The Small, Red Sweater

We sat there, saying not a word; letting the forks do all the talking.  All I could hear was the sound of my thoughts racing, and his damn fork scratching against our porceline plates. “Would you damn well stop that?” I screamed out, unable to contain my frustration.

“What? What did I do?” He asked, sounding sincere and confused.

“Ugh, just…never mind.”  I got up from the table, and started crying.  I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.  I could hear the kitchen chair’s legs scrape against the tiled floor as I raced upstairs attempting to slam and lock the door before he entered, but he was too fast.  I broke down on the floor in tears.

“Anna, please.” He attempted to hold me, but I just pushed his arms away and cried harder. “Stop pushing me away.  Let me be there for you.”  As much as I wanted him to, I didn’t.  At this point, I didn’t even know how to explain this to him.  The only thing I knew how to do was cry.  “I love you so much, you know.  I don’t want you to feel like you’re going through this alone.  I’m here for you.  I’m suffering too.  This should bring us together, not apart.  There is no one I want to be around right now other than you.  Please let me be there.”  His words made me cry out even more.  I stopped struggling, and allowed his hands to hold me.  That was really what I wanted right now.  Through my cries, I managed to say thank you, and let him know that I loved him too.  This was so hard.  It was so stupid and hard.  There was nothing I wanted more than to be a mother, and just like that, that dream that I thought was a mere months away from being a reality, was now taken away from me.  From us.  I couldn’t stop the tears.  I had a hard time talking to him because, underneath it all, I felt like I failed him.  Like there was something wrong with me.  And a part of me was mad at me for feeling this way.  And quite frankly, a part of me was mad at God for allowing this to happen.

We remained there for a number of minutes, in each other’s arms, slowly rocking back and forth; me, sobbing up my waterfall of tears in his sweatshirt, him not seeming to mind, as he switched from softly rubbing my back, to gently stroking my hair.

“Let’s go grab some fresh air.  A walk.” He suggested.  Without moving my head from off of his shoulder, I nodded, and we slowly stood up.

“Thank you.” I was finally able to utter out.  “I appreciate you so much right now.  I know it’s not easy to deal with me –” he put his finger over my lips.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He smiled.  And what felt like the first time in the last 2 days, I smiled as well.

We walked through our local park, which spanned a few kilometres through a pathway framed with beautiful large maple leaf trees that were finally starting to regrow their luscious green foliage.  Together we walked, held hands, talked, and laughed surrounded by nature – which seemed to just strip all of the pain away.  It was just what I we needed.  As we came towards the end of the pathway, that opened up towards a large park where many people walked their dogs, children played, seniors met on the park benches to chat, he stopped.

“What is it?” I inquired.

“My mom” he said, eyes frozen on the park bench.

“Let’s go say hi.” I suggested with a slight tug.  He quickly pulled my hand back.  His mom lived a matter of minutes away from us.  She was a kind, thoughtful, and loving widow.  She and I got along extremely well.  She always treated me as if I was her own daughter.  With hesitation he nodded, and lead us slowly towards his mother.  She sat there in deep conversation with her friend, not missing a beat as she was knitting with red yarn.  “Mom,” I called out, as I took a seat beside her and gave her a warm hug.  She looked surprised as she saw us, but was happy.

“Funny to see you two here,” she stated.  “I was just telling my friend, Patsy, about the two of you.” She nudged her friend, then introduced us.

“Congratulations!” Patsy exclaimed as she realized who we were. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if she’s allowed to tell anyone, but she was so excited, she slipped it out to me as she wanted ideas for this sweater.”  I froze.  That sinking feeling hit me again.  I was speechless.

“Patsy!  You weren’t supposed to say anything!  My gosh, I can’t tell you anything.  I’m sorry guys.  I wanted to start making this sweater for my little grand daughter, so I just asked her for ideas, and then of course she put two and two together…” I stopped listening.  I had forgotten about the fact that we told our parents we were pregnant, but we had been so busy dealing with out own emotions, that we hadn’t informed them of the miscarriage.  And now here, in this park, in front of this stranger, Patsy, we had no other choice but to tell his mom, as our ghostly faces couldn’t hide our emotions.  When I finally tuned back in, she was calling our names, with extreme concern on her face.  Words escaped me, and all I could do was look towards my husband, hoping he had an effective way to deal with this.  He didn’t.  His eyes glued on the tiny red sweater that lay in his mothers wrinkled hands, he stood there, with tears streaming down his face, unable to say anything.  At this point, words were no longer needed.

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Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.