• Miscarriage and Mike

    by  • November 7, 2016 • To You • 0 Comments

    Dear Mike,

    I sometimes still feel you around. I can still see you shuffle your feet with your hands in your pockets.

    Today lying in his sun-drenched bedroom, I thought of you. Of how different my life with you was. I feel safe with him, he would never hurt me like you did. He would never leave me out in the raining while I was crying. He would never threaten me or use the things I have told him against me. I am sad and alone still. He is not you. He never can be.

    You crossed a line that you cannot come back from. I am glad you did. It freed me, emotionally, to move on.

    I am carrying his baby inside of me. The last baby I carried this long was yours. I still regret the abortion. I regret all of it, because now I may never have a child. The doctor told me that I am losing this one. How can you love something so much that you haven’t even seen yet? How can you be willing to risk anything for a little being that you have never met? I always felt like this, even when I was pregnant with yours. And that is why I had the abortion. I never wanted my baby to know their dad.

    I have such a normal life now, you would be amazed. And I love being with him. We have trips planned and lie awake for hours in each other’s arms, and sometimes we just sleep. If I get lonely at night, he is there. There is ease and peace between us.

    This morning, laying in his bed, I thought of you. Of how different our two lives are. And I am happy.

    I am happy.

    Shit, I am losing the baby. I don’t know how to process this and am shutting down inside.

    I would give anything to make this baby survive.

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