Undream the Echoes

Elle
11.29.2004

I’ve known for two weeks now.

Liam and I haven’t talked very much lately. I would have thought that we would talk a lot, about, you know…death stuff. About how and where he wanted to be buried. About writing his will. About what we – what Iwas going to do once he was gone.

Oh god, just the thought of these things make me want to throw up. Buried. I have to bury my husband.

I thought we would have talked about other stuff, too. Stuff Liam likes to talk about a lot; philosophical and existential topics that I used to consider “pointless wonderings,” things about life’s purpose and heaven and hell and true happiness. Liam was always thinking about things like this. Whenever he brought it up though, I would just tell him he worries too much.

Now I’m the worrier. What am I supposed to do without Liam? What am I going to do?

But anyway, against all my initial beliefs, we haven’t spoken to each other very much at all. Our relationship revolves around gentle touches, a fiery kiss, a meaningful look, making love whenever we possibly can… These are the things that are worth more than words. So I’m okay with not talking. I’m always afraid that as soon as I open my mouth I’ll cry. I had cried when Liam told me he was dying at the same time I told him I was pregnant. I had cried,

and I cried,

and I cried.

I remember how sad and how crushed my tears made him. But I also remember the happiness in my eyes as he touched my stomach and looked at the invisible baby that will someday be a part of my life.

There are so many things going on in my head and in my heart right now. I don’t know what to do with myself; some days I feel like I’m going to explode from hurting so much, and other days I feel like I’ll implode and turn into nothing. And I am afraid. I am so, so afraid.

He is leaving me. And it’s not the same sort of leaving like when I left him after our huge fight, nor is it the sort of leaving like when he left me for war. He isn’t coming back this time. Liam is leaving and I am going to have to spend the rest of my life without him.

And the baby. Oh, the baby. What if it comes out looking just like Liam? Will my child be a constant reminder of the happiness I once had, or will it be a stab in the heart every time I look into its face? Will I be able to adore it like any mother should, or will I not be capable of loving it since it looks like my dead husband? I haven’t thought of any baby names yet. I don’t want to.

The baby’s supposed to bring some sort of hope, Liam says. He keeps repeating something about “with death, comes life,” or something like that. I don’t know. I could never understand the way he thinks, or how he can be so optimistic in such grim times. And that makes me wonder once again what I’m going to do without him. Who’s going to cheer me up? Who’s going to tell me everything will be okay? No one, that’s who. I will be alone.

“You’ll have the baby with you. You won’t be alone.” Liam always says that, too. But I’m dreading this baby. I don’t want to have it.

The doctors don’t know exactly when Liam will die, but they say it is a matter of months now. Less than a year for sure. That means there is a high chance that by the time I have this baby, Liam will be gone. As this baby’s arrival edges nearer and nearer, so does the arrival of Liam’s death. That’s why I’m so scared to give birth. I’m going to do it alone.

So I think to myself, maybe if I don’t think of names, the baby will take longer to come. Maybe it will know it’s still an unnamed thing in my stomach and it will sit around just a little bit longer. Of course I know it won’t work. I’m just trying to run away from the inevitable.

Liam has told me about the psychiatrist he’s been going to. He admitted that the psychiatrist was the first person he told his secret to, which made me outrageously jealous and angry, but those emotions quickly subsided. I know there’s no time for me to be upset. I have less than a year left with him, and I have sworn to myself to be as happy as possible. I want to drain every last ounce of joy that I can from our life together.

He tells me that his psychiatrist says it’s a good idea to write things down. “You know, as a journal, or a diary.” I tell him I haven’t had a diary since I was eight and I don’t feel like having one now. “But it will help,” he says. “You can vent about anything on your mind and not feel guilty about it. Write about your anger or your sadness or your happiness. Anything.”

Well, I finally gave in. I’m currently sitting at my desk with a blank sheet of paper in front of me and a pen in my hand. It’s not much of a diary, but it’s a start.

I try and I try and I try to write, but I can’t seem to write about my anger. Or my sadness. Or my happiness.

All I can write is one line.

Why?

Elle
01.16.2005

Liam is taking me another plane ride today. I won’t know this for another three months, but it is the last plane ride we will ever have together. He will start having chest and stomach pains in two months, and he will be checked into the hospital two weeks later, and after that…well. You know how it ends.

Anyway, back to the happy times. It’s a beautiful day out and the sky is a lovely shade of cornflower blue. A foot of fresh snow adorns the field where Liam’s airport is; luckily he had hired a few guys to plow the landing strips for him so he could fly his planes. As we walk, our breathes come out in puffs of silver, and our hands are linked together tightly enough so that my fingers keep warm. We are laughing and joking and in this moment, everything is right. We forget our worries and we are happy again, just like how we used to be, when we naively believed that everything would be okay and we had the world in front of us and our entire lives to spend together. What silly dreams.

The takeoff is just as exhilarating as it was the first time he took me on our second date. I still laugh when I think back and remember how much I hated him after our first date, when he ruined my favorite dress. And to think, if I had been materialistic enough to not forgive him over a petty thing like that, we would have never gotten married.

“Are you scared?” he asks me. He always says the same thing right before the wheels of the plane lift off the ground. And I give him the same answer I always do: “No,” I say, “this is my favorite part.” He didn’t admit this to me until years later, but Liam used to ask me this in our earlier years of dating as an excuse to hold my hand, “for reassurance,” he had explained with a blush and an airy chuckle.

Pretty soon we’re soaring in the middle of the sky and the world is a miniscule landscape beneath us. Everything looks like it’s a painter’s rendition of the land, except the artist accidentally spilled white paint over everything, coating the trees the the grass and the houses with frost.

We’re so up high now that I can’t even make out the tiny dots of cars. It’s so odd to think that the world, which can be so scary and overwhelming at times, can be escaped from so easily. Humans are the only creatures on this earth who were bold and intelligent and reckless enough to create the airplane. We weren’t born with wings, so we made them. We can dodge all of the evolutionary walls that block our way. If only fate was just as easy to evade.

“You wanna drive?” Liam asks with that familiar and infuriating smirk all over his face. He always teases me because I get so excited over flying by myself, even more so than Evie or Jane, at least according to him.

This time I decide to be stubborn and I keep my composure. “Well, I guess so,” I reply, as if piloting is some sort of a burden, and this just sends Liam into a burst of laughter, and soon I join in.

“You’re full of shit,” he laughs and I punch him, which makes him laugh harder. He then flicks the switch and presses a few buttons and voilà, I’m the new pilot.

Then the depressed side of me takes over. It happens sometimes; lately I’ll start to think about one thing, and then I’ll think about another, and then I’ll think about Liam and how he’s dying and how our baby is going to be born without him there…and a sadness chokes my heart and I can’t breathe. I forget how beautiful the world looks up here, covered in glittering snow and ice, and I now see it as a cruel, dark place with no room for mercy. I hate everything.

“What if…” I say slowly, “What if I decide to crash the plane right now?”

Liam looks horrified, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m being serious. “Um, maybe I should switch back the controls.”

But I’m already pushing in the steering wheel; the nose of the plane tips downwards.

“We won’t have to leave our lives in the hands of fate,” I go on. “We could put our lives in our own hands.”

“By being suicidal? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He’s already pressing the buttons to give himself back the control of the steering.

“Then I won’t have to live without you,” I whisper. “Our baby won’t have to live without a dad – ”

“Our baby won’t live at all!” an angry Liam yells. I shrink back. He’s taken over control again and has set the plane level. “Are you insane? What the hell are you thinking, Elle?” I haven’t seen him this furious with me in a very long time.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, pressing my face up against the window and watching a flock of geese fly by in a V-formation.

He lets out a long sigh. “Just because my life is ending, it doesn’t mean you should end yours too.”

“I wasn’t really going to do it, you know.”

He looks at me. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

“I was just letting myself wonder about things – ”

“I know. I wonder about them too sometimes. Don’t worry. I know.”

The plane is quiet for a long time.

“Elle…” he begins. “You have to promise me something, okay?”

“Maybe,” I say unsurely. Usually he makes me promise impossible things, like “Promise you won’t get mad at me, okay?” and then he admits to breaking my antique china dishes by accident or crashing his car into the garage wall or something g else like that.

“Promise me you won’t let yourself go,” he says. “I know it’s not fair that I’m dying. And I know it’s going to be hard. But you’re going to be a mother.” That word sends shivers down my spine. I’m not sure if I’m going to be ready. Not without him, at least. “And you have to live for our baby. If you ruin yourself over my death…oh god, Elle, I’m going to be so fucking mad at you.”

I just keep looking at the window and don’t say anything. I want to say, Yes, okay, I promise, but something in my heart is stopping me. Because I can’t promise something like that. Liam is my life. He is my everything. I can’t pretend I’ll be okay when he’s gone, because I know I won’t be.

Eventually he lands the plane. We get into his car and drive home. I make dinner, he goes to the gym and then takes a shower. It’s like we’re living a normal life, except we’re very aware of the fact that our days are limited. But we keep going on. We eat, we breathe, we make love, we laugh, we cry.

And, you know. We live. We just keep living.

It’s kind of dull with the oncoming pain of death living in the air, like a darkened fog has settled in over our lives. But I try to be happy. I really do. Because with death, comes life.