I stared up at my blonde friend, whose eyes reflected the same sorrow I experienced on a daily basis. Sighing, I sat back on the couch and shifted Jason on my chest, cuddling him in the crook of my arm. “Dawson, how can you ask me to subject her to your rampant analysis?” I asked bitterly. “She was your friend, too. You loved her once, almost as much as I did. I can’t believe you don’t understand why I can’t face up to this.”
Dawson sighed. “Pacey, I know it’s hard. I miss her too. I still love her, despite what you think. But it’s been ten months. It’s not healthy to shut the memories up inside you, to never talk about her because it hurts. You have to feel pain before you can heal.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dawson,” I muttered irritably. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I wiped the back of my hand across them. “I don’t see you applying that theory to your own life.”
Dawson’s eyes hardened. “That’s different. Andie left me, she didn’t-.”
“Didn’t what, Dawson?” I interrupted, glaring at him. “Didn’t die giving you the son you’d wanted for so long? Didn’t disappear from your life forever because of something you did?”
“Pacey, it’s not your fault she’s gone. She wanted Jason as much as you did,” Dawson reminded me.
I looked down at my infant son. His plump baby cheeks were so soft, his dark brown eyes so bright. He had a dark thatch of hair on his head that arguably could be just as much from me as it was from his mother. He was absolutely beautiful, but every time I looked at him I could only see how much I had lost when I had gained him.
I stared off into the distance, ignoring Dawson’s concerned speeches, as I recalled the day I had lost everything.
“Just think, Jo, we’re going to be parents.” Pacey’s voice rang excitedly through the hospital room.
Joey tried to glare at him. “As soon as I get through the excruciating pain of giving birth,” she reminded him. Her tough stare melted as she looked into Pacey’s boyish blue eyes, the anticipation shimmering in their depths. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, a pleased smile creeping onto her face. It faded in seconds, when she experienced another contraction. Joey clenched Pacey’s hand tightly, the shock wave of pain making her face whiten.
Pacey’s happy grin was erased as he saw how much agony his wife was in. He held her hand as tight as he could, trying to absorb some of the anguish she was feeling into himself. He could do nothing but gaze at her helplessly, watching her fight the intensely sharp pains of the contractions.
Minutes later a nurse bustled into the room and shooed him away. He paced the hallways anxiously, waiting for the doctor to come out and give him some news. Pacey wore holes in the floor in front of Joey’s room, walking back and forth for hours.
Finally the doctor came out, his face grim. “Mr. Witter, we’re having problems with your wife and son,” he admitted. Pacey’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, the unspoken words crowding on the tip of his tongue. “Mrs. Witter has lost a lot of blood. She’s weak from the exertion of trying to give birth. We’ve discovered your son to be in the breach position and we’re attempting to turn him around. However, at this point we’re concerned that the strain will prove too much for your wife’s body.”
The tears rushed to Pacey’s eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” he croaked desperately.
The doctor nodded gravely. “Pray,” he said simply before turning around and walking back into Joey’s room.
Several hours, and hundreds of heart-felt prayers later, Pacey was called into Joey’s room. She was cradling a tiny, red, squalling infant to her breast, and Pacey’s heart swelled with happiness and relief. Joey was okay. She was exhausted, but she was alive.
Pacey sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching a hesitant hand towards the baby. Joey smiled and nodded, encouraging him to touch their son. Pacey’s hand drifted slowly to the baby’s small patch of soft, downy hair, stroking it reverently.
“Are you okay?” he inquired fearfully.
Joey looked into her husband’s eyes, the beautiful blue eyes she’d lost herself in countless times before, and lied. “I’ll be fine, Pace,” she reassured him, ignoring the measure of guilt in her heart.
Pacey sighed and nodded. His gaze traveled back to the baby. “So what are we going to name him?” he asked.
Joey turned pensive. “I’ve always liked the name Jason,” she offered.
Pacey thought a minute and nodded. “I like it. How about Neil for his middle name?” he suggested.
“Jason Neil Witter,” Joey said aloud. She nodded. “It’s perfect.”
A nurse came in to take the baby, and Joey reluctantly gave him up. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at her son for one last time. Her arms felt empty without him in them.
“It’s okay, Jo,” Pacey reassured her, scooting up on the bed and wrapping his arms around her. “You’ll get to hold him again.”
Joey nodded painfully, ignoring the internal voice that negated her husband’s words. “Pace, I’m awfully tired,” she whispered. “Could you...?”
Pacey jumped to his feet and leaned over to press a kiss to Joey’s lips. “Say no more, Jo. I’ll be outside if you need me.” Joey nodded once more as she watched Pacey quietly slip out the door, the tears sliding down her face as she watched her husband walk away from her for the last time.
Nineteen hours after her first contraction, Joey Witter gave birth to her and Pacey’s beautiful, perfect son.
Twenty minutes later she was gone.
“You’re not my fucking psychiatrist,” I shot at him sharply. He flinched. “When I can talk about her, maybe I will. Until then, fucking leave me alone.” I retreated further into the couch, squeezing Jason. He cried out unhappily and I softened, relaxing my grip on him.
“Do you want me take Jason with me?” Dawson offered. “Jen will love having him.”
“Oh, so Joey’s and my son is supposed to be a play-toy, something I pass around to everyone so they can coo and gush and then give him back when they’re tired of him?” I snapped sarcastically.
Dawson shook his head. “That’s not it, Pace. We’re just trying to give you a break. The strain of Joey’s death, of being a widower father at the age of twenty-two, is killing you. We’re just trying to help as best as we can.”
I looked out the window. “I need him with me, Dawson,” I explained. “He’s all I have left of Jo. I can’t give him up.”
Dawson stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Pace,” he said quietly. “I understand.” He walked to the door, pausing to turn back slightly. “We’re here for you, if you need us. We’re just a phone call away.” I nodded and he left.
Leaving me lost in my memories.
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