Tiny pink shoes

The drive home from the hospital was quiet, I always pictured this day differently. We had so much to say but we kept the thoughts to ourselves, as if it was taboo to speak. I wanted to say something and nearly do, when I glance at her she is looking elsewhere.

So, I drive on.

Knuckles white as they grip the wheel, I watch as raindrops dance across the glass, flying away free in the wind with each push of the wipers. The steady squeak of rubber on glass has a hypnotic tone that echoes with-in the hollowness of the car.

I finally break the silence and ask. “How are you feeling?"

With out turning in my direction, she responds with a standard answer. "I'm fine."

I nod, understanding her spontaneous reply.

A few minutes later she speaks up. "How are you? Maybe we should have asked someone to drive us home."

Keeping my eyes on the damp road, I stoically reply. "I'm fine."

There is a hush tone for the remainder of the drive, which I was told later, is a good thing.

The clouds break and a streak of sun peeks through grey skies, as the rays penetrate the windows the heat rises immediately along with the humidity.

Pulling onto the driveway, in front of our home, we pause before leaving the vehicle. Our eyes meet and all that needed saying is communicated in one look. It took a while for us to gather our things and enter our home. I have never felt so overwhelmed in my life.

Hours later I find myself in the living room, surrounded by cards and flowers. Remnants from a party cut short. I ignore them all, my eyes are glued to the tiny pink shoes my wife and I purchased, with soft white ribbons for laces tied into a bow, they were perfect, or so we thought. I realize now that life doesn't always go to our plans, it sometimes follows its own direction. Either way, we are mere puppets on strings that dangle and move to the whim of a greater force.

I set the shoes down and slowly meander towards the unopened gifts waiting for excited fingers to unwrap them, knowing many will be returned, no longer necessary. My fingers, shake as I brush against the lace frills of the dresses and bonnets. There is so much to do yet I cannot find the energy to move on.

Pausing, I hear my wife's voice in the nursery, talking softly. She hasn't left the room since we returned home. I stayed with her, but eventually realized I had to move. I kissed her gently and quietly left the room. I don't know how long I stood and listened at the door, but the afternoon light had faded to a dim haze by the time I walked away. Softly I turned on the lights and wandered around the house by myself. Until I was standing alone in this room, surrounded by items that no longer mattered. We feel in control with all this modern technology, but we truly haven’t mastered control over life.

I feel a vibration in my pocket, the phone hadn't stopped ringing since we arrived home. Yet, I do not have the want to answer. I should and I will but not just yet, this time was for us.

Wandering into the kitchen I prepare a small meal, soup, and grilled cheese sandwich, I put on a pot of water for tea. We need to eat and for now this is all I can put together. I'll have to do better going forward, I know her, she will be consumed for awhile and caring for herself will not be a priority.

I glance outside as this day fades away, where did the time go? I do not wish it to end because that will mean tomorrow begins new and for us our lives will be forever changed. I thought I would be stronger, yet I find I am questioning even the simple things. 'How?' I ask myself does anyone prepare themselves for this. Already I feel like a failure, she is in there while I ramble about aimlessly, lost. All I can think about are the next few days, and how much there is to do.

I’m not prepared.

Outside, I see the willow tree, no more than a silhouette against the rising moon. The streetlights flare to life bathing the street in a dirty yellow glow. This same thing happened yesterday and the day before and will happen tomorrow. Yet, because of today, tomorrow will be different for us.

I pause when I notice a highchair sitting in the corner of our kitchen, a Victorian doll sitting in the seat stares back with vacant eyes. Her parents must have snuck in and set this up while we were ....

The kettle whistles, piercing the calm, I quickly remove it from the stovetop.

Steam rolls off the bowls of tomato soup and vanishes, my hands shake as I cut the sandwiches diagonally, the way she likes it. Taking a deep breath, I place a smile upon my lips and walk to the nursery to get her. Soft crying floats down the hallway. I open the door, a sliver of light enters the dimly lit room and like an angel, a halo forms over her sitting in a chair. For the first time today, I realize we can do this, together we will do this.

Overcome with emotion my eyes tear up as I watch her rocking back and forth, a soothing hum hovers in the air as she gazes into the shadows of an empty crib.

I have never seen her looking more beautiful than at this moment, she looks up to me and smiles while she cradles our new born son in her arms.