Reborn

Evan found it strange that the first feeling he had on holding his newborn son was a sense of doom. Yet there it was, overwhelming all his other senses; his joy so swamped, he was not even sure it existed. A baby was not what Evan had envisaged in his future. He was forty-seven. Erin was forty-three. The possibility had never even crossed his mind. And yet, here he was. Their little baby boy.

Erin was asleep, exhausted from the labour. A contented smile sat on her lips. While Evan had never considered terminating the pregnancy, Erin’s reaction to it had always made him uneasy. It was as though Erin believed this child could bring Eamon back to them.

Tears snaked their way down Evan’s cheeks. He pushed his tongue hard into the roof of his mouth to stem the flow. Losing Eamon had been the hardest thing Evan had ever had to endure. It had almost killed Erin.

Evan still remembered saying goodbye to Eamon that last morning, promising to see him at his school concert that night. Eamon never made it to school. Halfway across the street – just a few metres from safety – he was mowed down by a drunk driver. At just eight-thirty in the morning. Eamon died instantly. And a hero. He had pushed a young girl out of the way, putting himself in danger. She had been injured, but not killed. Yet it was cold comfort as they buried their fifteen-year-old son.

“Daddy!” cried Edyn in a soft whisper, rushing into the room.

“Hey, sweetie,” smiled Evan. “Come meet your brother.”

“Can I hold him?”

“Of course.”

Evan directed his daughter to a chair and gently placed the baby in her arms. He walked over to the window and took a deep breath, trying to rid himself of the gloom that had settled over him. Across the nearby park, looming above the early morning skyline, was a giant mushroom cloud. It was an ominous sight, as if it was foretelling the dangers of what was to come. Evan turned away, telling himself he was being irrational. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed Edyn sobbing softly.

“Hey,” Evan cooed, wiping the tears away. “What’s wrong?”

“Does this mean we don’t have to miss Eamon anymore?” asked Edyn.

Evan sucked in his breath. It had taken him far too many months to realise that Edyn was the one who had been tossed around the most in the last year. Eamon’s sudden death had hit them all hard. They could not fight over who it hurt the most, but they had tried. Then, in the midst of their turmoil, Erin found herself pregnant and their lives had been turned upside down all over again. Edyn turned eleven just a month ago, yet Erin had barely recognised it. Edyn seemed destined to be overshadowed by her little brother in the same way she had been by her older one.

“No, of course not,” Evan reassured Edyn. “We will never stop missing Eamon. How’s that possible? We’ll always feel his loss. Just the same way we would if we lost you.”

“You wouldn’t miss me as much,” replied Edyn quietly.

“Yes, we would,” answered Evan, determined Edyn believe that, but she didn’t even look up. Evan sighed. His quiet little girl. He would miss her insightful truths spoken without malice. On the cusp of her teenage years, he doubted she would be able to keep her anger at bay for much longer.

“I wish he was a girl,” said Edyn, even as she lovingly stroked the baby’s head.

“We don’t love you less because you’re a girl,” Evan urged. This was not the first time he had heard Edyn express these kind of sentiments, but she had been younger then and he had assumed it was a phase she would grow out of – once she managed to grow out of Eamon’s shadow.

“Then why do you?”

Evan couldn’t answer. It wasn’t love that was lacking. They loved Edyn dearly, but he knew Edyn had never received her fair share of attention. Eamon had had a way of monopolising attention. Even as a baby he had been able to hold a room. It was something he had used to his advantage as he grew older, though never with nastiness. It had been so easy to be caught up in the swirl Eamon created.

It had taken Evan too many years to see the effect their adoration of Eamon had on Edyn, and he had tried hard to pull her into the limelight, but Erin had been Eamon’s greatest fan and everyone had come second to him.

The baby’s hungry cries woke Erin. Despite her tiredness, Erin reached out eagerly for her son and brought him to her chest. Tears slipped down her cheeks as her fingers stroked the baby’s face.

“My Eamon,” Erin gasped.

Evan squeezed Erin’s shoulder and stroked her hair. This pregnancy had been the only thing to pull Erin out of the depression she had succumb to following Eamon’s death.

“I want to call him Edmon,” said Erin in a tone that made it clear she was very decided on this point.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too close?” Evan questioned. “What about Eddison? We discussed that. You said you liked that name.”

“He looks just like him,” replied Erin. “Don’t you remember? Can’t you see the resemblance.”

Evan did. It was the very first thing he noticed. He had tried to tell himself that all babies looked alike, but this went beyond hair colour or the shape of his nose. Their baby had the exact same birth mark on his left arm that Eamon had been born with.

It had been at that moment the sense of doom settled over Evan. It had been hard enough losing Eamon the first time. Evan could not raise him again to have him taken away once more. He needed this child to be everything Eamon wasn’t. Alive.