I lie back and the paper sheet crinkles underneath me.
Today I find out if I’m having a son or a daughter. The little being inside me stirs, as if it too knows that big news is coming.
When the doctor comes into the room, I breathe out a sigh of relief. One minute closer to knowing.
He takes a seat and talks over things and then it’s time.
He squirts the jelly-like substance on my stomach and swirls the wand around.
“Oh my,” my mom breathes out when the baby appears on the screen and the heartbeat rings through the room. Tears well in her eyes and she looks at me in awe.
“That’s a good profile shot,” the doctor says, pointing at the screen. “Cute nose.”
I laugh around my tears—tears I didn’t know I was crying. “That’s Ben’s nose.”
“Do you still want me to write down the gender and put it in an envelope?” He asks. “Or do you want to know right now?”
“No, no, write it down,” I plead.
He nods. “Okay. I’ll give you another minute with your little one.” He chuckles as I watch the wiggling baby on the screen.
“You’re one-hundred percent sure what it is?” I ask him.
He laughs again. “Yes, Blaire. No doubts this time—and so you know, I was right then too. All right,” he says, removing the wand and wiping up the goop, “I’ll see you next time.” He slides in his chair over to the counter set up as a desk. He grabs a sticky note and pen and scribbles something across it before stuffing the paper in the envelope. He also slips the new sonograms in there. “Here you go.” He hands me the envelope. “Bye.” He stands and heads for the door.
“Bye, and thanks, Dr. Hershel.”
He smiles over his shoulder before the door closes.
“Ready?” my mom asks me.
“As I’ll ever be.”
My mom parks the car and looks over at me. I can see the worry in her eyes, but I don’t comment on it. I know she probably thinks I’m crazy for doing this. Torturing myself, really, but I have to.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell her.
“I’ll come look for you if you’re not,” she warns.
I pick up the envelope and get out of the car.
It’s a sweltering hot day in June, and while the grass is brown and brittle everywhere else, here it’s bright green and lush—clearly well taken care of.
The grass is cushiony beneath my feet, propelling me forward.
I don’t look around at my surroundings. Instead, I hold my head high and stride forward with a purpose. When I reach the grave, I sink down to my knees.
“Ben,” I breathe, touching my fingers to the cool stone. His name is engraved into the surface along with his birthday and the day of his death. Beneath that it says: Loving son and devoted husband. He never got the chance to be my husband, but Loraine had said that it wasn’t fair for that to be left out. I hadn’t cared at the time, too overcome with my grief, but now I was glad it was there. That our love wasn’t cast aside like it was unimportant.
I haven’t visited his grave until now. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. To come here felt like I had to finally face his death head-on. I guess that’s what I’m doing.
“I miss you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I miss the sound of your voice, and your laugh, and the way your eyes lit up when you saw me. I miss everything about you.” I inhale a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited. I … I couldn’t,” I admit. “But I’m here now and I have something special to share with you.” I reach for the envelope. “You probably know by now that we’re having a baby. I wanted us to find out its gender together, so I hope you’re ready.” I speak into the air and I feel a gust of wind brush my cheek. I smile and I know that it’s Ben’s way of saying he’s here and he’s ready. The envelope is still clasped in my hand so I lift it up and open the flap. I close my eyes and pull out the piece of paper. I want to prolong this moment for as long as possible. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer and open my eyes. Only, of course the side of the paper I’m looking at is blank. I turn it over and gasp, my hand flying to my lips. Tears cascade down my cheeks. “Ben,” I can barely say his name, “we’re having a little girl. We’re going to have a daughter.”
My tears fall onto the stone of his grave, disappearing into the porous material. My throat is thick with emotion. I’m going to have a daughter. A precious little girl.
“I wish you were here,” I breathe. “I miss you so much.”