What Remains of Us

**Contains a death at the beginning that propels the character through her journey**

Thump-Thump…Thump-Thump-Thump…Thump-Thump…Thump…Thump…

Beeeeeeeep.

A dozen or more people rushed around the room doing a million things at once, but my eyes were focused on the monitor as the rhythmic melody of Eric’s heartbeat slowly dissipated until all that was left was a long, thunderous beeping sound through the machine. The doctor pounded on Eric’s chest with a one, two, three, four and then a nurse pushed air into his lungs through the mask. Then again with a one, two, three, four, then another squeeze of the ambu bag to push more air into his lungs. The doctor yelled for the defibrillator and shocked Eric’s body.

Nothing. Again. Nothing.

That same beep resounded, the rhythm of his heartbeat never returning. My back pressed against the wall, eyes glued to Eric’s lifeless, bloodied body as the doctor took a step back. His hands were no longer pushing down against Eric’s chest and the nurse was no longer squeezing the bag of air. The doctor had stopped trying. Stopped pushing and stopped shocking his heart.

The room had to be as loud as you see on TV, but every voice, every word, every sound echoed off the walls like they were coming from a muffled room on the other side of a door.

Like I wasn’t really there.

The doctor glanced at the clock on the wall and his chest filled with air as he said, “Time of death – 1:16 a.m. I’m sorry for your loss. If there is anything we can do for you, or anyone we can call, let us know.” Then he opened the curtain to our little corner of the emergency room and walked out to deal with the next emergency that needed his attention.

And just like that I went from a newlywed to a widow.

Six Weeks Later

Sunday, January 4

Mom: I love you Alessia. Call when you’re ready to talk

Wednesday, January 14

Mom: Alessia please call me

Thursday, January 22

Mom: Honey I’m worried about you

Sunday, February 1

Mom: You don’t come to church, you don’t come to Friday dinners, you don’t call or text

Six weeks without Eric felt like a living hell. I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t answer the phone or respond to text messages. The funeral was the last time I saw or spoke to anyone and that was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

When I said “I do” to Eric on New Years Eve, I was planning to spend the rest of my life with him. I couldn’t imagine doing this thing called life without Eric. We’d spent over half of our lives together before we decided to tie the knot, so I couldn’t even remember what the world looked like without Eric in it.

Now I was expected to continue living in it.

Without Eric to make me laugh every day, no matter what kind of mood I was in or type of day I had just endured. Without Eric to hold me every time I cried over the stupidest things imaginable. Without Eric to whisper sweet nothings in my ear every single night and kiss me soft and slow before heading off to work in the early hours every morning.

Life would never be the same.

Everyone gave their sympathies, said their sorrys, but I didn’t want their remorse. I wanted Eric back. I wanted the future I was supposed to have with him. The forever he promised me just eight hours before that drunk driver ran a red light and smashed right into the driver’s side of Eric’s Honda, all decked out in just married attire, and sent our car flying through the air.

The driver had a BAC of .15%, which was nearly double the legal drinking limit, when he collided with Eric’s driver's door, going over 60 mph. The impact flew the car across the highway and flipped it twice until we were laying upside down on the wrong side, halting traffic completely.

The scene replayed in my mind every damn moment of my waking life for the past 36 days and plagued my dreams every time I closed my eyes. It was no wonder I couldn’t function like a normal human being. I was afraid to close my eyes – afraid I’d see his bloodshot eyes next to me on the side of the road, half of his lifeless body still hanging through the broken windshield of his small Accord. Afraid of the blood dripping down his face and the collection of blood that had pooled around him beneath his limp body while the ambulance took its sweet time getting to us.

And the stench. God, the stench. Every time I opened the front door and considered leaving the house I smelled gasoline and slammed the door closed, too afraid to go any further.

Life seemed impossible without Eric. My heart felt empty. I was alone.

I was curled up on the couch, his favorite camo blanket he’d had since he was ten wrapped tight around me and my legs kicked up behind me, when my phone buzzed. I reached over to the end table beside the couch and grasped the phone, then clicked it open.

Friday, February 6

Mom: That’s it Alessia I’m coming over whether you like it or not

Before I had a chance to text her back and tell her I was fine so she wouldn’t waste the trip, Mom was using her spare key to help herself inside my house. I didn’t look up as she shut the door and stepped down into the living room. She took a seat next to me on the couch and picked up the picture on the coffee table in front of us, the one of Eric and I just after we said “I do” on New Years Eve.

Mom let out a soft chuckle as her finger traced Eric’s form and she hummed quietly to herself and said, “Oh, how I do miss you, my sweet Eric.” She sat the picture upright on the table and then turned to face me.

I stared at the picture, sliding my lower lip between my teeth. She didn’t say a word. Neither did I. What did one say in a moment like this? We hadn’t talked in weeks. Well, she had. I just hadn’t responded. I blocked the world out and, for the most part, the world had respected the space I desperately needed. Mom was clearly tired of giving me that space and as I slowly lifted my head to meet her blue eyes, I knew that she needed me to speak.

Say something. Anything, Alessia.

“You didn’t have to come all this way, Mama,” I said, my voice barely there.

“I live five minutes away, Alessia,” Mom said, taking my hand in hers. She wrapped her other arm around my shoulders and brought me into her embrace, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the top of my head. “I would have been here sooner if your father had let me.”

“I miss him so much.” I finally let the tears fall, sobbing into her shoulder.

She cooed soft words I couldn’t understand, her fingers running through my strawberry blonde hair in slow, soothing motions. After a few minutes, she said, “I know, baby. I know that you do.”

“It feels awful,” I told her. “I can’t go outside, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I’m always thinking about the accident, and when I’m not remembering the accident, I’m remembering the sound of his heartbeat when it slowly faded away at the hospital. I’m so tired. And every time I try to eat, it just makes me sick. I’m sick all the time, mom. Everything makes me sick–”

“Sick?” Mom pulled away slightly, getting my attention. I looked up to meet her eyes again, sniffling through a slow, careful nod. She let out a small sigh and her lips tipped up just slightly at the corners. “Honey, do you think maybe you could be…I don’t know, pregnant?”

My mind raced through thoughts of the past few weeks – of every time I tried to eat and something made me nauseous, or the cramping I’d been getting but no period, which I just chalked up to the stress of losing my husband just hours after getting married, and I was always tired, even when I did finally manage to sleep for hours.

“Should I go get a pregnancy test? Just to check? It never hurts to be sure,” Mom offered.

I shook my head. Not because I didn’t want to know. Not because I didn’t appreciate her offering to go buy me a test and help me get through this ordeal. I already had a test. A few of them, actually. Eric and I had been trying for a baby for a few months but we weren’t so lucky. Every time we thought there might be a baby, I got my period. I never had a chance to use the pregnancy tests we’d purchased, but I had them underneath the bathroom sink just in case.

And then he left me and I didn’t think I’d ever have to use those tests.

Mom sat with me on the bathroom floor while we waited for the timer on my phone to go off. Five minutes felt like an eternity as it ticked away, second by second. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. She held my hand, talked to me about Eric and how happy he would be if I were pregnant. We always wanted to be parents and Eric would have made the most amazing father. Me? I wasn’t so sure about the whole motherhood thing, but Eric was so adamant that we’d have the most perfect kid in the whole world that he had me excited about it.

Ding.

Mom stood and held out a hand. I accepted her help and climbed to my feet, then walked with her to the counter. I closed my eyes, hesitating to see the results. When I finally did open my eyes, I exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

Two pink lines appeared on the First Response test and pregnant displayed on the digital screen of the Clearblue one. Pregnant. I was pregnant. My heart sank into my stomach as I stared at the results for way longer than necessary. My mom placed her hand against my back and rubbed it up and down. I knew she was trying to calm me down and tell me everything would be alright, but everything did not feel like it would be alright.

I was pregnant.

And alone.

“Don’t be nervous,” Dr. Mills, Mom’s old OBGYN and now, apparently, my OB, said as she brought the ultrasound machine over to the bed.

Mom stood on one side of the bed, her hand in mine right where Eric should have been. Dad stood on the other side, his hand on my shoulder. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, a comforting maneuver he’d done for as long as I could remember. And it really did comfort me as my hand relaxed into my mom’s, easing some of the tension in my body.

With my feet up in the stirrups, Dr. Mills slid the lubricated transvaginal wand-like probe inside and suddenly an image appeared on the machine in black and white.

And there it was – a tiny little human just casually growing inside of me. A piece of me and a piece of Eric. A piece that he’d left behind in this world for me to love and cherish and protect. This baby of ours would know all about their father and the wonderful man that he was. Our baby would know how much Eric wanted him or her and every little detail that only I knew about Eric. This baby was my final, permanent link to Eric and something about that began to mend the hole Eric’s death tore into my heart.

I missed Eric so damn much, but this baby? Our baby? It was pure magic. Pure love.

It was Eric, loving me back from Heaven.

“There it is,” Dr. Mills said with a smile as she smiled at the image on the screen.

“What?” I asked.

“Your baby’s heartbeat.”

And there it was, beating strong and fast like a galloping horse rushing across a race track.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump!