Read Online And Life Comes Back: A Wife's Story of Love, Loss, and Hope Reclaimed by Tricia Lott Williford - Free Book Online

remind me of?” I asked her. “When Robb and I took our childbirth classes, I remember the nurse saying to all the men in the room, ‘Gentlemen, listen to me. If there is someone your wife does not wish to have in that labor and delivery room, that person is not welcome. And it is not your job to guard the door. Your top priority is your wife. Keep your focus on the woman in labor. If there is someone whom she doesn’t wish to include—be it her mother, your mother, her sister, your sister—tell the nurse. She’ll keep them out. Labor and delivery nurses are bulldogs with lipstick. We look demure and put together, but nothing gets by us.’
    “You’re like her,” I continued. “You’re like the labor and delivery nurse of this journey. You’ve been down this road with others before, and although it’s different for everyone, you know what to expect. You know the encouragement, meds, and coaching I’ll need, and you’re willing to stand between me and anything that could distract me from the task at hand.”
    She smiled her grin that is gentle, soft, gleaming, confident. “I absolutely am. This bulldog will even wear lip gloss. I’ll keep it light and shiny, if we need to. Tricia, have you seen
Apollo 13
?”
    “I have. It’s one of my favorites.”
    “When they’re trying to get back to Earth, the NASA specialists on land know that those guys need to save all the energy they can in order to get home. They guide the astronauts on board to unplug everything that requires electricity, so they are even sitting in the dark. They unplug anything that drains the spacecraft at all, anything that takes away from the goal: getting them home safely. You have a close team of people around you, and we’re your specialists. You need to listen to us. You have to unplug from anything that drains you. We have to get you home safely. And we will. We’ll get you home safely.”
    I am wordless, swept away by the long-lost ideas of home and safety.
    “Tricia, tell me who you were before December 23. What was true of you?”
    I thought for a bit. Tears came faster than words. “I was productive. I made lists, and I crossed things off. I was on the go. I didn’t call myself a stay-at-home mom; I was a stay-in-the-van mom. I loved an adventure. I was ready. I was an encourager. I was confident. I was brave.”
    Jana listened. She noted my list. “You will be all those things again, Tricia. You will. That girl is in there. She’s just hiding for a while. You’ll be that girl again.”
    When I got home, I blasted Pink through the speakers, rattling the picture frames. I danced all over my living room. I leaped andjumped, twirled and spun, and I sang until my throat felt raw. I danced the speakers off the walls—literally. The vibrations shifted the speakers off the small shelf Robb had built above the TV, and they were dangling by their cords. For the first time I was thankful Robb wasn’t here. I didn’t have to explain this impromptu dance party and damage to our home, all in the name of raging joyfully against sadness.

    We were a coffee-shop couple. We spent our Friday nights at the same coffee shop in a pleasant, predictable rut. A smoothie, a mocha, and a deck of cards. I decided to come back on my own. I have taken myself on a date. My first Friday night here without him. Memories dance before my eyes like a movie reel.
    On Saturday nights the coffee environment was enhanced by a live jazz trio, one of my favorite experiences. The atmosphere entranced me. One evening I leaned over to Robb and said, “Oh, this place. I love it. I could stay here for hours. It makes me want to sit in a chair and read, read, read, and then write for just as long. I love it.”
    He smiled, listening to my description. I was ready for a response so charming and endearing, to show me how much he loved his wife and all the things she loved. Instead, he leaned in close and whispered tenderly, “And I would rather have my fingernails