March 1990, Presbyterian Hospital
I opened my eyes again to see the man with the warm smile and the sandy blond hair from before. Dev.
"Marcy," he said, taking my hand. "I know things are a little fuzzy right now, but it’s okay. We’re going to get through this. Together."
It still hurt to talk, and for once, I was grateful, because I honestly didn’t know what to say. Everyone kept telling me my memory was hazy because of the coma following the birth of my baby girl. Maybe they were right. Maybe I really was 30. Maybe I did know this man.
"You remember Casen and Conner," he asked hopefully, "our little boys?"
Casen and Conner?
I have three kids with this man?
I gave Dev a faint smile, but my heart was racing so quickly, I worried he would be able to see it pounding right through the sheets.
What kind of mother doesn’t remember her own kids?
I closed my eyes and tried to remember, but all I saw was darkness. When I looked back up, Dev’s eyes were filled with tears.
That poor man.
I wanted so badly to remember him.
To remember our children.
To remember anything.
Beautifully rendered and full of rawness, truth, and hope, Blank Canvas is a reminder that no matter what we have suffered or lost, there is still beauty to be found in a new beginning.