Whatever It Takes

My reflection in the window shakes me to my core, but I refuse to tear my eyes away. My once womanly shape is now shapeless, my clothes baggy. My dark eyes with heavily layered dark circles underneath, my filthy disheveled clothes, my trembling hand that reaches out to touch the glass. 

A startled woman inside the coffee shop jumps back and I quickly turn away and hustle down the sidewalk, still rattled by the sight of myself. I inwardly reprimand myself. I need to find them, not stare at myself. 

I remind myself that I deserve to look this way, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. 

“Babe, will you pick up the children after work?”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “You’re staying late again?” 

“No… something’s happened,” my husband’s voice is rattled, something that’s so rare it unnerves me more than I expect.

My heart picks up. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t freak out okay? But once you get them, come to Fenway Hospital immediately,” Garrett says. 

“What is it?” I ask. 

The phone is silent. I hold my breath. It’s been so long I take in a deep breath and finally grumble, “Fill me in when we get there, then.”

“Okay.” 

The phone hangs up. I’m fighting between anger and fear. Why is he being so cryptic? Why can’t he tell me what’s going on? 

As I shuffle our two children into the hospital I have to shush them to quit their complaining. As their father stands and meets us at the end of the hall, a hush falls over the children. They must sense something is wrong. 

The room is bright and my head begins to pound. Garett comes up to me and hugs me tightly, jerking the kids hands out of mine. I look to my left and my right and the children are gone. 

“Garett? Did you see where the children went?” I panic. 

“They aren’t here, honey,” his voice is uncomfortably soothing. He pulls me into a dimly lit room and sits me on the bed.

“Why are we here?” My head feels foggy, the room is spinning. I stand up quickly. “I need to get the children, now!” 

I peer down at myself and I’m in a hospital gown. How did that happen? 

Garrett’s face twists. Something awful has happened, I can feel it in the thick, uncomfortable air. “Where are they, Garett? Where are they?” 

I’m screaming, I’m punching him, slapping, kicking. I consider biting him. The pain in my heart, the fog in my brain, it must be his fault. Before I can take another swing at him there are nurses, no orderly’s pulling me off of him. 

I dig down deep in my chest and let out a horrifying scream mixed with a groan. 

“Tell me,” I screech, “tell me what you did with them.”

He runs out of the room sobbing as my arm is injected. 

When I come to, I’m all alone in my hospital room. Most days I try to escape the hospital and the doctors prodding questions that I can’t answer. 

How do you feel? Do you feel ready to go home? Exercise and hobbies will help you heal. Are you communicating your feelings to your husband? 

In answer I try to escape, only to be coaxed back to the hospital by my husband. No I’m not alright. I can’t tell reality from fear induced nightmares. Sedation is the only way I don’t rip off every nurses head. How else would I survive the pain digging it’s way deeper and deeper into my heart?

I relive that “day” almost every waking moment and it seeps into every hour I try to sleep. Needless to say, I don’t sleep much, and Garrett doesn’t stay long with me in the hospital anymore. I barely live with me too.

After months of being dazed and delirious, the fog slowly ebbs away. It leaves a sharp pain in my heart. The real events of all this madness becomes clearer in my mind. It turns out Garrett was at work, working late and I had to get the children from school. Only I made a mistake. What did I do? I can’t remember through the pain and the medications I’m on. 

How can I fix this? I can never make up for the children’s lives, but I can mend my relationship, my marriage with Garrett. 

It’s not hard to escape here, but this time I have a real reason besides delusion. I stumble toward our house. It takes half of the day to get there but once I do, I stand hesitantly on the stoop. The house seems dark and lonely. 

I knock and no one answers. I wonder if he lives at work now, unable to sit in the dark and silent home. I muster up the courage to do something I refused to do since coming out of the hospital. 

I pull out my key and slowly turn the lock. 

When I open the door, the warmth and sweet scent of cookies and a burning fire overwhelm me. 

“Mom?” My ten year old daughter, Elise, runs to me and embraces me, nearly knocking me to the floor. 

I hear the clomping of two sets of loud footsteps coming from the kitchen. “Emerson? Garrett?”

My eyes fill with tears. What was the mistake I made? I toss away my worries as the two embrace me. I hug them and we all sink to the floor in delirious happiness. 

****

“Honey?”

I stare into oblivion, gently rocking back and forth. 

“Babe?” 

This catches something in my mind. Slowly I crane my neck and see that Garrett is sitting beside me, his face so close to mine I can almost hear his heartbeat. 

“Olivia? Are you with me?”

“Y-yes,” my voice is hoarse. I blink, realizing the determination to fix my marriage and embracing of my children was because of the drugs and my instability, which stabs at my heart.

“There was an accident, honey…” 

His words fade in my mind as it hits my memories full force. We were hit. But it was my fault. I throw my head back in agony.

“I was going too fast. The kids were arguing,” I feel myself crumbling. 

I expect anger. I wait for him to lash out, as he rightfully should. Instead he whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

But he’s wrong. I’ll spend every waking moment trying to fix what’s too broken. 

“If you stay in the hospital… if you stop trying to break out and find them, you might be able to come home.” His tone dips between hopeless and hopeful. “I can’t lose you too.”

“Okay,” I say. It’s weak, but it’s all I can offer at the moment. 

I keep my word. I continue to take the medicine and power through the pain. I journal, I even talk to the therapist when he enters. It won’t bring them back, but it will bring me closer to Garrett. He deserves it. It’s the least I can do. 

Every so often I get the itch to leave, to break out and search for the children. They aren’t gone, they are simply lost. 

But I remind myself that they are gone. I call my sister and send her children gifts from the gift shop every so often. She tells me it’s not necessary, but I tell her it’s a small way to ease the pain and she never mentions it again. 

After a month of working on putting myself back together, I get word that I can go home. Garrett picks me up from the hospital. I had been out of it and under supervision for nearly three months. For three months he had to cope on his own. The guilt is overwhelming, but I remind myself that it’ll be easier to try and fix things rather than dwell on what’s already done and over with. 

As I step into the home, I wish for the scent of cookies and fire, the embrace of my children and husband. Instead, it’s musty and dirty. My husband gives me an awkward side hug. It’s disheartening, but I can hardly complain since he’s been a bachelor for so long. After fifteen years of marriage it must’ve taken some adjusting to be alone. 

Alone, we are alone in the world. No children to coax out of bed in the morning, or have snowball fights with. 

I stand on the brink of losing myself and crumpling to the floor when Garrett gets something from the garage. 

He comes back and hands me a soft fluffy golden retriever. There’s a bright red bow around his neck. “I got him a couple weeks ago. I know you’ve never wanted a dog… but I think it’s the only thing that will ease heartache. I haven’t picked a name for her yet...”

Tears spill over my cheeks as I look into the soft dark eyes of the pup. I bury my head in Garrett’s chest and sob. “She’s perfect, thank you.”

Finally, the three of us ease into the sofa and snuggle around the fire. I gently stroke the puppy’s fur and wonder what we should name her. 

My mouth dries when I recall those countless arguments Garrett and I had trying to choose names for the children. Other memories with them in the home flood my mind. 

“We can’t stay here,” I blurt. 

“I know.”

I’m startled by his agreeableness, yet I’m pleased at his turn around. He’s always been a caring husband and father, but there’s a softness to him now that I can’t describe. 

“Maybe we could do mission work…” I don’t know why I’ve suggested this, it’s far from either of our forte’s. 

“I’m open to anything,” he says peering deep into my eyes. 

“Then it’s settled. We sell the house and give of ourselves to others.”

“It’s a deal.”

As we turn off the lights in the living room and kitchen, I ease the sleepy puppy into its kennel. It gently whines as I put her down but then quickly falls asleep. It reminds me of all the times I stood gazing at my slumbering children to check on them over the years. I sigh and rub my eyes intensely. Garrett leads me upstairs and we crawl into the bed and both seem to become overcome by sleep instantly. 

I wake with a gasp. The car slamming into my minivan, the children’s screams. 

My deal with Garrett seems childish when I think of how sick and hopeless I’ve been recently. Can the sick really heal the sick? 

I get up in the night and get water from the kitchen. I try to be quiet to not wake our pup in her kennel a few feet away. 

She stirs and whimpers. I go to her and pull her close, rubbing my cheek on her soft fur. 

There are very few things that will release the vice grip of pain on my heart, but this is one thing that may do it. 

I think of my daughter, Elise, bundled in her snow gear, trailing her fingers along the pine needles and juniper trees. Emerson jumping out from behind the trees and attacking her with a flurry of snowballs. I hated winter before I had children, but they made me love it. 

This is the first memory of the children that comes to me without overwhelming pain. Without the heart stopping, chest throbbing pain. I even smile, but only a little. 

“How about we call you, Juniper?” I kiss the pups head as tears stream down my face. “Whatever you need, tell me and I’ll do it.” 

I rock back and forth and vow to do whatever it takes to fill this void. Whatever it takes.