About my baby’s father.

I am so very lucky to have gone through this nightmare with him, but his body wasn’t the one involved.  He didn’t spend weeks after murdering our baby with sore breasts that needed to nurse a no longer living child and an aching sore womb. Literally and figuratively.  I wonder if he ever thinks about our child or if he just worries about me.  He is one of the most empathetic people I have ever met .

How do two people who adore each other move past something like this? Will I ever forgive us? Will he? I wonder if I will ever truly be able to be with him free and clear with no thoughts of how he drove me that day. How he held me when I cried. How he sat with me while I dry heaved over the toilet, sweeping my hair back and covering me with a blanket, even running to the store at some ungodly hour to get me something soothing.  So loving and understanding.

I go through phases of blaming him (silently), which for the record he does a fine job of on his own. He just seems to be the only person I can blame when I am not blaming myself, which is constant.  This is on me though, I am almost 40 and capable of making decisions.

I have been grateful for this man in more ways than can ever be spoken. In many, MANY ways he has saved me and healed me.  Sometimes I hate myself for even telling him and not just shouldering this alone.

When I told him I was pregnant I didn’t ask for his opinion. I didn’t say “what are we going to do?” I know him and our situation well enough to know how he would answer.  I deeply wanted to hear him say something that ended with the phrase, “… lets keep it” but I knew I wouldn’t hear those words. And it isn’t his fault. And he doesn’t know I felt that way.

I am lucky this man even glanced my way when we started dating. He is gorgeous. And brilliant and giving and hilarious. He is the most beautiful soul.

And that is another reason I mourn this decision I made.  Our baby might have had his eyes or his humor or his infectious glowing smile.