I'll See You Again Part 24

"Why?" I asked.

She gave a little shrug and a big smile. "Why not?"

We started treatments in January. Couples going through the process often complain that in vitro fertilization is complicated and emotionally draining, but I had no emotion left to drain. I didn't mind the whole process, because it gave some structure to the otherwise oppressive expanses of empty time that had recently defined my life. There were daily injections and trips to the doctor's office every day to measure blood levels and the size of the eggs. Different friends drove me to Manhattan, and everyone at the office was incredibly nice to me. Wally regularly greeted me, and Hunter, the beautiful nurse a.s.signed to my case, answered all my questions and called almost every evening with instructions. The head nurse, Jo, stopped by often to check on me, and Jenny, the medical a.s.sistant who took my blood, let me cry on her shoulder. But as nice as they all were, visiting this fertility clinic where-after three children-I would never have dreamed of being brought home my strange situation.

I'd think about where I had been before and where I was now and it just didn't add up. Could the person sitting in this cool, clean medical office having her eggs scanned really be the same one who used to romp in the backyard with three children? If that had been the real Jackie before, who was this woman now?

Even while moving forward with the in vitro, in the back of my mind I still figured that I wouldn't live beyond the year. I had never really let go of the thoughts of suicide that plagued me when the girls were first taken from me. A small voice in my head said that if G.o.d didn't get around to taking me soon, I could kill myself and all would be perfect: Warren could have the embryos and someone would gestate our baby. Everyone would have a piece of me, and I'd be in heaven with the girls.

Lying on the exam table one morning as the nurse scanned my belly to measure the eggs, I felt a little guilty. n.o.body realizes that I'm in no frame of mind to have a baby.

After the first cycle, Dr. Rosenwaks retrieved eight eggs and five of them were successfully fertilized. He seemed pleased, and I-the perpetual people-pleaser-liked making him happy. At least I had accomplished something. Five embryos sounded like plenty to me, but he wanted to do another cycle so that we would have more than we needed.

In the next cycle, I made ten eggs, but something went wrong with the medication right before the retrieval and none of them was fertilized. Dr. Rosenwaks called me, disappointed.

"Let's do it one more time," he said.

"Oh no, no," I said. "I appreciate all you've done, but it's so much money. I wouldn't feel comfortable asking for even more."

"I insist."

I didn't really want to do another cycle, but I couldn't say no to him. His unwavering generosity moved me even more than the prospect of a baby.

On the third cycle, I made ten eggs and all ten were fertilized. I felt like the perfect student.

"Why don't we implant?" Dr. Rosenwaks suggested when he called me this time with the news. "Fresh is better."

"No, no, I'm not ready," I said, thinking, I'll never be ready.

"Well, you'll have fifteen embryos frozen," he said.

"Is that good?"

"It's very good."

"I'm so glad," I said. But at that moment, I didn't really mean it.

Part Two

2010

Sixteen

Having been raised a churchgoing Catholic, I couldn't shake the sense that I must have done something to cause the accident. G.o.d was punis.h.i.+ng me. If my girls were gone in this senseless manner, it must be my fault.

"It has to be something we did," I told Warren, panicked one day. "G.o.d was mad at us."

"I didn't do anything," Warren said wearily. "I'm a good person."

"Go back to your childhood," I begged him. "Think. It has to be something."

"I won't, Jackie. We're not to blame."

"We must be," I insisted.

I took out a pad of paper and began writing a list of all the things I had done wrong in my life.

1. I stole a lipstick when I was 16.

2. I lied to my parents to go out with my friends.

3. I lied to Warren when I bought expensive clothes.

4. I made up a story about Emma's broken leg to get out of therapy.

5.Sometimes I'd let the girls eat a m.u.f.fin in the grocery store while we shopped-and I wouldn't pay for it.

Even in my heightened emotional state, it seemed like a meager list. I went back to Warren.

"Don't you feel any guilt?" I asked him.

"No. I sent my kids away with my own sister, who I loved dearly, who was good to us and the children. I did everything in my power to prevent what happened from happening. I did nothing wrong."

"I know, but they're dead. We obviously did something wrong."

"Jackie, I did everything I could," Warren said wearily.

I had stopped going to ma.s.s because it seemed pointless, and a bad sermon from a priest could throw me into a funk. On the other hand, I had joined a women's prayer group-just in case. I was afraid not to.

"I come here out of superst.i.tion," I admitted to Kathy, the lovely woman who ran the group. "I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't."

"We're here to pray for you and your children," she said kindly.

We'd go around the room and tell our intentions and do a rosary. Everyone in the room asked for something nice. One woman needed a job, another prayed that the world would get safer. A few times I just prayed for Warren, because I understood that if he wasn't okay, I couldn't be, either. It was simple and straightforward, just hope and goodness without any overlays of guilt and confession.

My mom believed in the Rapture, a final resurrection when we would all be together again. She talked about heaven as a wonderful place.

"The girls never have to go through pain again," she said to me. "Doesn't that make you feel good?"

I had believed in heaven when my dad died at age fifty-six. And when my paternal grandmother followed a short time later, I was glad that they were together again. But now I had nagging doubts.