Standard disclaimers apply, etc., and please forgive any factual errors in the name of poetic license. Really the end of the story this time, I promise. More of an epilogue, I suppose. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! -abby
"Breathe, baby. Breathe," I coach gently. I helpfully demonstrate by pulling a deep breath in through my nose.
She glares angrily at me. "Shut up," she hisses through clenched teeth.
For once I make the smart decision. I shut up.
It isn't easy, though. I hate seeing her like this. I want to be able to fix it, to make all the hurt go away. But there's only one thing that will make this pain disappear, and there's little I can do to speed it along.
So I grab her hand and give her something to cling to. She takes full advantage, squeezing desperately.
She's clearly a lot stronger than I gave her credit for. The pressure on my fingers isn't exactly comfortable, but I grit my teeth and say nothing. Any pain she's causing me is a mere fraction of what she's feeling, I have no doubt about that. And if it helps her cope then I can deal.
We stay like that for a while. She is gasping and moaning at regular intervals, and all I can do is just hang on for the ride.
"Oh god!" She exclaims out of nowhere. Her eyes open wide and she looks up at me. "Oh god, it's time! Now!"
The room instantly becomes chaotic, suddenly filled with nurses and medical staff. Everything happens so quickly I can hardly tell what's going on. She looks scared, though, so I bend down and gently kiss her forehead. "I love you, babe. You can do this."
She doesn't respond, as all of her energy is currently focused on following the doctor's gentle instructions. I watch helplessly, my throbbing hand still clutched tightly in hers, as she gives it everything she's got.
To my great surprise, it doesn't take long. A couple of minutes and then it's all over as quickly as it began. The room is no longer filled with her cries of agony. Instead, it is filled with a new cry. It's a completely foreign sound. I mean, of course I've heard similar cries before. I just never expected them to have anything to do with me.
But a lot of things have changed over the past four years. Stuff happens, best laid plans get shot right to hell, and sometimes you end up in a place you never predicted at all.
Life is funny like that.
I watch, enthralled, as the nurses do their jobs. The painful pressure on my hand releases as she lets go, equally fascinated. Neither of us says a word. Happy tears stream down her cheeks and I'm hardly breathing by the time the nurse turns to face us.
"Here you go, Mom," the woman says with a smile, passing the tiny bundle into waiting arms.
I can't believe this. She's a mom. And that makes me a…
Holy crap.
I must look as stunned as I feel, because suddenly the nurses shift their attention to me. "Whoa, easy there Dad."
Who? Oh, right.
They keep talking as they pull up a chair. "Sit down before you pass out, hon." "Come on, Dad, stay with us." "Breathe, baby. Breathe."
That last voice I recognize. The sarcasm isn't lost on me and I look over to see her grinning wickedly, our baby cuddled in her arms.
Our baby. Wow. Just…wow.
"I'm okay," I say with a smile. And I am. Better than okay, in fact, once I do finally manage to start breathing again.
"Do you want to hold him?" She watches me carefully, eyebrows lifted.
I nod emphatically. Of course I do. But I still feel a little shaky, so I stay seated as one of the nurses makes the transfer.
Then I'm holding my son and it's unlike anything I could have imagined. It's surreal. Terrifying and overwhelming and unbelievably awesome. I stare down into the little face as he sleeps, studying his nose, his lips, his eyelashes. He's perfect. And he's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen.
Dark blue eyes open, and he's looking at me. I whisper to him softly.
"Hey, buddy. I'm your dad." The little guy looks incredulous, crazy as that seems. He's only a few minutes old, after all! But I don't blame him. I mean, come on. What kind of a dad am I going to be? I have no idea. I look over at his mother for reassurance, but she has dozed off. And now I realize that the nurses are gone. It seems I'm alone, just me and the kid.
Um. Help?
I keep talking quietly.
"There's someone I wish you could meet, buddy. Today's his birthday too." I smile sadly. "I could never seem to remember it when he was alive. Used to drive him absolutely crazy." I haven't forgotten once since he died. I visit his grave often, and always, always on his birthday. I didn't make it today…but somehow I think he'll understand.
The baby snuffles a little and I feel myself beginning to panic. What if he starts to cry? What do I do? I resume talking, hoping desperately to keep him content.
"He'd be here now," I continue, allowing myself to wallow in grief. I don't do that very much anymore – it's been years, after all. But in quiet moments his absence is still almost physically painful. "He'd be pacing in the hallway, a total nervous wreck until he got to meet you. And until he knew that your mom was okay too." Another smile drifts across my face. "He'd be the greatest uncle. God, I'm so sorry you're going to miss out on that, little guy."
It's not fair.
The snuffling continues and begins to escalate. Uh oh. You're supposed to rock babies, right? Or walk them around? I decide to try that and stand, pacing the floor while gently bouncing him in my arms. To my great surprise he quiets almost immediately.
So I keep going. I tell him all about the best friend anyone could ever have, the uncle he'll unfortunately never get to meet. I'm so lost in his perfect little face that I don't even notice that she's gotten out of bed, not until her arms are wrapped around me.
I'm instantly worried. "Should you be up?" He tenses in reaction to my tone so I lower to a whisper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she assures me with a tolerant smile. "I needed to be with my two favorite men in the world."
"He's incredible," I say, still in complete awe of what we've created.
"He is," she agrees. We stare for a moment, just watching him sleep. It feels so right; our baby snug in my arms, my beautiful wife's enveloping us both.
Suddenly I realize that now she is staring at me instead.
"What?" I ask, concerned that something is wrong.
She smiles beatifically. "You were so nervous, but you're a natural." She kisses me warmly and caresses the baby's head. "Look at him. Happy as can be. You're going to be a great dad."
I chuckle and give her a peck on the nose. "I hope so." We resume gazing at the tiny person in my arms and I promise him softly, "I'll do my best."
The moment is interrupted as a nurse enters. She's pushing a bassinet and pauses in the doorway to smile at us. "What a lovely family," she declares cheerfully. "Have you decided on a name for your son?"
Jules looks at me questioningly, piercing blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. I nod slowly, and her response to the nurse is quiet. "His name is Shawn Henry Spencer, Jr."
Now choking back my own tears, all I can manage is a whisper as I pick up where she left off. "But we're going to call him Gus."