Him.

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.

Those moments.

It’s within those moments of complete despair and sadness, when you think briefly for a moment that you don’t want to see another sunrise that your remember who you really are and there are things left here for you to do.

I’ve only had suicidal thoughts twice in my life. The first time was after an accident I’d been involved in. I was fairly damaged from it and a doctor told me, while truly gazing into my eyes, that I may never be the same and may not recover. I went home that day and imagined slitting my wrists till my blood poured from me till I felt no more pain. But those thoughts went away and I recovered.

The second time was yesterday. I’ve spent nearly every moment of the past 6 months hating myself for what I did. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself. Ever. And I can’t take it back or change the fact that I murdered my baby before it took it’s first breath. I’ve gained weight. I’ve isolated myself from my friends and family. I’ve shoved away the most beautiful man in my life who adores me completely and stood by me. I’ve stopped living since I did it.

What stopped me from opening my veins? My son. If I killed myself it would kill my living child and I couldn’t do that.

I haven’t mentioned the beautiful son I’m lucky enough to have. He reminds me of happiness, and at the same time I regret what I did more and more when I look at him. I’d give anything for another child like him. I Never felt that way till now. I was so complete with just him. And maybe it’s just a mourning thing or a post abortive syndrome thing, but I wish I could stop thinking it. The reality is I didn’t want more kids. I sort of still don’t. But I ache for the one I killed.

Today I was reminded that he is why I’m here and improving his life and making him happy is my mission in this world. I’m truly grateful for him and these moments today that brought it into perspective.

I don’t want to be here.

I already hate this blog.

If I’d made one different choice months ago I would be about to give birth to my baby instead of pouring my broken heart and bleeding soul out to strangers on the Internet.

When you have an abortion, you certainly don’t talk about it with friends and family.  You barely make eye contact with the other women in the clinic that day. You don’t speak of it to anyone. It’s the most shameful secret a woman can carry.

I can’t talk about this to anyone in my world. So here I am. It has been 6 months and the empty, throbbingly painful numb I feel has completely engulfed me. I am usually a talker. So not being able to speak of this to anyone has only made my black hole grow.  It screams at me. It whips at me mid-happy sentence. It swallows me hole at the edge of the ocean on vacation. It creeps up just as I fall asleep.  It tortures me constantly, invading every single moment of my life. And rightfully so. I can never take back what I did in that moment that is now just a tiny blip in time.

Actually, I can speak about this to my baby’s father who I am still dating, and who is wonderful but he requires his own post at a later date.  And as amazing as he is, he’s not my girlfriends who soothe and heal me on all matters (that I can admit to).

Make no mistake, I’m not looking for pity here. I’m a grown woman who made a choice. A choice that seemed necessary and, oddly, right at the time.