Finding the Cure of Mourning the Loss of a Loved One

May 26th, 2012

No two people grieve the same, I think. It's been a few months now since our loss. Every time I think I am getting better, I fail. I just need a cure.

I still wonder if this is how it is with everyone who mourns. The ups and downs of feeling good about yourself. You can go a week or so and feel your pulling through the darkness, and then fall right on your ass, twisting your body and laying flat on your damn face. It's grueling. You feel like you're living in an enduring black hole. The good weeks feel like a tease. An appetizer before the sorrow is served.

I'm going through the motions of life day in and day out, but the only difference is that my daily routine is not my choosing. It is my necessity. No matter how I feel, my boys need me. Some mornings, I wake up to a vibration in my head, rattling the oxygen right out of my brain, cutting off my blood supply, and a lightheadedness kicks in. Even though I feel lightheaded, my head bobbles around like the world's weight is shifting from right to left and then back again inside it. But I ignore it. I use the surrounding furniture to hold myself up as the dizziness tries to take me down. It must be the heartache I feel daily when I look at my boys.

I imagine she is on a long vacation to cope with the heartache. I say, "Well if she was in prison, she couldn't see the boys." But even prison would be wishful thinking. The ironic thing is I am the one in prison. I'm trapped in this labyrinth, unable to choose the right path to follow to make my escape from the deep corridors inside myself. I'm in solitary confinement, a box, attempting to break out.

The need to heal is imperative, and I know I have to try, but It feels as if I am an addict of some kind, an addict of self-pity. If you talk to any junkie or alcoholic in their great moment of clarity, they will tell you to your face, "I need to stop this shit; I need to get better. I am tired of living this way." But those moments give way to their demons, and the habits they formed are now ingrained in the fibers of their bodies. Their habits eventually return to them with a vengeance. It causes them to relapse into total destruction of their heart, body, and mind. My self-pity hasn't reached those levels.

I'm not even close to being a junkie. I have never even tried a drug. Not even marijuana. Not to say I am the Sandra Dee of society. The reality is the only time I came close to even smoking was with a hot blonde who was the classic, 5 foot 7 inch, blue eyes, and one-hundred and fifteen pounds. I was sixteen at the time. Her mom called to her from the front porch to their house as we walked in her cow pasture to come home the moment we were going to light it up.

My drug is ingrained into a larger organism besides my body. The roots extend beyond my fibers, beyond me, and intertwine into my children. Grief is my drug, like the largest organism on the planet, the Aspen tree. But it goes beyond land into the oceans, stretching like the great barrier reef. My grief is real; it's alive. If there was a way I could attach myself to another large organism like the Blue Whale as it passes by to get the grief process flowing and out of my body, I would. Those are the moments I long for.

Yet, I always allow those moments to pass me by.

Moments are presented to us all the time. Most of us will seize them. Other times, you are forced into situations that don't define you. You're not special for it; you must do it to survive. You can try to hide from the issue at hand, but the moment you peer out from under your covers, you'll see it staring back at you. It wasn't looking for you. It was there the whole time.

Reflecting on what has transpired over the months. I can directly see how it has affected me and my ability to cope. The strength in me has been challenged beyond anything that I can fathom. Life isn't easy, and mine has never been, but I am trying to work through this now. Like any reasonable person would. But reflection causes overwhelming pain. A pain that I wish would disappear with a reappearance of the soul that went to heaven, but knowing full well that is something that will never be. The pain of that reality unearths many more emotions.

I feel shocked.

The shock still hasn't gone away. Everything I have ever known and everything we built together is still here. Not just the children but her things. Her signatures. Mail in her name. Dirty laundry with her essence still on it. Body soap. The list goes on and on. How can this be? This can't be real. It isn't the denial of it; it's real and occurring. But how the fuck did this happen.

I am bewildered.

Is this really happening to me? Me? How the hell can this be happening to me. I am a good person. I haven't received any good fortune that would warrant payback. No deals with the devil were ever made. I have searched for anything I have done, but nothing seems that bad in my life to allow this to happen.

I feel regret.

Not saying the things I wanted to say. I should have expressed myself more. I long to say I love you. I thought deep down that I did the proper things as a husband, but then, there are things I did that make us all human. The bad overshadows all the good. I can not see one damn thing, one once, of sound that I provided, yet I know it's there. The bad blocks it out, pounding on you relentlessly, blaming you for the loss.

I have anger.

What the hell is going on. I mean, really. WHAT THE FUCK, IS GOING ON WITH ALL THIS. My kids don't deserve it. They are the victims of what is going on. I have to put on a smile every day and pretend that everything is all right when it clearly isn't. Does that make me the father of the year? Hell no. It makes me a parent shielding my kids from the reality of life, and it pisses me off that I have to do that now.

I feel sorry for myself.

It isn't fair that I have to do this alone, alone in the sense that my partner is not here to help me raise these kids, and my immediate family has undoubtedly left me high and dry. And her family left me high and dry. I can receive all the help in the world from whoever the hell wants to help me do it, but it doesn't make up for the fact that, in the end, I am alone in this. My kids are alone in this. They are one accident away from being an orphan.

And Selfish.

What about my hopes and dreams? My plans, they are gone. Cast aside like trash. The things I really wanted to do will never come to fruition.

This whole situation is taking a heavy toll on me. It is an organism that reaches out and affects so many other people. I am on the front line, so it is impossible to see who it is affecting behind me when I am trying to save my own ass and focus on only what's in front of me.

But I am not naive, and I understand others are hurting for me, for themselves. People must realize that I am in the ring alone in this fight. I know what I have to do. I am grieving in my own way. I just need to find the cure for what ails me.

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1372 words

© Copyright 202- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

There's Always Time: Be Positive, Part III

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May 25th, 2012

I decided to tell this story because it was a pivotal loss we had between losing the twins and the birth of our oldest son, Nico. It was a trying time for her and I. That stretch of time tested everything our relationship was about and everything it was going to be. We were desperate to heal ourselves and try to replace the loss we suffered on that terrible October morning in 2006 when we suffered a double loss of twins the morning we were scheduled to give birth. Mimie was very strong but strength can only last so long. 

There's Always Time: Be Positive

Part III

                                                                                        

I can't tell you why I wanted kids so badly; I'm not a psychologist. Maybe it's because my parents were divorced when I was two. I remember, as a child, finding out how babies were made...

Boys will be boys, and the subject of sex came up. When my cousin asked me if I knew where babies came from, I was about ten years old. I really wasn't sure, so I lied.

Our cousins were visiting from Baltimore. An extended family of my dad's mother, Margaret. Even as a kid, I remember their parents being pompous assholes.

The modest house we had needed to be better. Our family car needs to be more fancy. None of it seemed to matter to them. They would later pull their kids out of our bedroom one night when they slept over because my brothers and I were talking to them, distracting them from their sleep.

Before that happened, I was told the news that would keep me up all night for much of my pre-pubescent years.

"Well, yeah, babies come from our mommies." In my innocent ten-year-old tone.

"Yeah, but do you know how they come from our mommies?" My instigating cousin said with a hiss to his voice. "No, not really," I said.

He would go on in heavy detail about the birds and the bees. Only in his version his birds and bees came with vaginas and penises. I would worry all night for years about having sex to make babies. I remember thinking, "Maybe my wife will just come home pregnant one day."

I tried to convince Mimie that the problem wasn't our inability to have kids. My father made four babies with my mom in six years. They married right out of high school. My mom was eighteen years old. And my dad, twenty-one. Their marriage would last all of seven years until breaking up the family. I never knew I had to be so young.

This must be the need that feeds my yearning for a family. I never made any secrets about my desire to have kids, and Mimie never questioned it.

Mimie's parents met overseas, where one of her sisters was born. When her father returned home with his new family, they had three more kids, all girls, four total. Her parents would remain together for over thirty years. Again, procreation isn't the issue. At least not biologically.

I arrive home from Walgreens after my second trip.

I park in the driveway, but my walk is less fluid than when I got home earlier in the evening. The energy has been sucked right out of me, us. Whereas earlier, there was a spring to my step, I walked with a heavy gate this time. I didn't feel light on my feet at all. I had rubber sandals on, yet they could have been led weights tied to my ankles. I sulked as I walked. I had the digital tester gripped tightly in my hand.

I opened the front door to the house, which seemed like a horror. We were putting way too much pressure on ourselves. I didn't bother to shout Mimie's name; I knew where I would find her this time. I walk through the living room and accidentally kick the plastic Walgreens bag I previously discarded in my rush to get Mimie the tester. It was resting at the foot of the hallway. The plastic handles got hung up on my sandals, and the bag followed me down the hallway, where I had once left it for dead in my earlier climactic trot.

When I entered the room, Mimie was lying in bed. She was under the covers with a book in her hand. The other pregnancy box lay on the bed beside her, looking like a casualty of a hit-and-run. The box was torn, and its wrappers were strewn about the bed. Like its insides had been ripped out.

"Okay, got it," I said, looking at Mimie as she hid behind her book.

She tilted the book down and made eye contact with me, "the digital one?" she asked.

"Yes, it looks so simple," trying to make light of our situation.

Mimie drags herself out of the bed. I extend my right hand and give her the box as she walks into the bathroom. I felt so tired. This time, I would lay in bed and wait until the final results were ready. From where I was lying, I could listen to the play-by-play of Mimie starting the test process. We've been here more than a few times.

1. I can tell the cardboard top is heavily glued on since the digital pregnancy test is pretty expensive. I can hear Mimie's struggle with the top of the box as she attempts to dig her nails into the little overlapping edge. She was unsuccessful several times before one of her nails dug deep enough to push the finger inside the container.

2. My acute hearing is aware that she could pull back the flap and rip the top open like a can.

3. My ears pick up the sound of her digging inside the box and finally obtaining her prize as if the box were a Cracker Jack snack. I can hear the tearing of the plastic bag containing the tester. The metal clanking sound is the sound of her pressing the trash can foot pedal and discarding the refuse inside the base of it. "Clank." The lid just closed.

4. I recognize the banging sound of the toilet seat lid smacking against the porcelain tank.

With the flush of the toilet, I know she's done. I get up out of bed and walk to the bathroom. She's standing in the doorway with her back to me, reading the box. I peek over her right shoulder and whisper "Boo" in her ear.

She doesn't flinch, "I heard you coming a mile away," she says, a smile breaking out on her face.

"What's the thing doing" as I look at the tester resting on the counter.

Mimie picks it up and examines it. She brings it to her eye level, which is high enough for me to see at her height of 5 feet 4 inches, so I can easily see the display.

The pregnancy tester is the same size as an average tester, only this has a grey screen installed halfway in the middle. While we wait for the results of her urine analysis, a little icon is displayed on the screen. It looks like a sundial. The black circular icon stands out in the grey background. Little digital hash marks appear to be spinning in a circular motion rapidly.

"So what did the instructions say? When will we know." I ask Mimie as we both stare at the spinning icon.

"I'm not sure. The main box says one minute. It will just tell us if we are pregnant, I suppose." Mimie's eyes are fixated on the screen.

As we both stare down at it, without our warning hesitation, the word "PREGNANT" appears.

It was like magic out of thin air. Mimie and I froze for a second. As if we were in shock. We realized it was confirmed after a second of the word soaking in. She was pregnant. We both jumped for joy.

Mimie turned her body around to face me. We embraced each other, and I gave her a kiss. We were so happy. There was success, and for a brief moment, the thought of our girls was placed on the side of our misery. Nothing was going to ruin this moment, this second in time. Not now, no way, no how. No matter what happened from this point on, we were indeed in a state of bliss.

We were lying in bed, basking in the glow of the realization that she was pregnant. We thought we'd do our best not to tell anyone because of the ordeal we went through just recently.

Playing it safe was the best option. That night, I knew Mimie was truly happy. A feeling of relief that things may be okay, that she was fertile enough to have a baby. She had hoped her nightmare was ending.

I never doubted the fact she could have kids. I felt we were just experiencing bad luck. Although I was hurting down deep for her, I always tried to make the best of things.

"Mimie," I said, "Enjoy the moment. It doesn't matter what happens. Just bask in it tonight."

That night was the last peace we would have in quite a while.

1,435 words

Click here for Part IV » Mimie Speaks

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© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

"A Pirates Life for Me", Walt Disney Pirates of the Carribean Ride Part II

May 24th, 2012

Starting Disney with our march to The Pirates of the Caribbean has been our tradition. Our tradition because we went there the first last time we were here a few weeks ago, and we are doing it today, first again, so it's going to be our tradition.

Mimie and I love The Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The atmosphere seems so natural. It truly is a magical ride that takes you back to a place in time and discovers a world other than the current one you are in, even if it is fantasy.

As you pass the squealing kids and heavy chatter from the hordes of people standing around Adventure Land. The music you recognize from the movies begins to reach your ears.

Violins and chellos being played at a rapid succession. The woodwind family joins in as the flutes, piccolos, and oboes intermingle with the string quartet. A ting of a triangle is played like the baseline.

It's fast and choppy, but it excites the inner kid in you because it indicates that the adventure is about to begin.

The boys and I arrive at the large mast, but there is no ship, just remnants of what is left from a shipwreck. The mast jettisons upward into the sky, where it marks the ride with an X, as in "X marks the spot." if you're using a map, that indicates you found the ride.

Attached to the mast is a tattered sail that you'd find on a sailing ship. Written in letters in the color of a sunset over the canvas material is the name "Pirates of the Caribbean." Placed on top of the mast is a crow's nest with a skeleton figure perched inside of it who's on the lookout, utilizing his spyglass, as he looks for guests daring to climb aboard.

The excitement rolls over us. The music is louder but slows down and dragged out.

The string quartet drags their bows across the strands closest to the bridge. You can envision the violinists working their fingers across the fingerboard as they hold the neck. The horn section joins in as the French horns interact with the strings, creating more music for your ears and the cymbals grabbing your attention.

The boys and I enter the yellowish-colored building built with Spanish architectural design. Above our heads were heavy lanterns attached to wood beams holding up the Spanish tile barreled roof. We passed through the smaller archways into a larger area, where dark grey, differently shaped tile flooring led us toward the grand entrance.

On either side of us were enormous, grandiose archways. The columns have a four-sided molding at their base that stretches up to about waist level, where it rounds into the rest of the columns and marries the wall. The wall then extends up, giving way to the arch, where it reaches the peak of the rounded edge and becomes a solid wall that proceeds upward until it becomes one with the ceiling. The edges are boxed out with decorated crown molding. Larger timberlands spread across the ceiling with heavier lanterns attached to them. As we walked the corridor, the music continued, bouncing off the walls and creating an echo that gave a surround sound music experience.

A snare drum sounds while the horns tune, lowering an octave, and more drums join as the string quartet gets louder. The trombone and trumpets play as the cymbals crash the glockenspiel thumps.

We walk towards the large wood doors with decorative steal black hinges across the planks. Thick bolts fasten the hinges in place. Above the entrance is a painted banner that reads, "Yo ho, Yo ho, A Pirate's Life For Me." I glance at it as we walk through the doors.

The violins play more vigorously. The horns interject and blare over the strings, but it sounds in perfect harmony. The drums, cymbals, and horns make a steady "dum, dum, dum dum" that allows you to picture Jack marching through the jungle or fighting in an epic sword fight.

The music sets the mood and prepares you for the adventure as if Jack Sparrow himself will come out to greet you.

Once we get inside, the lighting is low. Nico turns to me and wants me to carry him because he is frightened. I already have Christopher in my arms, so I lift Nico up in my other arm, and we walk down the winding hallways to our waiting boat.

The concrete walls have openings as you descend the old path, like picture windows. There are iron bars mounted inside like you'd find in a jail. As you peer through the bars, you will see skeleton remains that appear to have been trapped inside for an eternity.

The music plays, and the echo is louder as the music travels in a straight and enters your soul like a thunderous punch to the chest.

The music tempo picks up. All the instruments playing together. It's fast and deliberate, with fast beginnings and sharp ends. The cymbals crash harder and louder than the other instruments. The string section gets more intense as it plays a solo to the other brass and percussion instruments. Then, the horn sections join in.

The boys and I reach our boat. It feels like you're on a dock waiting for departure. The air is cool. You can feel and smell the moisture in the air. It smells like fresh rain. We get our spot in the front, with the three of us together, but we miss the important fourth one, Mimie.

The boat travels along the makeshift cave, but you can't tell between what's real and what's not. From above, rock icicles or stalactites are pointing down at us.

The boys are mesmerized as we approach an image shown on a smokey fog directly before our boat. It's Black Beard (they no longer do this feature), and he's warning us before we enter.

We pass through the smoke and hear a voice repeatedly saying, "Dead men tell no tales." 

It can be scary for children the age of my kids. Christopher turns to me and buries his face into my shoulder.

We pass skeletons on a makeshift beach to our left. A clothed skeleton lays there with a sword through his oney rib cage chest. A crab stands close by, looking at us as we pass by. When we move past the beach, coming up to our right is a skeleton at the helm of his shipwrecked boat. It's beached, but he's still holding onto the wheel as the rain comes down hard. The wind is howling, and the thunder is shaking the boat. Lighting flashes illuminate the surrounding area, but the ship quickly moves into darkness. The boat slides down an unsuspecting waterfall.

We end up in the middle of a battle. Barbossa is taking on a Fort.

The boys squeal with excitement.

The Black Pearl is to our left (port side!), and the cannons are blasting at a fortified fort on our right (starboard side!). The wind blows by your ears as the cannon shots are fired. Misdirected shots land beside your vessel, causing the water to splash high and land in the water to the boat's starboard side. Barbossa stands in the middle of the ship, demanding those in the fortress to give up!

The boys love it!

I zone out and think about Mimie and our enjoyment of this ride. I look up at the dark ceiling resembling a night sky and hope she watches us have a good time.

Our boat moves past the battle and enters a Village where Pirates are taking over and harassing the good people there. The pirates may be automated, but they appear so real!

To our starboard side, the angry pirates repeatedly dunked a peasant, a son of a biscuit eater (in pirate talk), in a barrel of water, demanding that he tell them where to find Jack Sparrow. The pirate form of waterboarding back in those days; as we pass by, they dunk him again. But the fools need only look over the shoulder to spot Jack hiding behind a barrel, gazing towards the men.

The boat travels towards an archway. The Pirates are at an auction where they are auctioning off the women. Their carousers scream and shout while firing their guns and drinking their rum.

We pass through the waterway and enter an area where the Pirates chase the women for food. It's a wild scene. The boys are staring in awe.

Every time we passed this part, I would tell Mime how women's groups were mad that men were chasing the women, so Disney added the fruit so there wouldn't be any womanizing. I laugh to myself at that thought.

I look over to my empty seat to my right and imagine she is there with us. Nico sits on my starboard knee, and Christopher on my port knee. They are loving every moment of this ride. That's why I made this the first ride we went on.

We pass another drunk carouser who's resting against a wall harassing the scared kitties as the cats stand tall, their hair raised on their backs. We travel under another cobblestone archway where the effect of fire is glaring through broken windows as the burly man sings.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho...

The pirate animatronics appear so life-like that I can't help but laugh as my children smile brightly. The action is lively and exciting.

...Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We extort and pilfer. We filch and sack. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. Maraud and embezzle and even highjack.Drink up me 'earties, yo ho...

The fire looks so natural, as the red glare waves like the motion of a flame, giving the appearance that the building is on fire.

...Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We kindle and char and in flame and ignite. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We burn up the city, we're really a fright. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho"

It's hard to take it all in. The boys take notice of a drunk lying in the sloth of the pigs, spooning with them as he sleeps.

...Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We kindle and char and in flame and ignite. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We burn up the city, we're really a fright. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho...

The boat moves into a tunnel, where we come across the iconic scene where the jailed Pirates are trying to coax a dog to them because he is holding the key in his mouth. The fire is making its way into the cells, their only hope.

We move towards the end of the ride as we pass Captain Jack Sparrow one last time. He's sitting on his throne in a room full of treasures as he sings the Pirate song. The boat docks, and the boys want to return as we disembark at the port side.

It'll be fun for the three of us, but we will always miss the fourth. Mimie and I had a lot of fun at Disney, especially on the Pirates of the Caribbean, one of our favorites.

...Yo ho, a pirate's life for me."

1,920 words

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© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

"Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirates Life for Me" Written by: George Bruns with lyrics by Xavier Atencio

The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

"A Pirates Life for Me" Part I

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May 24th, 2012

My Disney passes were about to expire on May 23^rd, so I loaded up the boys and took them for a little bit of Disney Magic.

My mornings are the same like all my day breaks. I wake up and I have two lives laying on me from the night before. It’s going to be difficult to break the boys of the habit of sleeping with me on the couch, but yet I still allow it.

I haven’t had the courage to sleep in the bed I shared with Mimie. But that’s a whole new story in itself.

Lets just stick to the “Magical World of Disney”, for now.

The couch is uncomfortable. I can’t really move into too many positions on its narrow width. The seat cushions are fine, but when I remove the back cushions to add a little more space to accommodate more bodies, like my boys, I’ll lay sideways with my back against the back of the couch.

With those pillows off it exposes the thin layer of cloth that covers the wood's 2x2 plank that lays parallel with the length of the couch. It supports the structure. With my bare spine pushing up against the lumber it makes things worse. It feels like sleeping on a pull out sofa beds metal framed but aslant. At dawns break, I feel like I need to add a piece of timber to support my own structure.

I remove myself from the couch and the tangled bodies in the blanket. I’m bent at the waist to slow the shock to my back as I try to stand up right. I turn to my boys and stare at them and they in turn stare back at me.

“Bye, bye?” I ask.

Nico pops his head up like a Jack n’ the Box, “Bye, bye?!” he says with enthusiasm

Christopher doesn’t move from his spot on the pillow, but his eyes are open and with a slow drawl he copies Nico, “Bye, bye?” He asks.

“Let’s go to Disney boys” I clap my hands and turn to walk down the hallway.

The boys follow suit.

Its not easy getting these guys ready but I am turning into a pro. My body is tired and I yearn to grieve the loss of my wife, but still haven’t been afforded the opportunity to do so. The thought of driving to Disney is not appealing to me right now and I’m forcing myself to get up and go.

So, with a heavy heart, that I am trying to turn light hearted, I get the fellas dressed and were off to the place “where dreams come true.”

We begin the car drive north and the boys are lost in their own world. They snack on food, watch a DVD‘s, take a nap. I am forced to find a station that plays decent music on the radio. I don’t understand how but when you travel outside your living area, all the music stations disappear. I can’t even find a frequency that can sustain my Sirius Satellite radio.

After a nearly three hour car drive we made it.

The kid in me wakes up and I’m flushed with excitement. More so for my boys. Nico announces “icky, icky” a loud as we pass through the large steal beam that has large pronounce letters that read, “Walt Disney World” as you drive through.

We work are way through the winding road and park the van. Before I get the boys out of their car seats I prep everything because now I learn from experience that once the boys are out of the van you have passed the point of no return.

I pull the large double stroller from the back hatch area of our Nissan Quest minivan. It folds like an accordion, so I squeeze it together ,giving the metal and fabric some slack, and push down the red lever that will open it up like an umbrella.

The process begins.

I load the stroller up with all the essentials. Diaper bag, towel, paper towels, extra diapers, clothes and snacks. I walk over to Nico with the sun block and I begin to douse him with it. Learning protection from the sun is essential.

I start with the right leg. I squirt the heavy white lotion in my hands and a push my hands together and rub vigorously lathering up my hands. I start at his foot and work my way up to this thigh. It’s the same with the left leg.

Both boys sit there as I do this, like they are well trained and heavily pampered athletes.

Once the legs are done, I work my way to the arms. Again, I squirt some lotion in my hand, but this time as I begin to place my palms together and rub Nico copies me and reenacts me verbatim. I grab his hands and pull the apart. I start with his fingers and work my way up his forearms to his shoulders.

The face is tricky. Both boys don’t like their face touched so I place dabs of sun block on my finger tips and I fight to gain access to their face as the juke and dive out of my way. I practically have to get them in a headlock to apply the much needed sun screen.

We’re off.

Click here for Part II » A Pirates Life For Me

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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.

There's Always Time: Getting Results Part II

*To Read Entire Series Click Here

May 23rd, 2012

I decided to tell this story because it was a pivotal loss we had between losing the twins and the birth of our oldest son, Nico. It was a trying time for her and I. That stretch of time tested everything our relationship was about and everything it was going to be. We were desperate to heal ourselves and try to replace the loss we suffered on that terrible October morning in 2006 when we suffered a double loss of twins the morning we were scheduled to give birth. Mimie was very strong but strength can only last so long. 

There’s Always Time: Getting Results

Part II

I had just found out Mimie thought she was pregnant. I ran out to the store to get her a pregnancy test to confirm what she already knew…

The pregnancy tester is white and about six inches long. The participant removes the capped end to use it, revealing the tip you pee on. There is a small window that has a square embedded into it. Once you pee on it, the urine hormones will reveal one or two lines. Get two lines, and you just hit the baby jackpot. One line, it's try, try again.

I give her some privacy after I hand her the stick and walk over to my side of the bed. I finally started to remove my police uniform after my long day.

Mimie walks out of the bathroom, leaving the tester on the ledge of the bathroom counter, fresh from just being used.

"How long does it take?" I asked as my feet got tangled in my pant leg due to my anxiety about anticipating the results.

"A minute or two, I would think," Mimie replied, staring at me as I stumbled forward, bracing myself on the bed. My right arm caught myself, breaking my fall. I use my left hand to try and get my last leg out.

After getting my pants off, I brace myself with my left arm joining the right for extra support as they are placed firmly on the bed.

My head hangs in between my shoulders like a pendulum, and I'm breathing hard after trying to remove my pants. I raise my head and look up at Mimie. My body bounced with my breaths.

I nervously laugh and say, "Let's check!"

Mimie walks into the bathroom, and I follow her. She stops and stares at the tester.

"I can't look", she says

The pregnancy test is balanced on the ledge. Mimie was about two feet from it, but I could sense her apprehensiveness in regards to even being in the bathroom with it. She grabbed it and passed it over her shoulder without even a gaze. I didn't mind looking at it. I tried to ease the tension.

"You did hand me the nonpee end, right?" I said, cringing my nose. She's not amused. I was staring at the back of her head, but her reflection in the mirror captured her face.

I examine the stick, "I can't make this thing out." I said out loud. I look closer at it, holding the plastic object about an inch from my nose as my eyes burn a hole through it.

"What do you mean you can't make it out. If there are two lines, I'm pregnant." She says, turning around to stare at me.

I continue to fixate my eyes on the lines, trying to determine if the faded second line is positive for pregnancy or not.

"Look at it, Mimie. It's faint; I can't read it." I handed her the tester, shaking my head.

Mimie examined it with as much intensity as I did. Her face said it all.

"Shit, I can't read it either," Mimie exclaimed.

I walk over to the bed and grab the instructions from the box. As I fumbled trying to unfold it, I dropped it to the bed and reached out to take the pregnancy tester out of Mimie's hand.

Once I unfold the "instructions inside," that is more tightly wound than Mimie and I. I hold it up in the air with my left hand. I then grab the tester and place her pee stick beside the manuals. I don't know what I was trying to get out of it by comparing the two; maybe I thought the bedroom light would shed more light on our dilemma.

But comparing it this way wasn't working.

"Just pee on the second stick, I guess." I was getting so frustrated.

I fish the other tester from the box, remove the package for her, and hand Mimie the other pregnancy stick.

"You're supposed to wait until the next day before you try again", Mimie said.

"I know, but the anticipation sucks," I said, staring at her, holding the clean pregnancy test in my hand. She grabbed it without hesitation, and we went to another round.

Another faded line.

We both know deep down that she is pregnant. She is in tune with her body and "just knows." But we would like to know for sure. She could hardly contain herself, and I knew she wouldn't rest easily unless we knew. Besides, who knew when we could get a doctor's appointment.

"Fuck it, I'm going back to Walgreens." We both are just too anxious.

"They have a digital tester that either says, 'Pregnant or Not Pregnant.' It's a pregnant stick for dummies."

Mimie agrees with me.

I get dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. I search for my sandals, and I head out the front door.

I get into my personal car and drive back to the store. I don't like to drive my patrol car off duty much; it's just a moving billboard when you're off duty.

Thoughts about what we went through back in 2006 and what we are going through now rush through my mind, "Are we putting too much pressure on ourselves by trying to get pregnant? Maybe we just need to heal first."

This pregnancy game is exhausting. I thought babymaking was easy. This isn't turning out to be the birds and the bees talk my parents gave me when I was a kid. It's more like the Beaver and the Dammed.

I walk into Walgreens to search for the digital pregnancy test.

I nod at the cashier as I walk through the automatic double doors. About where people were in her line, my appearance before her seemed déjà vu, and she did double take. After all, I was just there fifteen minutes ago. I give a friendly wave to her, and she's oblivious to my suavity.

I work my way around the people in line and head directly to aisle twelve, where the pregnancy tests, condoms, and other sexual needs are.

My enthusiasm changed to frustration as I weed through the many items on the well-stocked shelves.

We both have to be tired of this pregnancy run around. It just doesn't feel normal. The natural thing is to get married and have a baby, right? Simple enough. But every time we turn around, there's a brick wall trying to delay the process. Is this a sign?

I found the digital pregnancy tester and grabbed it off the hook, which was prominently displayed right under my nose. I read the box.

"Easy to use, easy to read, pregnant results in as early as 1 minute. Use any time of day."

Simple.

I hurriedly walked back to the girl at the cash register; she had her line down to two customers since they had opened another register. I finally get my turn to be served, but she doesn't give me a second look this time. She's too busy complaining to the other clerk about her job.

The clerk is a young girl in her late teens or early twenties. This job is clearly a pit stop for her until she reaches her dreams of cosmetology school. She doesn't care that I am standing before her. I just wish she'd hurry up and ring up my would-be purchase. I have bigger things to deal with.

"$8.57", she says.

I swipe my credit card in the little grey box on the counter. I know from my past visit that anything under twenty dollars does not require you to sign the sales receipt. I see the word "APPROVED" scroll across the screen; I grab the box and walk out the door; this time, I don't give her a second look.

Driving is therapeutic, and it soothes my anxiety. I'll learn to appreciate that as the years go by. For now, it doesn't help me on this short drive home from Walgreens with an eight-dollar and fifty-cent nonorganic object holding our fate in its nonexistent hands.

You don't expect things to be so hard in life. As a human being, you pride yourself on doing the right things. Mimie and I were no different.

We are just everyday people, living our lives the best we can by doing the right things that make all of us human. When you go through something as traumatic as losing such a precious gift like the girls, you feel like the dammed. We just wanted things to go right for us, so wrong that it seemed to do the opposite and bring the bad into our lives. Although people go through this every day, when it's happening to you, you feel like the only people on earth being challenged.

I was just spent when I got home the third time with our second pregnancy test.

My twelve-hour day had quickly moved to fourteen hours, if you counted when I had to get up and start my day.

I was hot and sweaty from being on the go since I got home. Poor Mimie sat in bed, not worried about whether she could or couldn't get pregnant. The bigger picture with her was, "What is wrong with me."

There was never anything wrong with Mimie's internal abilities to make a baby. But when you try and fail spectacularly in the loss of the twins with no answer as to why. You start to look at yourself.

It's easy to tell Mimie that it isn't her fault. But I can't convince someone that they aren't defective if they already perceive themselves that way.

She didn't think she wanted kids growing up. Most people don't. That theory was compounding her speculation that she wasn't meant to have any. She told me later in life, after the boys were born that even her sisters thought she "wasn't the motherly type."

Yet here she is, surprising everybody with the will to bear children. Although, it didn't surprise me. Mimie was a wonderful, warm, and caring person to her children. She loved them above all else.

On the other hand, I always knew I wanted kids since I was a kid. Mimie was so shocked at that. She would later tell me that I "was a weird kid for wanting kids," with a smile, of course.

I can't tell you why I wanted kids so badly; I'm not a psychologist. Maybe it's because my parents were divorced when I was two.

I do not think she wanted to be pregnant for me. I know deep down she wanted kids for herself. She felt it was only natural since our relationship was strong and we both had a lot of love to share. Making babies was supposed to be fun. But it seems only fun when you get pregnant on accident because the thought of getting pregnant when you didn't want them appeared absurd.

This process seemed easy when you took Health in school. It was supposed to be a natural process of life. After all, your parents have kids, namely you; how hard could it be?

I remember, as a child, finding out how babies were made.

1,869 words

Click here for Part III » Be Positive

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Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License