Therapy

"I don't need a damn support group, Jake!" she screamed at her husband.

It was true. She didn't need a support group. She had her own psychiatrists: Jim Bean, Jack Daniels, and even Jose Cuervo when he wasn't south of the border. She took the recommended dosage, shot after shot and in no time, she was feeling better...or not feeling anything at all.

"Lara, honey, please, just listen to me," her husband pleaded with her, kneeling before and taking her hands in his. He looked up at her with big eyes, brimming with tears. The very tone of his voice was heartbreaking and for just a moment, as always, he thought he would break through.

"I've been listening to you, Jake, because you never stop talking about it. I don't want a support group, I don't want to talk about it. He's gone and there's no bringing him back. Damn it, Jake, why can't you just let it go?"

"If I let it go, then I'll let you go, and Lara, baby, I can't do that," he whispers, the tears falling now, down his cheeks.

Lara and Jake had been married for six years, never happier than when they were together. He was the husband that would bring her breakfast in bed or surprise her in the shower and she was the wife that would sneak up behind him and wraps her arms around him, kissing the back of his neck on her tiptoes, or crawl into his lap, the television forgotten. That was before the accident for which she took all the blame.

"Maybe you should let me go, Jake...I can't give you what you want," she said, not even looking at him.

He gripped her hands in his, then he laid his head in her lap and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, crying like a child.

"Don't do this to me, Lara. I love you...I can't be with anyone but you. I want you. I don't care about anything else. I just want you. I want my wife back!" He cried into her lap, his tears soaking through her worn jeans. She looked down at him, knowing this was hurting him just as much if not more, but in truth, she had no idea just how much.

To him, he wasn't just losing once- he was losing twice. That morning when she came home with a smile broader than the Grand Canyon on her face, he just knew. God, he'd give anything to see her smile again. Like that day. She told him the news, told him of the miracle they had made, and then she kissed him. She couldn't keep her hands off of him, couldn't pull away. Before he knew it, they were on the bedroom floor, wrapped in each other's arms, both with smiles that could put the sun to shame.

"We're having a baby," she whispered in his ear.

He couldn't speak. He could only ravish her with kisses again. She'd made him the happiest man in the world. Perhaps that was why it was so hard for her. She knew how much he wanted a child and she had known how nearly impossible that was for her. When she had the suspicion, she ran to the doctor and cried when her suspicions were confirmed. The doctors had said it wouldn't happen, but it had. Doctors, what do they know?

Turns out, a lot. One night, she had shot up in bed, a soft cry breaking her lips. She clutched her stomach and bit her lip against the pain.

"Jake..." she called out, her voice strained, but he was already awake and at her side, unsure of what was happening, of what to do.

"Lara, baby, what's wrong? What is it? Damn it, Lara, talk to me!" He didn't mean to yell at her, but he was afraid. Scared to death of what was happening, of what might happen. But no, he wouldn't think of it. He had to do something.

He grabbed the phone and dialed 911. It was a long wait; forever, it seemed, before the ambulance arrived, taking his whole world into that sterile back room and hooking up her to machines, monitors, and IV's. He jumped in beside her, holding her hand while he stroked her hair. She gripped his hand, the fingers losing feeling. She had always been strong.

Three nights and thousands of hidden tears fell before he could see her. He heard the voices, hushed and sorrowful, but he couldn't understand, he couldn't believe it.

"A complication... Nothing we could do....Wasn't supposed to conceive....Lost the child....We're sorry, Mr. Lucas....so sorry."

The words flowed together, but he didn't need to hear them. As he looked down at his wife, her eyes averted from him and staring blankly into space, he knew. God, he knew. That child, the one they had spoiled before it was born and the one for which they had made so many plans, would never see his blue room, covered in bears and toys. He would never see his mother's smile or hear his father's laugh. No, he never even had a chance to see the world.

A thought struck him, paralyzing him. This was his fault, wasn't it? He knew she couldn't have children, but she knew he wanted one anyway. She risked it all. Surely, this had harmed her too. He knelt beside her bed again and cried, cried for everything.

She reached out, still numb to the world and stroked her husband's hair, the blame settling into her bones. What if she could have done something? A doctor's appointment...exercise...a different diet. She could have saved him, she thought. This was her fault. Yes, her fault. Or so she thought.

Two people, so broken by their loss, but even more by their own blame. It wasn't their fault; anyone could see that, anyone but them.

She held her husband's head in her lap and looked down at him, tears forming in her own eyes through the liquor cloud that shrouded her mind. He was crying. He needed her. She needed him. They needed each other. But what had she done? Her husband needed her comforting arms and soft caresses, but she was too far gone to give it to him. The first threads of determination began to weave together.

"Jake..." she whispered, stroking his hair, then bending down and kissing his head. "Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry...." she whispered against his hair, the tears falling onto him.

"No, Lara. No, baby...I'm sorry...this is all my fault. Oh God, Lara...I didn't know."

"No, Jake...It's mine...I should have done something...anything."

He raised up, looking at her and touched her cheek gently. "It wasn't your fault...Lara, I did this to you."

"No, Jake. Don't you dare! Don't you dare make this all about you."

"Why not?" he whispered. "You want it to be all about you."

His words struck something deep within her and she realized. He was right. She had wanted this to be her fault, just as he had wanted the blame on him. It was horrible, to be so helpless in the great workings of the world. There was a plan, she was told, but Christ, it didn't seem like it now. But still, the fact remained. He was right. It wasn't their fault. They were not grand enough to cause something like this. No, this was a higher power at work.

She looked at him, then took his face in her hands, and kissed him. For the first time since she lost the baby, since they lost the baby, she kissed him. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? But none of it mattered now. She felt him pull her closer, his kiss both needy and comforting.

That night, she poured all her therapy down the drain while her husband stood by her side.

"We'll get through this, Lara. I won't let this happen to you, baby."

"It's out of our hands."

"But it's in our hearts."

She looked at him, amazed as always by his simple truths. "Kiss me, Jake," she whispered, knowing that above all else, his love, their love, would save them.

The many types of therapy.