Page 3 of Impossible

Chapter Two

Liam

Two months later

I stand by the coffee machine, willing it to heat up faster. This last month, I have drank more coffee than I have in my lifetime. I’m not normally a big fan, but it has become an absolute necessity to get through the day. Once the fresh roast has filled my cup, I grab it and head to the couch to try to drink as much of it as I can without being interrupted. Harper is laying on her mat, watching her musical kitty sing for her as her arms and legs flail around.

Today has been two months since I lost Becca. The first week I was too focused on adjusting to fatherhood. Too sleep deprived to really accept what had happened. Week two was a dark time for me. I spent the entire week fighting off company and yelling at anyone who tried to help me. It was easier to lock out the world and try to live in a bubble, where no one asked mehow I was doing.What am I supposed to say to that? On the outside, I’m doing fine because I have to be fine. Harperneedsme to be fine. On the inside, my world has crumbled, and I have no idea how to even begin to pick up the pieces.

The worst is when Becca’s parents visit. They try to hold Harper and maintain a happy disposition around her, but eventually the pain becomes too much. Shirley ends up crying and they have to leave. When my family is around, they run around like crazy people trying to clean my house or steal Harper from me to “give me a break.” I don’t want a break from my daughter though. Her mother was already taken from her. Why would I want space from her so soon?

My mom and sister are coming over this morning to drop off some groceries. While I appreciate the help, and enjoy company, I wish they could just sit down for a second and talk to me. Harper begins cooing on her mat just as I’m finishing up my coffee. I place the cup on the coffee table and crawl on the floor, until I’m lying on my side next to her. She just started to really be able to follow me around with her eyes this week, and she is learning how to use her vocal cords. Becca was always chattering about how you need to talk to your baby in order to promote cognitive development, so that’s what I’ve been doing.

I talk to her while I’m washing the dishes and she is in the bouncy seat on the floor right next to me. I talk to her when we are hanging out on the couch together. I talk to her when I’m changing her diaper or giving her a bath. I love the way she looks at me, like she is trying to figure me out. Harper is the only reason I haven’t completely crumbled. Becca would not have wanted that. She would be devastated if her daughter was raised around a complete bum who moped around all day.

I hear a knock on the door, before my mother and sister come parading in with bags.

“Hellooo,” my mom calls out as she walks into the kitchen.

Her and Peyton, my sister, begin unloading the groceries as I remain on the floor with Harper.

“Morning,” I shout from the family room.

“How is my little Harpie doing?” Peyton says as she comes over and gives Harper a kiss.

“She’s doing good. Just finished her bottle about an hour ago and has just been hanging out since. She could probably use a nap soon.”

“Well, you let me take care of that. I haven’t seen her in a week, that’s way too long. You can just go ahead and relax.”

There it is,I can just go ahead and relax. Sure, let me just sit here like a fool while people around me do all the work and pretend like I’m incapable or broken. I get that they want to help, but it’s a bit overboard. Peyton goes up to the nursery to try to get Harper down for a nap, while my mother is already folding clothes on the kitchen table.

“How are you doing, honey?” she asks.

“I’m good. Harper is making a lot of noises lately. It’s been fun to watch her learn these things. I can see her trying so hard to make them.”

“I can’t wait to hear them.” She continues to fold the clothes while I sit there, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing right now. “Why don’t you go ahead and shower or take a nap?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I will shower tonight when I put Harper to bed.”

When she gets the glass cleaner out and starts cleaning my windows, I almost snap at her. I run my hands through my hair, trying to control this ridiculous anger building inside of me. I notice I have more hair to grab onto then I have had in quite some time and realize I haven’t gotten a haircut since before Harper was born. Hm, maybe that’s why everybody keeps asking me if I need to take a shower. Now might be a good time to get out of the house and go get a haircut. It might be nice to have an hour to myself outside of these walls.

“Mom, would you mind if I run out to get a haircut?”

“Of course not! You get out of here; we have everything under control,” she says as she moves to the next window.

I almost trip over myself trying to get to the foyer to grab a pair of tennis shoes. Once I’m standing in the garage, I realize this is the first time I am leaving my house without Harper since she was born. I almost turn around to go back inside, but I catch myself. I have to get used to this. I can’t hide out in my house forever. I hop in my car and am driving down the road, when I decide to put some music on and roll down the windows. The song playing was one of Becca’s favorites. The memory of her in the car dancing and laughing plays in my head and my heart physically hurts. I grip the steering wheel as the memory keeps playing over and over. My palms begin to sweat, my chest hurts, and my muscles around my shoulders and neck are so tense, I feel a headache coming on. Why did someone so spirited and happy as Becca have to die so young? She provided so much joy to others, she was a light in the world. A light that was taken away from us far too soon.

I’m lost in this torment when I get to the barber shop. Luckily, when I walk in, I’m seated right away and avoid small talk with anyone while waiting. George has been cutting my hair for years. We normally have a steady stream of conversation when he cuts my hair, but today he is quiet. I’m sure he heard what happened to Becca. I can see it in the way he is looking at me. He doesn’t know what to say or how to act. Is this my new normal? People afraid to talk to me and act like everything is okay. It’s not okay, but how will I ever get back to being okay if this is how they treat me?

“How are you doing, George?” I decide to start the dialogue.

“I’m good, Liam. Are you doing alright?” he asks as he gets out his clipper and begins to trim up the sides.

“It’s been crazy. My daughter, Harper, is keeping me busy.”

“Oh, the little ones will do that. It gets easier once you start sleeping again. I...ugh...I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Thank you. It’s been hard. Right now I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

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