No one writes tragedy better than Shakespear... except me.
I have never seen such emptiness in a human being.
It was almost as if I could peer into his eyes and see nothing but ice.
Maybe that explains his cold stare as I sobbed into my arms.
You would think that losing a child, above anything else,
is reason enough to be held by the one you love.
Maybe even the fact I'm carrying another baby
deserves the slightest bit of kindness during tragedy.
Or the realization I have a disease
that could render me without a limb,
possibly worsening until it kills me.
But nothing seems to be worth his time,
not even a single compassionate gesture.
I should have been crying in his arms, not in mine.
We should be holding eachother up
and not pushing eachother down.
He grabbed his things and one by one
stuffed them into his bag as I begged him not to go.
His clothes were more important than my feelings.
All I could ask is what I did wrong.
What can I do to make it better?
My breath expired at his words.
I could barely breathe after he told me.
He said he didn't want this baby.
It's too early. It's too soon.
But all I heard is:
It's too late for us to be a family.
What am I supposed to do?
It takes two to create a life.
Here he has me believing it's my fault.
Like a pregnancy is something to be ashamed of.
It's hard to rejoice as it is,
considering we just lost our son.
At the very least,
we have something to look forward to.
I held my womb in both my hands,
the same place where my son grew,
and in that moment
in front of the love of my life,
I felt hopeless
As though I had failed him
and our children.
It doesn't help matters much
That our son will never see his first birthday
and I may not live to see this child grow up.
I'm so afraid my baby will never know me,
or I will not live long enough for him to survive.
I'm fighting the hardest battle of my life
hoping that at the very least
something good will come of this.
Hoping I will live to see his or her first breath,
and all the milestones beyond.
The more I begged him to stay,
the more he retreated to the door.
Finally realizing there was nothing I could say,
I straightened myself up,
gathering all of my strength,
I looked at him once more.
I said goodbye.
And I meant it.
In hindsight, I deserve so much better.
Some people have a tendency to make us believe
that we aren't as special as we once knew.
They bring us down
take away what we love,
and make us forget who we are.
I know that I have a gift.
There is nothing to make me doubt that anymore.
Deep, deep down, I never forgot.
I ignored it for the sake of what I believed was true love.
Love shoudn't hurt like this.
Love does not abandon or neglect children.
Love does not turn it's back while someone is grieving.
Love is understanding.
Love is being there even when you don't want to be.
Love is losing a child and supporting one another afterward.
I know now that he does not love me.
If he did, he'd be here.
All he could say is that we need more space,
as if there was some reason to be apart.
But, he said he will be there when I need him.
Yet, I needed him then.
I told him I needed him.
He has not been there.
It's not the first time he has lied.
Nor the second, or the tenth.
When I look back,
I can see that all of it was a facade.
And I can see that I also lied.
I lied when I said I needed him.
I realized that I do not need him.
There is nothing I needed him for in the past, why now?
I carried my son in my body alone.
I paid for most of his baby things alone,
save all the presents we were given.
I made his funeral arrangements alone.
And now, I will grieve for him, alone.
That night, I laid in bed and stared into space
like many recent evenings.
I wrapped myself deep into my blankets
and was thankful that I'm still breathing,
for my breath also belongs to my unborn.
My son's ashes were next to my bed.
I picked up his little urn,
and I kissed him, and held him close.
Alone there, with both my children,
neither of which I could see,
I felt grateful I was given the chance
to know such happiness.
Even as brief as it was.