An Empty Cavernous Place

A couple of days ago we unwrapped a pack of onesies and a pair of size 6 months pajamas. Last week I was doing some Christmas shopping when I saw a plush turtle that looked as though it belonged to my child; the one inside my wife's womb. I bought it and put it in a box with the rest of the stuff for the growing baby. It's all just sitting there waiting for the day we walk through the front door with the baby in my arms. We have a whole box of that stuff. Today we had our second ultrasound. Before we left to see the doctor I strapped my bike to the back of the car. From the doctor's office I was going to ride to Chris's house, then we were going to ride back to my house. Jenny would have dinner ready when we arrived. But first we were going to see how our baby was growing. We were going to see a heartbeat this time. We would see the little lima bean body. The technician turned the screen toward me. She started pointing the camara all around my wife's womb. She didn't say anything. She seemed to do this for a very long time. I began to get worried. I held Jenny's hand. She squeezed harder. I felt as though I had splashed into a deep lake. Sounds became muffled. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't see a fetus," she slowly responded. "What does that mean?" I knew damn well what it meant, but I asked anyway. She told us it meant that the womb had been growing but the baby hadn't. The cells just got together and then didn't multiply. She said it happens to nearly half of all women. She left the room. I held my wife in my arms. We had a good cry. I didn't ride bike today. Plans change. We called our parents. We had to tell them they'd never see their first grandchild on earth; in so many words. We heard them sniffle and dry tears over the phone. They're praying for us. We prayed too. We asked for some of that peace that surpasses understanding. Chris bought us dinner. God sent him over to give us some comfort. Tomorrow I'll put the box away. I'll hide it real well and hope it vanishes.