Mom to Aiden/Abbey
Lost March 15, 2012
I was nowhere near ready to be a mother. I was barely out of high school. My boyfriend and I had only been together a little more than half a year. We were close. We were young. We were in love. We had a near perfect relationship. When I missed my period, we both promised not to panic. Despite our promise, we were both scared. And we knew it. I was scared to lose him; I was scared of not being able to achieve my dreams and goals of college. He was scared to face our family; He was scared of putting his own dreams on hold. And yet, we managed to hold strong together. At least for a while.
After taking a test, and having it come back positive, both of us were only more nervous. How would we support ourselves? How would we tell our families? Above all, how were we going to manage to be good teen parents? I had always loved children, but I’d always had a lifelong fear of being a parent. I had a bad relationship with my parents, and I was afraid to end up with a child who hated me just as much as I hated my parents. I remember telling my boyfriend, “I can’t be a mother. I’ll be a horrible mother.” He always reassured me, “I know you’ll be a great mother. I’ve seen it in you.”
Abortion never came to my mind as an option. As someone who loved children as immensely as I do, I could never bring myself to do such a thing. My boyfriend fully supported my decision. But we still had no idea what to do from there on. He kissed my hands, and told me to take care of myself and the baby while he took care of everything else.
I figured out I was about two weeks along. I tried to stay calm, and to look at this entire situation as a blessing. As afraid as I was to be a mother, I was secretly excited to be bringing a life into this world. I would have my very own baby to love forever. The original fear turned into excitement, and I began to actually feel okay with it all. Over the course of the next week, I managed to become excited enough to even make my own baby blankets and pick out names (Aiden, if it was a boy; Abbey, if it was a girl). I let my imagination run wild about what my baby would look like, act like, and even smell like. I thought of my life from this moment on, and how my life would be with my boyfriend. We hadn’t been together long, but I suppose I was just naïve enough to imagine a life with this man.
But before I could even share my excitement with my boyfriend, I began to get terrible cramps. They were enough to knock the wind out of me, and I began to worry. I forgot about all the good things I’d imagined. I started praying in my mind, “God, no. I know I may not be ready for this baby, but please don’t take this away from me now. I want this. I want this.” Unfortunately, I did end up losing my baby. I miscarried by beautiful baby in the afternoon of March 15th, 2012. I was only three weeks along. I hadn’t wanted to accept it at first, but deep down I knew my angel was gone. I’d put so much hope and happiness into that child, and God had taken him from me.
When I approached my boyfriend, he immediately knew something was wrong. Just that week, he had been telling me about all the things he had figured out for us. We would live with his parents while I was pregnant. We’d have the baby, and I’d go to school. He put his boot camp on hold until I was done, and then he would go while I raised the baby. We would work, and eventually, hopefully, we’d live together as a family in the reserves. When I told him about the possible miscarriage, he seemed paralyzed with shock. I broke into tears, and while he held me, I remember him saying, “I don’t know what I should be feeling right now. I don’t know whether to be ecstatic that I won’t be giving up my future, or if I should be grieving for losing my first child.” I remember being so angry at him for that. Now, I realize I probably felt the same way. We went to the doctor and I got checked up. It had been a miscarriage; my baby was gone. But I would be okay.
That’s all my boyfriend was concerned about at that point; that I was okay. But I wasn’t okay. Not mentally. I’m not even quite sure why. I was young, I had such a life ahead of me. I should’ve been relieved. But the idea that my baby was gone; I didn’t understand it or want to accept it. I became angry at everybody. I was sad at everything I saw or heard. My friends were a great support group; crying with me when I needed it; sometimes even hitting me when I needed to knock out of my crazy tantrums. But despite my friends, I had needed my boyfriend during that time more than anything. After the miscarriage, our relationship spiraled down. He never quite understood how I felt, and sometimes even accused me of overreacting when I cried or got angry at God. We could no longer sustain the ‘perfect’ relationship we’d had before. It was too much for me; and maybe too much for him. I was suffering severe depression, and he was drifting from me. Our relationship ended only a month after the miscarriage. He told me he no longer loved me. I cried harder than I’d ever had in my life; for my lost angel and my lost love. In my depression, I remember calling him plenty of times, drunk as a dog, begging him to come back. It only made our relationship more strained.
After more time, the pain of the miscarriage became easier to accept. I convinced myself that my angel had decided to go back to Heaven and wait for me; knowing that I wasn’t quite ready for him yet. To this day, it still hurts sometimes. And I still miss my baby. My depression has become much better, but a ‘normal’ day for me will probably never be normal for everyone else. Most days, “normal” is just being sad on the inside and managing to smile and laugh normally on the outside. But some days, “normal” becomes staring at every baby and imagining what my baby would look or behave like at that age; and then not being able to imagine it. Then, I’d be breaking into tears and wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen. Some days, “normal” to me is standing in the cereal aisle and trying to decide between honey-nut and plain and barely being able to keep from falling apart. Some days, “normal” is bursting into tears at the simplest of questions like “Paper or plastic?”
“Normal” is going to class every day, seeing my ex boyfriend, and feeling a deep pit of anger in my chest. I think it’s unfair sometimes, for me to be angry, but I can’t help it. He hadn’t been there in my darkest time, and he hadn’t even given me the chance to try and understand what had been going through his mind. He and I did everything together; and I mean everything. We were together almost every hour of the day; and now, I did everything alone with him standing only a few feet away. We still ate at the same places, had the same classes, and saw each other the same amounts of time in a day. The only difference was that we didn’t do it together. It’s hard, because every little thing that reminds me of him reminds me of our baby. And because of that, I don’t think I’ll truly ever heal. Some days, my depression still gets so bad that I think I’ll end up killing myself. Other days, I manage to actually smile and live a life.
I’m trying my best to get better, but I know that I’ll never fully heal. A part of me was taken, and can never truly be given back. I can’t even bring myself to blame my failed relationship on my baby or my boyfriend. Perhaps God just knew that he wasn’t the man for me, or the father for my child. I still love both my baby and my boyfriend with all my life, but maybe some time in the future, I’ll get to be the girl who gets the boy and the baby. And when the times right, I’m confident that God will not deny me the joy that he took from me that night of March 15th, 2012. My baby; my little angel.
You can contact Maya at firstname.lastname@example.org.