Part: Three

 

 

I realise almost as soon as I'm headed to Sydney, and then again nearly as soon as my plane takes off, that I might have just made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. If I thought it would be easier for me to cope without Liss, I was sorely, sorely mistaken; she provided a haven for me, safety and comfort and all that was good. Without her, I feel like someone who's just jumped out of an aeroplane without a parachute. I'm heading recklessly towards my own crushing defeat and I don't know if there's any way to stop it or to slow it down.

To his credit I know that Mark's incredibly pissed off and heavily disappointed with me, that I let things come to this, but he doesn't say much, just that he sent David to watch over Lissy in my absence. I know he probably wants to say more; he probably wants to pound me into a wall, but he's gonna have to take a number and get in line, because I'm doing a pretty good job on myself. And next in line would probably be my wife.

When the plane lands on the first leg of the journey, I immediately have to call Lissy; I need to hear the sound of her voice and I need to know that she truly isn't angry. Last night, she told me she wasn't, and though I wouldn't blame her if she was, I desperately want someone to tell me everything's all right, even if it's not.

She answers almost immediately. "Russell?"

"Yeah, it's me, angel." Just knowing I've got this connection with her, even if it is over a phone line several thousand miles apart, makes me relax a tiny bit. "I...I love you."

"God, I love you, too." Then, "Where are you?"

I tell her, and I can sense her disappointment; I reckon she was hoping I was in the car, on my way back to her. "Well, be safe," Liss says. "I need you to find your way back to me in one piece, you know."

The real meaning behind that is powerful, meaningful. "I know," I tell her. "I'll try." 

"I hope you will," she responds, and that, too, is full of significance. "I want you to find what you're looking for, sweetheart." 

I don't ask her what she means by that because I already know. "I'll call you every single day," I promise. 

"That would be nice." She sighs and I can sense her sad, tired smile. "I won't worry as much that way. I'll still worry about you, but if I hear from you, it won't be so bad."

"I..." I stop and try again. "I'm sorry about the way I left this morning, love. There were so many things...I wanted to tell you..."

"It's okay." Lissy's voice holds a wealth of love and empathy. "I know what you wanted to say, Russell. And I want you to be able to tell me all of it. When you're ready. It's okay," she repeats. "Just come home soon and take care of yourself."

"Yeah." She's been incredibly patient and understanding and after the way I've been behaving towards her, I question my deserving that. "Look, Liss, I've got to go. But I'll call you when I get to Austin, if not sooner. I love you."

"I love you, so much, honey." I'm reluctant to break the connection between us, but somehow, if Lissy were to do it first, it'd hurt me, so I hang up before she does.

 

When I get into Texas, exhausted, hot and jetlagged, the first thing I do after setting everything down in my room is call Lissy again. The phone rings a few times and I'm worried she's not there, until I hear a very sleepy, groggy "Hello?"

Glancing at my watch, which I still haven't changed over, I realise my mistake. "Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, sweetheart...it's the middle of the goddamn night there, isn't it? Shit!"

I picture her, hair rumpled, curled on her side, her big dark eyes drowsy. Can almost see her sweet, pretty smile as she responds, "Well, this HAS to be my husband."

"Go back to sleep, baby. I'm sorry. It's what...two thirty in the morning for you?"

"Nope...it's two thirty seven, to be exact." I sense her teasing grin. 

"Well, go back to sleep, love. I'll call you when it's morning there." 

"It's morning now, technically." Liss stifles a yawn; I can see her in my mind's eye; stretching, her entire body arching, slender limbs unfurling and then curling up tight again. It makes me ache for her; if I were there and we were both awake, this'd be the time I'd probably make slow, tender love to her, both of us in that dreamlike state between total slumber and total alertness. "Talk to me, Russell. Don't go. I won't go back to sleep if you do. I might not go back to sleep anyhow...but I love the sound of your voice. Don't leave me."

"Okay." But now I'm suddenly not sure what to say. "How...how are you?"

"Tired," she says, wryly, still joking, then, on a more sombre note, "Lonely." 

"I...I'm sorry. I..."

"No, don't be sorry. Please, don't." There's a span of silence, then, "You're in Texas, then." 

"Just got in. I'll give you all the contact information later on..."

"Mmm, no, you can give it to me now." I tell her what she needs to know, room numbers, direct phone numbers, etc., as she writes it all down. "I'll leave the mobile on, constantly. Call me anytime, love."

"Can I call YOU at two thirty in the morning?" I have to smile. "If you want to, yeah, sure." 

"Might take you up on that." She yawns again. "That goes both ways. If you feel you want to talk to me in the middle of the night, you can. During the day, I'll probably be here or at Mum and Dad's, or I'll have my cell phone, too. Or else I'll call you back as soon as I can, I promise." Suddenly, the both of us, two very independent and headstrong people, are being co-dependent on each other. Despite my connection with Lissy and my association in my mind with the loss of the baby being what's brought us apart to begin with, it's also my link to what's good and real and important in my life, too. Can't have it both ways, Crowe, I tell myself, although I reckon Lissy feels the same way and so she's allowing herself to still be open and available for me.

"You could probably stay with Mum and Dad, if you wanted to, Liss, I'm sure they wouldn't mind..."

"No, I don't want to. This is our home. I belong here." And the rest of that lies unspoken between us. You belong here. 

"All right, well...I'm gonna let you go back to sleep, and then I'll call back at a more reasonable hour, and we can arrange a time for me to call you that'll be good, every day."

"Sure. That'd be fine. Listen, if you're too busy and don't manage to call sometimes, that's okay, too. Just so you know." She's beginning to sound lost and sad again and I hate to hear that in her, knowing that it's because of me.

"No." My tone is fierce. "I have to talk to you. I have to. I...I need to hear your voice, too, Liss." 

"Okay." Then, in a gentle whisper, "I love you." 

"I love you, too. Good night, Lissy." And I disconnect again before she does. 

I drop the phone on the bed beside me and bury my head in my hands. 

What in the fucking bloody hell have I done?

 

As I promised, I call her every single day, when it's evening there, because I know she's at home, waiting, just for me. This thought makes me feel good. It's something that I think Liss and I both look forward to.

Of course, we never talk about anything deep and heavy. I'm pretty sure Lissy would like me to, same as when I was there with her, but she doesn't push. Just the sound of her voice, every night, gives me the fortitude to face another day without her.

I know damn good and well that leaving was a mistake; but I've got this sort of problem that keeps me from returning home to her immediately. It's this fucking sense of pride that I have, you know, that overblown sense of masculinity that keeps us from admitting we were wrong and crawling home with our tail between our legs, so to speak. I know that my wife would welcome me back in a heartbeat without a single 'I told you so', but it's my foolish pride and my misguided sense of honour that keeps me from telling everyone to pack it in and head home. Besides, it's not just me here, I pulled the other blokes over here to work on the next CD, and after travelling this far, it'd be unfair to suddenly tell them I've changed my mind.

They all know about the baby and I think they know kinda what's going on between me and Liss without me having to say it outright; the fact that I'm here and she's there speaks volumes. I think they're like Mark; they probably want to pummel me into the ground, Billy especially, but they wisely keep their opinions to themselves and don't say anything, only to ask how she is after I've called her.

So, as I did back home on the farm, I totally throw myself into other things, to keep my mind off of Lissy. It doesn't really work, though. If I'm not calling her, I'm thinking about calling her, my mind working out the time differences; every single day I'm counting down until our agreed-upon time so I can hear the sound of her voice. There are small things all over the place that remind me of her or make me think of her. And if she's not on the phone with me, if I try to do other stuff in the down time, she tries, at least once a day, to send me an email on my laptop or a text message on the mobile; even if it's just to tell me she loves me. Welcome to long-distance love in the twenty-first century.

I've been gone a few terribly long weeks, when I call her one day and there's something different about her. She sounds almost...happy, calm and peaceful. "You sound really good, love," I tell her, almost apprehensive that there's something she's hiding from me. It's not that I don't trust Liss and that there's ever been any reason for her not to trust me. Since meeting her, I've been completely devoted to her and would never doubt her same feelings for me, but there's something there that she's just not telling me about. Later on, I'll come to find out this is true, but not for the reasons I'm concerned with; but for now, it's got me wondering, worrying that she's moving on to some other place emotionally without me. A better place and I won't be able to catch up.

"I feel good. Things are good around here. When...when are you coming home?" 

"I'm not sure just yet, sweetheart. Not for a bit, I reckon, we're still in the midst of everything. Do you need me to come home?" 'Cause I'm not so far gone that I'd completely abandon Liss; if she absolutely needed me, I'd drop everything and be there for her. And I hope she still knows this.

"I always need you to come home." There's that soft sadness in her voice again that fills me with utter regret. "I want you here...but if you're still busy, that's okay. Just let me know what's going on, please, all right? I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Liss." For some reason I feel the urge to break down, to just bawl like a baby; but what I'd need the most then is to have Lissy to hold onto and she's not here. I'm supposed to be meeting Billy at one of the local bars after this, and the way I feel right now I'll probably drink too much and feel even worse. I should hang on to her, to the sound of her voice and the goodness she's trying to project to me, but I worry I'll just drag her down in the depths with me, like I was doing when I was home, so I tell her I love her and then hang up first, just like I always do. Damn fucking coward.

 

In the days that follow, Liss really does sound more and more at peace with herself, while in stark contrast I'm more and more aggravated. Not because of anything that's got me worried about her; though I know there's got to be some reason she's calmed down and she'll tell me in due time. Just because with each passing day I worry that the gulf between us is growing wider and wider and while I feel I should get back to her and start our life brand new; I'm still stuck deep within my own depression and I don't know if I have the strength to.

Strangely, it's affecting my music but in a good way. The ballads seem to take on this life all their own; they're mostly written for and about Lissy anyhow, and it's like a release for me, expressing my love for her, if only through the sort of ambiguity of song. The aggressive pieces are a convenient way for me to get out my darker emotions. I think despite the fact I'm kinda scaring the shit out of the rest of the band with my extreme highs and lows, they're sort of impressed I'm really giving my all to this project.

I still talk to her every day; it's as if she's my lifeline, my only connection to the real, secure life I've left behind. When I've got her on the phone, listening to her soothes me, she's a reminder of what's good and what I could have, if only I would allow myself to. The miscarriage was the catalyst for all the turmoil I've gone through; I don't blame our child for this but as I mentioned before, it's as if when we lost the baby it brought to the forefront my fear that I could lose Lissy, too. Coming on the heels of our separation, it was a tough thing to take, nearly impossible to bear for me. I realise that this is really selfish thinking, because Liss has had to have suffered just as much as me, more really, when you consider she was the one carrying this child, but grief is an overwhelming burden, and once you've let it take you over, it's a struggle to get out from under it.

I've been having these dreams, too, at night, dreams I can't tell Liss about because it'd only make her worry even more about me. They're the same way every single time and they always end the same. I'll see Lissy there, lying in bed, with a baby in her arms, nestled at her breast. I'm not sure if it's a boy or girl, because that part of it is always hazy; the child seems to be dressed in yellow and I can't tell, but I can see it clearly; it looks just like my wife, with the same dark hair and deep brown eyes, though I can see elements of myself within it, too. The love in Lissy's expression takes my breath away, makes my heart ache with pride and with joy, because this child is obviously ours and she's by nature a giver, a nurturer. Made to be a good, wonderful mother.

My picture of the two of them is always really clear. It's a picture that I've imagined and held in my heart since we found out about our first child, the one that we lost. Though in my dreams, Lissy's hair is longer than it was when I left, past her shoulders. But it's still the same Liss, she's got a delicate serenity about her, and this lovely glow to her, as if she's lit from within. The baby, too, is absolutely beautiful, tiny and perfect, trustingly cuddled against its mum. It's so real to me that I can almost smell the scent of baby powder and hear the sweet little noises it makes in her embrace.

As I watch them, Liss so relaxed and peaceful and the baby feeding, she always looks right at me and says something. I can't hear what she says and I can't read her lips. She reaches for me but I can't ever reach back for them, no matter how hard I try. It's as if I'm watching a silent picture; even though she can see and respond to me, I can't do the same to her, or our child. Then the baby releases her nipple, head falling back into the curve of her arm and is still. Liss strokes the baby's hair, looks at me, with this soft smile on her face, then slowly closes her own eyes and lies still as well. I can't rouse either of them and this is the part where I'm always frantic and I wake up in a cold sweat. I don't know what this means; if it symbolises the death of our relationship as well as the loss of our child or what. It never goes any further than this; and no matter how much in my mind I will it to change, to become something more clear or something less frightening to me, it never does. Then I'm not able to sleep the rest of the night, analysing it and going over it in my head again and again.

 

It's been one of these particularly bad times, after I haven't slept much the night before because I had the recurring dream again. When I talked to Liss, she seemed her usual self, sweet and gentle, and I nearly lost it, just listening to the warmth in her voice. Somehow, she's always been able to sense things about me, sometimes even before I notice them in myself. She picked up that something was wrong; but when she asked me, I put on my nonchalant tone with her and told her I was fine. What in the hell am I supposed to do, tell her I'm haunted by dreaming nearly every damn night that I watch her and our baby die right in front of me, over and over? I'm getting to be an expert at keeping things from her; even better at denying things to myself.

After spending some time in the studio, Billy and I head to one of the local pubs; him for social reasons, me to maybe attempt to anaesthetize my emotional pain. Not that this ever works, believe me; I've given it quite a go in recent days. When we arrive, there's the usual staring, whispering, but I've gotten good at giving off these sort of 'leave-me-the-fuck-alone' vibes that make most people back off. There are, of course, the usual sheilas that think they can tempt you into their beds; but it's like I told you, I'm 200% devoted to Lissy, in love with her and only her. She's the only woman for me and even if I had the roving eye, I doubt that I'd be much fun anyhow.

This is one of those sorts of lowbrow typical Texas bars that have somehow become all the rage for the upper-class suburban crowd. Hey, it takes all types. You've got good ol' boys mingling with white collar pencil pushers, something that'd normally amuse the hell out of me but I'm too tired and worn to care.

For some reason, tonight of all nights, I find myself confiding to one of my best mates things that I should by all rights be telling my wife. About how I blame myself for Liss losing the baby, how I can't open up to her. How it started out that I was trying to protect her, and that I still feel that I am, but that everything I do seems to only create more pain for her. Billy listens, with a sympathetic ear, but bear in mind we've both had a few and it's beginning to turn into more of a morose pity party. Someone starts up a song on the jukebox, one I've heard countless times, but now the lyrics seem to be speaking to me and only me and it makes me feel even worse, while at the same time I'm wondering how they ever got inside my head to read everything I'm thinking and feeling.

 

 

Shit. I take another swallow of my beer and try to focus on Billy, who's talking to me. "Did you hear a fucking thing I said?"

"No." I can be painfully honest when I'm drinking. Maybe too much so. 

 

 

"If you fuck this up with her, I will personally kill you." I've suspected for some time now that he's got a kind of crush on Lissy. Not that he'd ever act upon it, because he's been a friend for about half my life and I know he'd never do that to me. I also know that Liss is just as devoted to me, though I wonder if she's rethinking that with all I've done to her. She tends to affect blokes this way, though not on purpose. My dad and David, they've taken to her like she's their own daughter, and Terry, well, I know he thinks of her as a true sister, with all the affection and sometimes harassment that that entails, but Mark and Billy and the rest of the guys I think have a bit of a thing for her. Which is why I'm not at the tops of anyone's happy list at the moment.

 

 

"Can't go back and fix anything." How pathetic am I? Let's all gather 'round and feel sorry for me, poor bastard. 

"You can go forward, damn it." 

"Oh, looky here, it's the gladiator himself, and who's this? Your boyfriend?" This stupid bloke who's had one too many (fine one to talk) has weaselled his way over to our table and is smirking at the both of us.

"Fuck off, you prick." I try to turn my attention back to Billy, but he's having none of it. 

"Fuck YOU." When I further try to ignore him, he practically gets in my face. "What's the matter; you're not man enough to take me on? Chicken shit."

"Sod off, mate. Leave him alone, all right?" 

"Whatsa matter? Neither of you tough enough here? What's up with that?" He turns back to me. "Gotta have your boyfriend defend you?"

"Look, I'm not going to tell you again," Billy warns him. "If you don't..." Before he can finish that sentence I turn that totally intense look that I think I've trademarked on the piece of shit, you know, that Maximus Unleash Hell look, and before he can crack off another smart-ass remark, I rear back and punch him in the face. Hard.

Billy grabs me at the same time the bloke's so-called friends grab for him. Though I'm fighting like a spitting mad tiger to get at him and he's holding his face and wailing, "You broke my nose."

Mark, who was at a nearby table giving us a bit of space, neatly walks into the middle; forces me back into the chair and says, first to me, "You don't want to pursue this one, mate," then to Billy, "Get him outta here," then to the other fella, "Let's have a bit of a chat." Fuck, fuck, FUCK!! And all this in the space of that one song...as we head out onto the street I can still hear it as if it's chasing me.

 

 

I get back to the hotel and it's all I can do not to call Lissy. Billy says we should, just in case rumours of this get out, but I persuade him to wait until tomorrow. That guy, the crazy fucking wanker, came after us out on the street and tried getting back at me; he didn't do much to me, but got a couple of jabs in before Mark and his buddies came and corralled him. The police weren't called, mainly because there were numerous witnesses that saw that he approached us, not the other way 'round, although after his 'chat' with the bloke Mark says he plans to file suit against me. The only way he won't is if I issue a formal apology. I'll probably do that, just to end this once and for all, but all I can think of is what my wife's gonna think.

The next morning Billy's in my room, trying to convince me to get my sorry ass out of bed and do something constructive. "Have you called her yet?"

"Who?" As if I didn't know. And, to top it all off, I had the damn dream again. 

"Your wife. You'd better tell her what happened."

"I can't." What if this is the final straw for her? What if this is what causes her to give up on me altogether?

"Fuck, you've got to. Would you rather she reads about it on the front of some paper at the market? Look, I'll call her." Before I can stop him, he grabs up the phone, starts punching in the number for our home. Mentally calculating ahead, it's a decent hour to call, but I'm secretly hoping Liss isn't there. Pretty soon, I hear him say, "Hey, there, love," and I know she's picked up.

She must be worried over the fact it's him calling and not me because he quickly reassures her everything's fine and briefly tells her what happened. When he gets to why, I can't listen anymore and I go into the next room.

Billy pokes his head in a few moments later. "She wants to talk to you." 

Christ, I knew that was coming. "Can you tell her I'll call her later, our usual time, and we'll talk then?"

"No, she said, I believe her exact words were 'Please put my husband on' and you know, I'm sure, what tone she said it in. She's dead serious, mate. And I'm not telling her you're not coming to the phone."

When Lissy refers to me as 'my husband' she's in either one of two moods. Affectionate, loving, teasing or else she's upset and pissed off. Any guesses as to which it might be? "All right." I come back into the other room and take up the phone. "Lissy?"

"Oh, sweetheart. Are you okay?" I'm totally unprepared for her concern. 

"Yeah, but you should see the other bloke," I try to joke with her. When there's just silence, I cautiously ask, "Are you mad at me?"

She sighs and very softly says, "I'm sorry this happened, honey. But no, I'm not mad at you." Disappointed, maybe, but not mad. Well, that's good. Her voice dropping even quieter, she adds, "It's starting again, though, isn't it? The rage and the lashing out." She makes me sound like the Incredible Hulk. Though she's right and I don't know what to say to that. This time the silence comes from me.

"Who...who were you talking about the baby to?" She sounds hurt, incredibly so, and I don't blame her, 'cause out of everyone in my life, she's the one person I should be talking about it to the most. And I know this.

"Just good old Billy." I give a sarcastic sort of laugh. He's already left, giving us time to talk. "He's a damn good listener when he's equally drunk." 

"Sweetie..." there's a pause and then she practically whispers, "I'm a good listener, too...and I don't have to be drunk." 

Truthfully, I respond, "You're a good everything to me, Lissy. I love you." 

I can hear the quaver in her voice as she says, "I love you, too." Then she pleads, "Will you come home so we can work through this together?"

"I...I'm not sure." Actually, though, this is what I want more than anything. The old familiar frozen feeling's creeping back and I hate that. 

"Fair enough. Please do me a favour, and think about it, though?"

"Okay." If that's all I can give to her right now, it's good enough for her; I can practically see her relief, feel her relaxing just a bit. "Russell...word of this is going to get out, you know, and I want you to just ignore it, like you have in the past, and just concentrate on what you need to, all right? Call me anytime you have to. I'm waiting for you." If I could reach through the phone right now, I'd take her in my arms, hold her tight, just to not see that sad, hurt look that I can picture so vividly on her face.

"I love you." I don't know what else to say so I quickly hang up first. 

 

After that, I can't speak to Liss for a few days, even though she's basically what's holding me together. Frankly, I'm embarrassed over this latest incident, and ashamed that I've hurt her, even if it's from afar.

We're working late one night in the studio when my phone rings and before I even pick it up, I know it's her. It's a decent time over there, but she's never called me when it's been this late over here before, and my mind races with what might be awry back home. Before it finishes ringing a second time, I've connected. "Sweetheart?" Lissy's tone is quiet, hesitant, and I feel panic rise within me. "Lissy? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm all right, everyone here's all right. I just wanted to talk to you. How are you?" I actually find my hand caressing the phone at the tenderness in her voice. Smiling somewhat sadly, I tell her honestly, "I miss you."

"I miss you." She pauses, then asks, "Sweetie...it's so late...you're still recording?"

"Don't have anything else to do." 

Softly, she tells me, "Baby...you can't keep driving the other guys on like this." I begin to feel agitated, because Liss wouldn't just up and call out of the blue like this; there's got to be a reason for it, and I'm afraid of what that might be. "We have to talk about a bunch of stuff, honey."

I wonder if this is it, for real now, if I have finally driven her to the point where she can no longer deal with it. If she wants out, if she wants to leave me. I think about what she told me right before I left to come here: I'm not letting you go because I don't love you, I'm letting you go because I do. Well, let me tell you: my wife is a much more courageous and strong person than I am, because I don't think I have it in me to simply let go of her even if that's what she wants. The silence stretches out between us and then I realise I can't put things off any more, as painful as it might turn out to be. "Can I get this wrapped up and call you back in about an hour, Liss?"

She sounds so relieved. "Yes. I'll be here." 

"One hour. I promise."

 

I reckon the other blokes are relieved that I've put an end to our late-night work session. Billy, who's known me longer than any of them, somehow has sensed that Lissy's the reason, when we part at the hotel, he squeezes my shoulder and simply says, "Make it right." Mark gives me a look that could be interpreted as encouraging or threatening, I'm not sure of which just yet. And then I'm alone in my room, my heart pounding as I dial for home. It's a little over an hour now and I know Liss is waiting for me.

"Russ?" She picks up immediately and though my heart's still racing, I also feel the familiar warmth at the loving concern in her voice. 

"I'm here, love." 

She startles me by suddenly saying, "I want to talk about the baby we lost." 

"No." I feel, too, the sadly all too-familiar pain coming back in, that and the guilt. Softening my tone, I feebly protest, "I can't."

She sighs. "You were able to talk about it to your friend in a bar, but not to me?"

"I'm not shutting you out, Lissy. I'm not." No, what I'm doing is isolating myself from her on purpose. I AM shutting her out and the bare stark reality of it hits me dead on. I could say it over and over but I'd never convince either one of us it's not true.

"You are, sweetheart. Please...I begged you before...let me help you through this." Silence again, then she practically whispers, "Can I talk about the baby, then?"

"If you want." I don't really want to hear what she has to say. And with stunning clarity I realise that's been the problem all along. I've not shared what I've felt over this because I didn't want to cause Liss more pain, because I looked upon it as protecting her and keeping her safe, but she's needed, wanted, to talk about what she's felt. And I've denied her that. And that, in the long run, has actually been more painful to her than anything.

Her voice wavers, trembles, but then turns strong and firm and clear. "Russ, I'm a part of this also. I'm sorry you're having a hard time dealing with this, but I lost the baby, too. It wasn't just you. And despite what I told you...I still feel guilty. I do. What if I had known, what if I HAD taken care of myself...what if I had done this or that...but it is not going to bring this child back." I can hear her try not to sob aloud as she adds, much softer now, "This child was real, Russell. It lived, inside of me, for two months. You can't pretend, you can't act like ignoring the memory of it will make it go away. You can't deny its existence. I realise that is how you're managing to cope with it, but you can't treat it like it never was."

I think of that baby, I remember the dream I've been having over and over. Maybe things were never well with it from the start, maybe it didn't have a prayer of a chance, but she's right; I can't deny it his or her proper place in my life, or in my heart. It's like I told you back in the hospital; the fact that it WAS forever changed me, made me a dad, even if only for just a bit, made Liss a mum. It'll always be a part of us, even though it's gone and to deny this child its brief existence, its short spark of a life, would be to deny the part of us, our love, our commitment to one another that created it to begin with. Still, I can't help but choke out what I'm feeling right now. "I...I want it back, Lissy. Our dreams died along with that baby." Christ, I don't really mean that. I still have her. She's more than I could have ever hoped for and the way I look at it, anything more I ever manage to have with her would just be icing on the proverbial cake.

"But I'm still here!" She's so hurt and I wish we were standing in front of each other, because then she could see that I only said that to try to release some of my pain. That I'm wounded just as badly as she is and I need to lean on her for comfort. "Don't tell me all our dreams have died, because that hurts me, so badly. Do...do you think I'm...inadequate...that I can't matter to you anymore?" You know, I've always selfishly looked at it how it was affecting me, not Lissy. That maybe, as a woman, she'd feel this so much more profoundly, because it's her own body and her ability to bear a child. Throughout her own insecurity, she's put that aside to try to help me, but now that we're both putting everything out there for discussion, I see that she's had her own doubts and fears and it hasn't been all about me.

She whispers, "If...if we both hadn't been hurting so badly...if you weren't so upset and angry...would you still have made love to me those nights before you left? Or...am I somehow...a failure...to you?"

God, no. My making love to Liss, has been, and always will be, the ultimate expression of my love for her. Not a means of releasing anything negative, not a way to punish or hurt her, nothing but what it is: something pure and deeply meaningful. "No," I tell her, fiercely. "If anyone's failed here, it's been me."

"Baby...no. No. You've not failed in anything, or anyone. Losing the baby doesn't mean you're weak, or less of a man, or anything like that. But right now, it's okay to feel helpless and powerless. It's part of the whole process, of letting yourself grieve. I feel that way, too. I wish you could see that. I wish you'd understand, and you'd let me help you." She pauses, then asks, "Would you have loved me still, Russ? Or can you not bear to look at me, to touch me that way anymore?"

The fact Lissy's questioning my need, my desire for her, as herself, as my wife, cuts me to the core. I never meant to make her feel that way; she's my heart itself, and now that I see what I truly was doing to her all this time, I can't believe I was so blind for so long. "It felt good to feel alive with you again, Liss." I sigh and the emotion between us is so palpable it's hard to believe she's half a world away, instead of right there beside me. "That hasn't changed. I want you." I sense her utter relief at my confession.

"I need help. Russell...we both need to get through this, but we have to do it together. We have to find some outside support, because we're both in the same situation, and we can try to help each other, but we just can't do it alone." She's crying softly now, and I feel tears in my own eyes as I listen to her plead with me for our very lives. "I don't want to be alone anymore. But you need to come back so we can start this...will you?" Hesitantly, she asks, "Can you still find dreams with me?"

The stillness is so great that I swear I can hear her heart beating. So quietly, I tell her, "Yes. I want to be able to dream with you, sweetheart. I don't want to lose you, Lissy."

"You're not going to lose me, honey. My dreams are all your dreams, too. I love you," Liss says, and I feel a calming sense of peace come over me, that maybe we're slowly on the way back to something good once more.

"I love you." There's a lot that needs to be done though, before I can come back home to her. "I'll come home...but I need some time. Just a bit...to think things out. A day or two, at the most. And then...I'll come home. Okay?"

"Please." In a quiet, gentle tone, she adds, "Please stop blaming yourself, Russell. Please allow yourself to mourn, all right? And know that you aren't alone. I'm here, and we have to be united in this, baby. Please."

She's right. And by her giving me her blessing, encouraging me to let go of my grief and shame and pain, she's given me the power to also allow myself to heal. To love her without doubt, to work at building a life with her again, which is all I've ever wanted. Softly, I tell her, "Yeah," and then, "Love you, Liss," and then, I slowly hang up the phone first, as usual.

I think of her, without me, so far away, and then I think about the baby. Finally am able to let myself to, after all this time. It was a part of both of us, and I still feel the loss of it deeply. Maybe that will never change---in a way, I hope it never does, because it doesn't deserve us forgetting about it, ever---but then I also think that our little one would never want to see us like this, because of him or her. It'd want us to go on, to be happy, and to always love each other with every fibre of our beings.

Still, I never allowed myself the luxury of emotional release, of being able to let it go. Liss was able to do that to a greater degree, but in all of my struggle to be strong for her, it never once occurred to me that I'd need to find that for myself, too.

Alone in a hotel room, half a world away from my wife, I finally give in. I huddle on the bed and cry until there aren't any more tears left within me, wishing that I was with Liss and we could just hold onto each other like we did that dreadful day in the hospital. I need her. I need her so much. I miss her so much, too.

I remember what she said: that mourning our loss in this fashion doesn't make me weak, doesn't make me less of a man. Instead, it makes me feel stronger. It empowers me, even as I understand I don't need to be in control all the time. I don't have a way to make everything perfect and right, but I do have the power to make it better. And when I didn't know this about myself, Lissy knew it all along.

That's not to say that my wife has all the answers, either. God, I can't tell you the times the two of us have bumbled through life, individually or together. But we try. We fucking well give it our all. And I have to tell you, I'm extremely proud of us for that.

This is the first time I don't have the dream since I got here. I sleep soundly and then in the morning, I'm talking to the others, trying to wrap things up so I can get back to Lissy.

Back to living again. 

 

To Part Four

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