concomitant

My mother-in-law was folding the baby blankets by pushing the air out of the soft fleece and stuffing them into the box for Goodwill. I watched her carefully tuck away little socks she had knitted, little socks she wished she could darn. My wife remained calm and maintained perfect composure as she sipped a glass of wine, something she had sworn off over a month ago. This was the subsequent mourning of loss.

I wanted to yell and break this stupid silence. Throw clothes everywhere and shake my wife. Cry woman, cry damnit.

I remember when the blood ran out, after my wife had fallen to the floor in pain. Her hands were clutching her stomach. I held her head in my hands, stroking her hair as we waited for the ambulance to come. I remember how wet my hands were with her tears. So much pain. Too much pain.

She's looks wearily at me through the glass. It's okay, I promise. Just cry.