried together. Henrietta fortissimo and I very silently. Realizing I had made contact with Sam, the doctor took back the disgruntled Henrietta and directed me to the lone sink to wash my hands. The cold drops continuously hit the sink’s surface, its sound resembling that of the ticks of the clock. It was as if it was telling me that time is still running, so I should pick my baby and move on. As the soap touched the softness of my palm, I thought that this would be the very last time Sam’s prints would ever remain on any surface of my body. I shuddered, scrubbed Sam’s prints off me, and watched the soapy water immediately vanish into the depths of the drain. It was so ironic. Sam will never vanish from my mind so quickly.

“Mr. James, why don’t you go home and have a good New Year’s Eve?” The doctor reluctantly said as he handed over Henrietta.

“A good New Year’s Eve? A good New Year’s Eve!” I bawled. “Is this what you’re telling me? Look at all that is happening and you tell me this trash!”

The symphony of my heartbeat adopted a quick tempo and out of rage, I kicked a trashcan in front of me. It tumbled over, and its metallic exterior hit the sheer solidity of the floor, making a chiming noise which further aggravated Henrietta. I held her tight, and sank on the cold marble floor with my back against the wall and wailed louder than when I first descended from my mother’s womb. I let out every pain I had bubbled up and every memory I had of Sam flashed through my eyes. Nurses rushed in, grabbed Henrietta and tried helping me up but their attempts proved completely futile, as my legs gave up on me and pulled me back to the ground .

Yet when I saw Sam being rolled away, I gained a sudden strength and momentum to rush towards her body.

“Sam! Sam!” I screamed. “Please Sam, please, you can’t do this to Henrietta and me,” I wailed as some nurses continued rolling her out of the ward, an expression of unconcern plastered on their faces.

I followed them and managed to grab Sam’s hand as if I was unaware she was no more my possession but death’s. 

I still held on, as she was being rolled away till the nurses reached the door of a room. 

“Sir, you have to let go please,” a plump nurse said.

“Sam please, let’s enter this new year together at least!” I exclaimed.

“Sir,” the nurse called.

Once she saw I did not respond to her calls to let go she pushed herself in front of me to detach my hand from Sam’s, forever. Then she sternly ordered the nurses to swiftly push her into the room.

“I’m sorry Sir,” she said and disappeared into the room with Sam.

My hand lay outstretched as if waiting for Sam to interlock hers with mine so we could go home and celebrate New Year’s Eve together. Defeated, I dropped it by my side and watched from a glass window as they moved further into the distance.

I could hear Henrietta’s cries from the ward. At least it had toned down. I washed my hands in a nearby sink as the nurse approached with her. I came to the realization that I hadn’t even taken the time to look at her. She calmed down once I nestled her in my arms, and I took time to absorb her looks. She had her mother’s blond hair and almond-shaped eyes, although she took my black eyes. Even if I did not have Sam herself, I was grateful I had a part of her here with me. Drawing her up close, I planted a kiss on her forehead and whispered ‘ You and I are gonna be alright,’ although I felt the complete opposite.

She stared at me and blinked as if confirming what I had just said. Freeing my left hand, I ransacked my pocket for my car keys and moved towards the entrance, the sound of my shoes echoing towards the empty hall.

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” a voice said. The pain with which I turned my aching head did not surpass the agony I felt when I discovered who it was; Sam’s doctor.

I had no power to argue. I simply allowed a tear to streak down and stain my cheek while moving towards the glass door with my baby girl.

                                          ***

Later that afternoon, cars began to crowd around my street. From my window, all I could see were black figures going inside a church one after the other. My grandmother always told me that when a loved one is buried, sixty percent of the grief goes down. Although I couldn’t afford the cost of both a C-section and the cost of keeping Sam in the morgue for long, my grandmother’s theory was the main reason I requested a quick burial. I needed the strength and energy to care for Henrietta.

The church was almost empty when I entered. Of course, no one would want to spend New Year’s Eve in a church mourning the loss of a person. Those present were even in a hurry to go home and carry on with their celebrations as if nothing happened at all. Christmas Eve rendered Sam’s funeral insignificant and this was reflective not just in the number of people that occupied the benches, but the expressions of some. From the distance I could sense the rancor within my cousin and her kids, as she sat down and chewed gum impatiently while the children fidgeted in their seats, waiting for the service to end. Another group sat in the very front, allowing their iris’ to defy the laws of gravity as the pastor raised a short sermon.

Soon enough, the few folks that had gathered poured out of the hall and made their way towards the burial grounds. I thought about Henrietta. She was safe with Mom. One day, she would question why I grow so silent on New Year’s Eve and ask me to give an account of this day. Would I be strong enough to do so?

The pastor delivered a short statement and I watched, with the utmost sorrow as my support, my loudest cheerleader and my source of joy was lowered deep into the ground, forever. I bowed my head deep in thought when I heard a voice behind me.

"Happy New Year's Eve," he muttered.