It must have been a week, but I have lost count as morning rolled into nights. Meena was still in a coma. The specialists had come down. She was poked here and there; several tests were run, but Meena was not awake. She lay still, looking peaceful compared to my world, in chaos and filled with uncertainty. Would she open her eyes and be back to us like this never happened?
There were no words to explain the feelings when I saw my girls and held them in my arms. The world was alright in those few moments while I basked in their love, squeals, and so many questions. Why I did not come sooner, why I did not call and how mummy will be much happier now that I am here. Those words plummeted me back to reality. Meena was not here. I could imagine her eye roll and her vehement refusal that she missed me, even with the girls telling her.
Taking in the view of the new home Meena had made for her and the girls. It was filled with her warmth and presence even though she was not there. I could feel the sharp pain like a knife slicing into my heart as I saw their pictures around the house, a testament that she had conveniently wiped me out of their lives, and if not for the turn of events, was going to wipe away any memory of me the girls had. The realisation hurt twice as much as the pain of seeing her lying down helpless in a hospital bed. I had money, but even money couldn’t bring her back. I had not told her family or mine or our friends – I don’t know how long I could keep the situation a secret. I needed a miracle, and a quick one, too.
Most nights, with everything quiet and still, yet the silence was so loud, I was left with my thoughts. Thoughts of if she was ever going to wake up, would she slip to the beyond from the coma, could I survive without her yet at every turn I would hold on with a picture of her opening her eyes with her heart stopping smile reaching her eyes bright with mischief and her voice strong like she had never been away or we had never been apart. Death was not something we talked about. There was never a conversation about what to do if any one of us died first. It was like a taboo: if you didn’t talk about it, it would never happen. We just knew we would grow old together.
I named our boy Jayden – thankful. I wanted a name that reflected life and not what we were currently going through. Jaydeen Kamal. Same middle name as me, same initials. This was Meena’s gift to us, and we are grateful. I could not wait for her to wake up to see and hold the beautiful bundle of joy who had been added to our family. I hope she likes the name. We had a long list of names for the girls and discussed them at length, cutting it down till we arrived at our favourite option, but I had to do this alone. All I wanted was our lives to go back to what they were before the whole disaster of the alleged affair.
21stcenturybelle 