The second slap came soon after. I met my mother on my way out of the room, heading to the reception so I could ask someone where my sister’s body was being kept.
Her words had been a bucket of icy water poured over my head. “I wish I could stop you from seeing her.”
Those words had crippled me, broken me to pieces, and made it impossible to draw any breath into my strangled lungs. Why? Why so much hate when I was so in need of a loving touch? Why couldn’t she see past the gender I could fall in love with?
I never learn. I always hope.
I walked past her, ignoring her presence, but her words were branded in my heart, and I was once again that boy who’d lost everything.
I kept my steps even while I walked away from my mother, glad when I found the doctor who had my sister under his care. He took the time to explain everything to me.
And as if it were yesterday, I’m back in that place…
“Your sister died of peripartum cardiomyopathy.”
I look at the doctor, trying to register the words, but my brain is a flat line. Dr Smith must know that what he said didn’t make sense to me, because his next words are actual words I can comprehend.
“It’s a rare condition that can develop during the last month of pregnancy or up to five months after delivery. Her heart weakened and led to heart failure. I’m sorry we couldn’t save her.” His voice is practical while he explains what took my sister away from me, but his eyes are full of compassion. I can’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks.
“Hum…” But nothing comes out, my throat closing up and smothering me in its grasp.
“I’m so sorry. Your sister’s body has been transferred to the hospital mortuary,” he says before excusing himself and walking away, already focused on another patient.
I walk to the reception, asking for directions to the private room my sister has been moved to. I don’t rush there because once I enter that room all this will be real. Once I’m there I stop, afraid to see with my own eyes the cold and lifeless body of my sister.
I take a step back when panic rises in me like a tide, my chest tightens, and my heartbeat drums loud enough to silence my thoughts. But what if entering the room will wake me from the nightmare? I take a step forward and extend a hand to open the door, but unstoppable tremors make it impossible. I finally reach for the knob and open the door, and there she is. My world shakes, and I’m standing at the edge of a cliff unable to stop myself from falling. My nerves are crawling beneath my skin as if they’re eating me from the inside.
I drag my hands down my face, hoping it’ll help to wake me back to a reality where Halia is still alive. To a reality where I’ll be in my room getting ready to ink my next client. Instead, my palms come away wet from tears, and there’s no liberation but only hopes that fall and die. My sister is there, beautiful as ever, but her face is void of all emotion and she’s as cold as stone.
The sound of my heart shattering, like glass on a floor, reverberates inside me.
I’ll never be the same again.
“Wait here. I don’t want you inside my house.” Her spiteful tone brings me back to the present.
I don’t reply, but I stay put. My only focus is getting Arianna and then forgetting they ever existed.
My mother appears with a bundle of blankets in her arms, and until Arianna coos I believe she’s handing me baby stuff. “There she is,” she says, placing her in my arms while making sure she doesn’t touch me.
I look down at the baby in my arms, and I have to fight my tears when two huge eyes, so similar to my sister’s, peek out from in between the bedclothes.
“Hi,” I say to her, and she smiles at me. No one can convince me, she didn’t do it. That trusty smile reminds me of the first time I held my sister, the day my mother returned from the hospital. I was as scared as I am now. Scared of dropping her, scared of hurting her, and scared of the emotions spreading like ivy inside me.
I knew then as I know now that those feelings never go away.
Arianna puts her fist inside her mouth and closes her eyes. There’s something beautiful in the trust babies have. It’s emotional, unconditional, tied to love and safety. It’s given freely. They don’t care about who you love, they only care about being fed, protected, and comforted.
“You have her, now go,” she says, moving back inside. “Don’t forget we have visitation rights,” she reminds me, before she begins to close the door.
My attention goes to my parents. “Where is her stuff?”
“There is nothing you’ll have from us.”
“What do you mean?” Stay calm. I repeat the mantra inside my head. Stay calm… over and over again, because I don’t want to lose my shit, not when Arianna can witness it.
“Everything was paid for with our money. So there’s nothing for you here.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Arianna, your daughter’s daughter.” The words come out all gruff through gritted teeth.
