Page 80 of Elijah
Amy
aged 28
The warm spring weather had broken and the rain had pelted down for two days, thankfully though, it had finally abated with the sun shining through the clouds. It seemed pretty fitting, seeing as I was walking through the park on my way to the old chestnut tree right on the far perimeter, to lay some flowers there.
When we lost the baby, Elijah and I walked here every day for over a week, just to be able to have some time alone, away from our family and friends who were trying hard to be supportive, but not really knowing what to do or say. We eventually agreed that we would go back one last time and place some flowers there. On that last day I took a bunch of daisies with me and we agreed we wouldn’t go back until the baby’s due date, and would return every year. It was with a lot of guilt and sadness that I’d missed them while I’d been in London, but I’d always bought a small bunch of flowers and laid them in a park near to wherever I was.
As my feet padded across the damp grass, I drew in a deep breath, scared at how I was going to feel being back there. Elijah and I had been grieving for our lost child when we were last at the tree, but we’d also been stronger than ever as a couple, or so I thought. We’d clung to each other, not wanting to be apart and holding each other all night, every night.
We were aware that miscarriages happened to a lot of people, and one stupid bitch of a woman who knew my mum, who saw us in the supermarket one day, even said at eleven weeks it wasn’t even a baby yet. Elijah had had to hold me back from slapping her. I was so angry and screamed that she was a heartless bitch. Could she not see our devastation? Did she not understand it didn’t matter how far along I was, or how young we were, or how we had plenty of time to try again – we’d lost a piece of our future. Our baby was gone, with all our hopes and dreams for the family we were going to be.
Elijah held me up during those first dark weeks, we held each other up and guided each other through the myriad of emotions that hit us like a train on a daily basis. He was my rock and yet I forgot it all the night I walked in on him and Lauren; the night that a few drinks brought my world crashing down even heavier than before.
Trying not to give it anymore of my time, I walked the final steps to the tree. As I laid a palm against its rough trunk and looked up through the branches and leaves to the weak sun peeking through the clouds, I felt a small sense of peace. Neither Elijah nor I had any other affiliation to it, other than it seemed to be our beacon on every walk we took in the first few weeks after our lives were shattered. Now though, being there, I knew it was where I would always feel close to my baby. I’d always joked it was a girl and called her Pinky Boo, which Elijah hated, but we never knew. When we talked into the early hours, we decided that we couldn’t just keeping calling it the baby, but the more we talked, the more it became a little boy whom we called Dylan. A little boy who we decided would have had my amber coloured eyes, but Elijah’s dark hair and his nose, without the little bump. He would have grown up to be a gardener like his daddy, but would have been an amazing lead guitarist in a band and the girls would have loved him.
I told my dad once, about how we talked about Dylan and his life, he thought it was maudlin and not healthy, but it really helped us both and somehow eased some of the pain; for the duration of our conversations at least.
With a sigh, I bent to place the pretty primroses I’d bought from the local florist on the grass and then kissed my fingers and placed them on the trunk.
“Sleep tight,” I whispered, closing my eyes and taking in the silence.
“Hey,” a quiet voice said behind me.
Startled, I turned quickly.
“Eli.”
“You brought primroses.” He nodded toward the flowers and then held up his own. “Great minds.”
I smiled at the bunch of matching flowers in his hand, but I could tell instantly his were not shop bought.
“Your dad’s garden?” I asked.
Elijah looked down at the flowers and grinned. “Yeah. It was these or daffodils, which were probably more fitting for a name like Dylan, being Welsh.”
“I guess so,” I said around a quiet laugh. “So, you come every year?”
Elijah nodded. “I always come alone, it gives me time to think.”
“I never forgot,” I replied, feeling the need to explain. “I just went to a different park, but it was never the same.”
Elijah crouched and placed his flowers next to mine. He looked up at me and gave me a soft smile. “He’d be five today, already at school.”
“Yes, he would.”
I looked across the park, trying to swallow the ball that had formed in my throat. A few people were walking dogs and there was a man trying to teach his little girl to ride a bike down the path on the perimeter of the park. They all seemed happy and carefree, but who knew what misery was going on in their own lives.
“You not working today?” I asked Elijah, turning back to him.
“No, I always take this day off.”
His admission surprised me, I’d assumed that he would always remember, but not still visit the park or the tree. Although, if I was honest with myself, I should have known that he’d still feel it as hard. He’d been as grief-stricken as I had been. It had hit him just as hard.
“What about you?” he asked, picking up a twig from the ground.
“Claudia and I are going to see a client later this afternoon, so I thought I’d take this morning off. I think Claudia thinks I’ve got a hangover.”
Elijah laughed, discarding the twig. “You out last night?”
