room to see the final result. Brook had stood in the center of the room with her hand on her expanding belly, visualizing the room with a crib, herself holding a cooing baby. Clark had shown moderate interest, but Brook was happy enough for both of them and didn’t concern herself with his less than enthusiastic participation.
At ten weeks, Brook had begun to spot blood. She was frantic when she arrived at the clinic but the doctor soothed her and scheduled an immediate sonogram. Everything looked normal and the doctor explained that some women experienced spotting for no apparent reason. She could find absolutely nothing that Brook should be worried over. Brook left feeling a little concerned but trusting her doctor. After a week or so, the bleeding stopped and Brook was once again overcome by the need to buy baby stuff.
Brook went on a shopping spree. She purchased a basinet which would remain beside her and Clark’s bed until the baby was old enough to sleep in a crib. For the baby's room, she chose a pretty white nursery set; crib, changing table, dresser, and rocking chair. Wandering the aisles of the specialty store, she found a cute, wind-up mobile in orange, yellow, and green. It represented the nursery rhyme ‘Hey Diddle Diddle’ and went perfectly with the room’s border. She also couldn’t resist buying a few sleepers, booties, and blankets. After her twenty-week sonogram, when she found out the baby’s sex, she planned to buy the car seat, stroller, and other paraphernalia.
When the furniture had been delivered and set up, the room was perfect, with one exception; she still had to wait another twenty-two weeks for the baby. Anticipation kept her buoyed and exuberant. She took pictures of the room and sent them to her mom, sister, and brother. Several times a day, she strolled past the nursery just so she could peek inside. Life was wonderful.
And then, disaster struck. At nineteen weeks, Brook began to spot again. She reassured herself that it was normal, but by the end of the week, the spotting had become a flow. She rushed to the clinic and the doctor admitted her to the hospital for testing.
Blood tests were ordered and exams were performed. Brook went into labor in the early evening. Clark called her mom and dad and they began the trip to Denver. The fear was even harder to bear than the pain. She couldn’t lose this baby; she wouldn’t. She wanted it so badly! But her hopes were shattered. Before the night was through, Brook had a spontaneous abortion.
And then, when she thought life could be no crueler, she was dealt a losing hand. Her placenta wasn’t birthing and complications arose. Brook was rushed to surgery where it was discovered her placenta hadn’t detached from the uterine wall. The doctor had to perform an emergency hysterectomy to remove her uterus in order to stop the hemorrhaging. Brook was left with no baby in her arms now and no chance of a baby later. She sank into a deep depression.
As Brook reached this part of her story, she broke down crying. Lance gathered her into his arms and rocked her gently. It was quite a while before she regained her composure, and then she excused herself to go to the restroom. By the time she came out, Lance had a good start on lunch. He paused in his task, a look of concern on his face. 'Brooklyn?'
She shrugged slightly and murmured, 'Everything's fine, Lance, I'm just tired. I think I'll lie down for awhile. “Brook curled up on her bed and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Lance left her resting and disappeared into his work room while the meal cooked. When he returned, he sat next to her on the side of the bed and brushed her hair from her face. Brook opened her eyes and smiled softly. He left his hand lingering on her cheek as he asked, “Hey! Ready to eat?”
Brook, sensing his worry, stated, “I’m okay, Lance, really. It still gets to me sometimes; probably more right now. I feel pretty vulnerable still.”
They spoke of trivial things during the meal. Lance told Brook how Gilbert was getting antsy about being cooped up all the time. She was overjoyed when he had turned her out of the pen that morning so he could muck it out. “That goat knows where every stump is, even when they’re covered by snow. She gallivanted around for a few minutes and then gave a mighty leap into the air, landing delicately with her four feet together on a high stump. Not bad for a pregnant nanny.”
“Gilbert’s pregnant?” Brook asked with a smile. “That sounds really funny to say, doesn’t it?”
“Yep. Not something you hear every day of the week, that’s for sure. Good old Gilbert. She’s quite the lusty gal. And sneaky, too. Even though she’s been penned up most of the time, she still managed a tryst with her boyfriend. I suppose it’s a good thing, though. She’s going to keep me in fresh milk come spring.” He laughed and his eyes shone with pride. Brook could see how much Gilbert meant to him and was glad it was the less-favored goat the cougar had killed.
Brook helped with the clean up. She liked being this close to Lance, their arms touching off and on, his warm smile when he looked down at her. When the dishes were done, she went to her purse and rummaged through the meager contents. She moved to sit at the table, holding a pink laminated card. She read from it silently and then held it to her chest as she picked up the story where she had left off earlier.
“After losing the baby I had no desire to continue with my life. The doctor had given me anti-depressants and sleeping pills, and I seriously considered taking them to end my pain, to join my baby. Knowing how hard it would be on my mom and dad was the only thing that stopped me going through with it.”
Lance moved to sit beside Brook, leaving a little space between them. He wanted to be near if she needed him but didn’t want crowd her.
“My mom stayed at our house for a couple of weeks. I tried to put on a positive face and eventually she left for home, but I could tell she was still worried. Clark babied me to begin with, but when I showed no signs of improvement, he began to get annoyed. He even told me I needed to ‘snap out of it’, like I could just blink and be through with my pain and sorrow.”
Lance stood and got Brook a glass of water. After a few sips, she continued. “I’d find myself standing outside the nursery, unable to open the door and enter. I’d just stand, staring at the knob until Clark would come and get me. Finally, I sought therapy.”
Brook recalled the long drawn-out sessions with her therapist, all the tears she had cried, the anger she had expressed. She was advised to keep a journal, to write down everything that was pleasurable about her pregnancy, and to keep these good thoughts near while pushing away the bad. She joined a support group but found the pain of the other women too much to bear; although, the few meetings she attended did open her eyes to the fact that she wasn’t alone and that some women actually held living babies only to have them ripped from their arms by death.
Brook’s baby had been a girl, so she had bought and embellished the front of a baby book in fancy lettering with the name her daughter would have had: Lacey Joelle Parrish. The pages inside held pictures of the nursery and the tiny outfits she had already bought. She wrote about the wonderful moments when she had found out she was pregnant and the first time the baby kicked, her awe at the miracle of life. How Clark would caress her tummy and feel for movement. How much she had enjoyed preparing the nursery for its new little occupant. Knowing the book wasn't supposed to hold sorrow, she skipped everything that came during and after losing the baby.
One day, while searching the internet for help in dealing with her loss, she found a poem written by Denise Hanstad, another unfortunate mother who had lost her baby at birth. Keeping a copy for herself, she added this poem to the book and decided it was complete. Packing a suitcase with the Lacey Joelle's book nestled between her clothes, Brook went home to visit her mom and dad. There, she went to a quiet little cemetery in the country, a spot she had often found comforting with its pastoral setting and the century-old stones that remembered people long forgotten. She leafed through the book one last time and then buried it in the soft ground below the outspread branches of a beautiful tree. Lacey Joelle now had an eternal home; somewhere Brook could visit if she wanted.
Brook paused in her story and held the pink card in front of her. Looking at it with unseeing eyes, she read from memory.
A tiny hand we'll never hold.
A child without a name.
Your coos and giggles
won't touch our ears,
but we loved you just the same.
The twinkle in your little eyes,
was not for us to see;
