I'm praying for your miracle.
Hockey Wife Life
Claire
“You’re serious.”
My husband of ten years looks down at his hands and lets out a long and heavy exhale. My heart is in my throat, and I honestly feel as if my head is spinning. “You can’t be serious.”
Jude then leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs and avoiding eye contact. He’s acted this same way the last two times he’s come to me with this news. The first two times, I took in stride. I married a hockey player. A damn great one. And everyone wants him; I know this. But not now. We can’t do this now. So much is changing.
In a low voice, he says, “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I didn’t say you did,” I remind him, and then I shake my head, trying to ignore the tears welling up in my eyes. “Jude, we just bought this house, and our son will be here in no time. Tristan won’t be able to fly.”
“I know. You can stay here,” he says then, his dark green eyes meeting mine, but my eyes narrow to slits. He snaps his lips together and once more looks away, guilt on his face.
“So, you want me to stay here and wait for the birth of our son…by myself? Do you not want to be there? Does that make any kind of sense to you?”
He gets up suddenly. “No. Fuck, Claire. I didn’t want this. I know we had plans, but it’s the game, babe. It all changes—” he snaps, for the dramatics, I’m sure “—like that. I’m sorry. I know this is awful timing, but I have no choice.”
I know he doesn’t. I let my head fall forward, squeezing my eyes shut as the tears leak out and roll down my face. We just bought this house not even three months ago. His mom made it known that we needed a home for the new baby we are adopting. We’ve lived in apartments or rented houses since the beginning of our marriage. But nothing was really ours because we were both so career driven. When we decided to live apart so that I could run my aunt’s dance studio in Nashville, it was easy because we were so in love. Nothing could break our bond, and it didn’t. He is mine, and I am his.
Life was good—lonely but good. When he had home games, I would go home for the weekends, and whenever he was close to Nashville, I would go to him or him to me. We made it work. But the days turned into years, and we realized we wanted more. A family. For that to happen, we had to live together. Apparently, that’s not all you needed. We had the living and sex part down, but turns out, we also need good eggs and sperm.
Two things neither of us have.
When the doctor told us that his sperm were slow and my eggs weren’t strong, all I could think of was that episode of Friends when Monica and Chandler found out they couldn’t have kids. I wanted to be hopeful; it worked out for them, but then, that’s TV. That’s fiction. Things were not that easy. We went through all the options. My beautiful, amazing aunt, Reese, offered to carry our baby. Even my uncle Phillip was on board, but unfortunately, her uterus wasn’t strong enough. I blame it on her carrying two huge boys, and I promised her she didn’t fail me. Because she didn’t. If anything, I was failing Jude. Not that he ever told me that. He wouldn’t.
He has been supportive and hasn’t placed any blame. I know he even asked the women in our family, Baylor and Avery, but I assume they said no. I don’t blame them, though. Baylor almost died during her first pregnancy, and while the second went better, giving her another precious baby boy, the doctors told her she couldn’t chance it again. Avery is young, and she wasn’t the biggest fan of pregnancy. She has her girl and boy; what more could she ask for? Lucy, his sister, had actually just gotten a hysterectomy when we were looking for a surrogate. The twins had done a number on her body.
I don’t hold anything against our family. At all. I didn’t even want to ask, and the only reason I know Jude did was because his mom told me. With tears in her eyes, she said she’d have a baby for me, though I declined. She’s happy in her life with her husband, and they love being Grandma and Grandpa.
It’s all so overwhelming, the love of our family, and that should be enough. We have nephews and nieces galore. We could totally play that awesome aunt and uncle gig, but I yearn for the love of our child.
I searched for months through the profiles we were provided, trying to find someone to carry our baby, but no one was good enough. It also didn’t feel right. I didn’t want our baby growing in someone else. I wanted to grow that baby. I wanted to make that baby—inside me. I still have hope that maybe, down the road, something will happen. But I’ve learned these last three years that life is like the fourth line in hockey. Life is the goon, the guy out there to hit you, and we’re continually getting hit, left and right. I almost gave up hope, but then we met her.
Tristan Nordstrom.
Due to Jude’s participation in the Minnesota Wild’s Foundation, I find myself very much involved where he can’t be. Since I need something to do when he is gone, I volunteer at the shelter for women who are victims of domestic abuse. I love playing with the kids, and I even hold a small dance class every week. Something to make the kids feel normal. I love it, and I enjoy the people I meet very much.
Jude was on a long road trip when Tristan walked in. It was only six months ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. She had a nasty black eye, her poor lip was split, and she was clutching her purse while guarding her stomach.
“I left. I had to. I’m pregnant. He will kill it. Kill me.”
I was lucky enough to be in the lobby when she walked in. I went straight to her, and I didn’t leave her side for two days. I slept in the bed next to her. I watched over her. I felt like I was there for a reason. For her. In those two days, she didn’t say much. She was only eighteen—left home because her mom didn’t approve of her boyfriend. Can’t say her mom was wrong. He began hitting her for not making enough money at her serving job. She had to provide since he was between jobs. She was “too in love” to go back to the dorms. She wanted to be with him. So, she started working more shifts while trying to maintain her grades so she didn’t lose her full ride to Saint Paul College.
She is brilliant. She’s gorgeous, and I wanted so much for her.
“This is an accident. I still have so much school left. I want to be a doctor. I can’t get an abortion. It doesn’t feel right, and my mom
would kill me. God, she’s gonna be so mad at me. I’ve ruined everything.”
Oh, hearing those words gutted me. I wanted to beg her to give me her baby, but I knew I couldn’t. It wasn’t right of me, and she was upset. Things would change. Surely, she’d want her baby. It’s a miracle, and yeah, she has so much going for her, but it’s her baby. I didn’t want her to regret it. I didn’t want her to rush into it, so I ignored her cries about the baby and tried to help her figure everything else out.
Tristan stayed at the shelter for three months. I knew she was staying for the protection; she was worried her ex would come for her, and that was okay. She attended all her classes, went to counseling, everything. I found myself coming to the shelter every day. I had to make sure she was okay. She always lit up when she saw me, and we’d spend hours talking. She had been a dancer her whole life, and she was on the basketball team’s dance squad at SPC. She came from a broken home. Her dad was a drug addict, and her mom was just trying to make ends meet. We had so much in common. I’d once been a lost teen in Minneapolis too, and I found myself sharing my life with her. We became fast friends, and I felt like I was filling the hole of needing a child with Tristan. I was taking care of her, which I realized wasn’t very healthy, but I didn’t care. She was too scared to call her mom, and God had me in that lobby for a reason.