Echoes of Regret Page #3

• Drama

								


I hesitated to hand Heather over. “F*ck!” I hollered to no one in particular. I didn’t trust June; she wasn’t herself. “I’m calling Glory,” I announced as I stormed out of our room and slammed the door shut.

I made Heather a bottle to stop the unending screams, the sound echoing in my weary mind. I called work first to let them know I was running late, much to their dismay. Then I called Glory to see if she could watch Heather while I went to work.

Glory was the closest thing June had to a mother now. She was a caring woman and was happy to help. “Of course. What’s going on with June?”

I let out a long sigh of relief and exhaustion, then explained, “I honestly don’t know what is happening. She just doesn’t get out of bed. It’s like she doesn’t care about Heather, me, or anything at all.”

“Oh dear. Has she spoken with her doctor yet? It sounds a bit like the baby blues to me.”

“Baby blues? That’s like postpartum depression, right?” I questioned.

“Yes. I’ll meet you at your house this morning. I’ll take care of Heather and make sure to get June to the doctor.” Glory promised, her understanding nature brought me back to a rational state of being.

“I can’t thank you enough.” I hung up the phone and looked down at my daughter, feeling a pang of resentment towards the child for unknowingly creating a monster of my once angelic wife.

Later that day, after I returned from work, I found out the doctor believed June was suffering from postpartum depression. The doctor requested a litany of blood tests which, of course, translated to hundreds of dollars added to the thousands we owed for the birth.

The news hit hard. I  imagined June’s world—her once vibrant spirit now a shadow of its former self, overwhelmed by a cloud of depression she couldn’t seem to shake. The doctor’s words felt like a small relief, a reason behind her detachment, but it also left me with an aching sadness and animosity. I could imagine how lost and isolated June must have felt, trapped in her own mind with no way out. This didn’t curb the bitterness building in me. 

They recommended self-care and exercise to start, which left me carrying the weight of our burdens alone. I had no interest in exacerbating the situation, so I did what was needed without a word. However, I did put my full-sized punching bag up in the garage.

My inner frustration was akin to a small child walking around with a full glass of boiling water; one misstep and disaster would strike. I spent my evenings releasing all that pent-up anger on the bag. On more than one occasion, I went without my gloves, my knuckles scarring but the feeling of my flesh ripping with each swing felt euphoric during my workouts. I would catch myself during the day rolling my scabbed knuckles on my desk, the physical discomfort numbing my anxious mind.

Can one come back from such a desperate state? Where do we go from here?

Year 4

Postpartum depression turned out to be an ecliptic experience. The sunshine was hidden only temporarily before her bright light returned. The question is just how long this eclipse would affect the temperature of this once happy home.

I walked into the living room, keys clutched in one hand and my phone in the other. The clock was ticking faster than usual, and I was already running late for work. I barely noticed June sitting on the floor with Heather, who was giggling and waving a colorful toy around.

As I hurried across the room, my foot caught on something hard and unyielding. I stumbled forward, keys slipping from my grasp and my phone tumbling to the floor. Pain shot up my leg as I steadied myself, looking down to see a plastic block, one of Heather’s toys, now under my shoe.

“Dammit, June!” I snapped, my voice louder than intended. “Can you keep her toys out of the way? I don’t have time for this!”

June’s eyes widened, and she instinctively pulled Heather closer. The baby’s laughter had turned into a confused whimper. “I’m sorry, Warren,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I was just playing with her. I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem!” I interrupted, anger bubbling over. “You never think! I need to get to work, not trip over toys like a damn obstacle course.”

June looked down, her face a mix of fear and resignation. Heather started to cry, her small fists clenching in her mother’s shirt. The sound of her wailing pierced through the fog of my frustration, and for a moment, I felt a pang of regret.

I took a long breath, closing my eyes. I counted in my head. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” I felt my heart rate slowing. “Nine, ten.” I let out the breath I’d been holding.

I looked back at my shaken family, embarrassed by my lack of restraint. I knelt down next to them. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I should have watched where I was going.” I picked up Heather and kissed her, letting her know everything was okay. I kissed June’s cheek. “I really do wish you could keep her things together,” I finished before standing up to leave for work. June nodded but said nothing.

“I love you,” I said, with a tugging sadness in my heart.

“We love you!” June shouted back, hoping to convince me. As I walked out the door, I heard June, in a cutesy, high-pitched voice, as she attempted to convince Heather as well, “Don’t we? Yeah, we love Daddy.”

I jumped in my truck, glancing at the clock. I was already ten minutes late for work. “Shit, I can’t be late again. They’ve already been all over me about attendance.” Resentment welled up, thinking about all the times I had taken off to support June. My thoughts cascaded through my ever-growing list of her past offenses.

“She never cleans up after herself, let alone Heather. She knows I work hard all day, and then I have to come home and clean. She had stopped working which was fine except she spent as much money as ever. She knows we can’t afford it. Every night I come home, to a mess and every single light in the house is on. Even after I showed her how much we could save if she just turned off the lights when she left a room. I bring these things up constantly. She always swears she will try harder. Nothing ever changes.”

I pulled into the parking lot, checked myself in the mirror. “You look like hell.” I slammed my visor and jogged to the front door. I was greeted in my office by Human Resources.

“I know, I know. My morning was crazy! I’ll start setting the alarm 30 minutes earlier.” I pre-emptively struck her with a solution to my problem, praying it was enough.

“Warren, I know things have been tough at home. We do appreciate your situation.”

Bile rose from an acidic brew in my gut, high into my throat. I held back a gag. I knew what was coming.

“You’ve become unreliable. We need someone we can count on. We are letting you go today.” She said as gently as one can, considering she was taking away my livelihood.

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