Jessica Claire

Honestly, I look forward to having multiple days when I do not feel the need to write. When I do write, it is because the thoughts and emotions are too much to contain.

This morning started off like any other Wednesday (my Saturday). However, without the sound of a television or radio, I felt the beginnings of a panic attack and had no clue what triggered it. I attempted an exercise my therapist gave me to help bring these hidden emotions to the surface, but no luck.

On Wednesdays, I often meet a friend for lunch. On my way there and home, two songs erupted my emotional reservoir.

Smokey Mountain Rain by Ronnie Millsap

Ronnie Millsap is the musical hero of the main character of my manuscript, He Calls Me Daughter, which I have not touched in well over a year – since I went back to school. The song, I Wouldn’t Have Missed It For The World is actually an integral part of the theme. I often refer to this novel as the book of what should have been and what could have been. It flips the script of my cancer journey and marriage.

My first thought is – maybe it’s time to pick it back up again, even if I only manage to get to one paragraph a day.

Then, thinking about the main male character, I thought again of Brad and the pink polo shirt – and my little girl. (pink polo shirt blog entry)

Maybe both my visions came true after all?

I cannot stop thinking of my (our) little girl. Now, I imagine her in heaven holding hands with her daddy. Maybe she was the one to welcome him home. What a surprise that would have been for him. I never told him about her.

Before the writing of this blog, only a handful of people ever knew about her – and no one but me knew anything before this past year. And before that incident at the hospital, I never allowed myself to consider what my heart believed to be true.

Back around the holidays, I had my first experience as a hospital chaplain with a stillborn birth. It was a beautiful moment to help this young couple say goodbye. The nurse and I encouraged the young mom to hold her son and I touched him as I blessed him.

Afterwards, something dormant in me snapped. It brought me back to a restroom years ago and the bloody glob in the toilet. The image haunted me until I pulled a few friends aside and shared with them. Then, I shared with my therapist.

I remember staring at that strange bloody glob and wondering . . . I thought about taking it out of the toilet and burying it, but immediately told myself that was a silly idea. After all, I had no way of knowing for sure. Besides, I was on the pill. But the pill is never 100% - hence, the bloody blob. Anyway, even if . . . well . . . it had no chance at life. I flushed and never told Brad. Soon, I forgot all about it.

But as I told my therapist, I think my heart always wondered. When I was 15, I saw a video of abortions at different stages. My bloody blob looked eerily similar to the bloody blob in the first trimester. This was not the last time this happened, but this was the one I remember vividly.

At the time, my therapist and I were working on my head/heart discrepancies – and she reminded me how I was well versed in allowing my head to have all the control back then. Of course I would rationalize it away. However, if there was nothing to it, I would not be haunted by these memories now.

Jessica Claire – that’s what her name would have been. I knew it would have been a girl. Growing up, I wanted boys and my sister wanted girls. The family joked that, for that very reason, she would have boys and I would have girls. She has two boys.

Once, my grandpa, Clarence, remarked that none of his grandkids would name a child after him. That got me to thinking. I would – sort of – after both my grandpas – Jesse and Clarence – Jessica Claire.

Had Jessica Claire lived, she would be around 12-15 years old now. 

I forgot about it again until Brad died and I started thinking about the pink polo shirt. Now, I have this vision of Brad and our daughter holding hands in heaven. I imagine that when he first died, she was there. “Hello, Daddy.” What a beautiful surprise that would have been.

It’s funny. When I think of that pink polo shirt vision – of Brad holding hands with a little girl, I am not there. I always assumed I was. I also assumed the girl was adopted. But maybe not. Maybe the girl in my vision was our girl. Maybe they are together now. Both very happy and whole.

That vision makes my heart happy – still, it brings tears to my eyes.

Harden My Heart by Quarterflash

That is what I used to do. That’s what part of me wishes I could still do. However, after Brad and I separated, I vowed to do just the opposite in order to heal.  This thought reminded me of a book idea I once had, but could never work out.

I was going to be called I Miss My Rose Colored Glasses. It was going to be about a woman whose husband dies and she goes insane – functional insanity. Her marriage was so idyllic that when he dies, she copes by imagining that he is still alive and that he turns into this horrible, abusive person. Creating this fantasy is the only way she can cope with the idea of leaving him - or rather, of letting him go.

My marriage to Brad was not all terrible, but it was certainly not idyllic either. Now, after his death, my thoughts of him are a bit idyllic. I can see how easy it could be to fall victim of the mind and lose all touch with reality in order to cope.

Maybe after I get through this trauma, I can revisit this book idea, too.