Fifty-Nine, Grief

Fifty-Nine

Grief

23 July 1824

This has been a sad day. 

Charlotte lost the baby, and then she was unable to recover afterward, dying two days ago.  Warner is unable to do anything but sit and stare out the window of his and Charlotte's room.  He has had few words to say, and nothing that anyone says to him appears to get through to him.

Let me go back and talk about what has happened.

I have not been able to write for almost three weeks, for I was needed by Charlotte.  She had been sick most of the time that she was with child, often not being able to eat, and sometimes not even being able to drink water, and then about two weeks ago, she seemed to give up.  She became more and more ill.  I sat with her constantly, tending to her while Warner was out in the fields.   I kept trying to get her to drink cow's milk, or even water, but she could not keep them down and she seemed to lack the will to try.

She was so pale that her skin seemed almost like cold wax.  Her blond hair was matted, it having been days since she had run a comb through it.

I did not know what herbs it was that Susie had fixed for her several weeks ago, and with Susie gone--for she never came back--we had no way to know what we could use next.

The doctor was summonsed last week, and he was of little help.  He said that it was important that we get her to take water and salt and sugar and anything else that we could think of, especially salted soup.

Nan came by every day just before lunch time, and stayed most of the day until about an hour before sunset.  She did most of the cooking, and I found that I wanted to learn how, so she began showing me.  I am very grateful that she was patient with me, for I knew almost nothing besides how to boil water.  Charlotte could not keep down what little soup that we persuaded her to try.

Then, early in the morning two days ago, I heard Charlotte call out, but she was so weak that I almost did not hear her.  Her voice sounded like a kitten meowing pitifully for its milk. Warner was out tending to the milk cow.  I stood at the door and shouted for him and went back inside to find Charlotte covered in blood.  She was so weak that she could do nothing but lay there with her eyes closed.  Warner came quickly, and the two of us undressed her and tried our best to stop the bleeding, but we could not.  Charlotte was gone within the hour. 

I told Warner that I would send someone to fetch the doctor, although we both knew that it was too late.  I wanted an excuse to leave the house, for the sight of poor Charlotte, and of Warner moaning and weeping, and not noticing that I was there anyway was more than I could withstand.  I took one of Warner's horses and rode bareback to Reverend Terry's.  The Terrys usually share most meals with Joseph and with John, so I was able to find them all together at the table, just finishing up their breakfast. 

I saw John, and all that was within me broke loose.  I held on to him tightly and cried so hard that he had a difficult time understanding what I was saying, my face being buried in his chest and the sobs mingling with gasps for air.  I was finally able to tell him that Charlotte had passed on within the hour, and that I had promised Warner that I would fetch the doctor. 

I looked up into John's saddened eyes and found solace in doing so.  His hazel eyes had turned amber brown, and the morning sun shone in on his hair, lighting it up.  Just like Jesus, I thought.

John found a handkerchief for me, and said that he would go for the doctor.  Joseph said, please allow me to do so, and you go with Louisa back to Warner's house.  Reverend Terry said that he would come, too, although Warner and Charlotte had not been church people.   Reverend Terry hitched up one of his wagons for himself and me to ride in, and John was to ride Warner's horse back.  I thought that perhaps I should tell my parents and Nan; John said that he would ride to tell them and would meet us there.  Sarah Terry had her hands full with the children and stayed behind.

We found Warner still in the room with Charlotte.  He was in bed with Charlotte, holding her gently, blood smeared on his hands and face and clothing.  He had stopped crying and moaning.  He had stopped making any sound at all.  I spoke to him and said that John had gone to fetch the doctor, and that Reverend Terry was in the next room.  Warner did not respond, so I went to Reverend Terry and told him that I did not know what to do, but I figured that he did.

Reverend  Terry went into the room and sat in a chair next to the bed, and began praying.  For what else can you do?  He prayed the Lord's Prayer and Psalm 23, and I do not know what else.  He began singing softly a hymn that I knew and we sang it together.  All the while, Warner did not respond in any way.

Nan and my mother soon came, with John appearing in the room just long enough for me to see him.  I stepped out of what was now a crowded room, and we went outside.

It was getting hot.  John leaned back against the house, and I stood in front of him, facing away from him but leaning back into his chest, his arms around me.  I heard a red-tailed hawk high above us. I remembered the last time I had heard one, down by the river, and recalled that at the time I was happily thinking of my John and wondering if he was going to be the next Thomas Jefferson.   That time seemed so long ago, and so far removed from this unhappy scene, and I suddenly thought of what it would be like to lose John.  This made me turn around and face John and reach up to him and kiss him, long and hard and fiercely.