She woke up with a start. There didn’t seem to be a reasoning for her awakening but yet, she sat up in bed, wide awake. Her husband was lying next to her, his arm still tightly holding onto her waist and his foot crossed over hers. She looked down on him and stroked his cheek, not sure if she wanted to wake him or not. Letting out a tenative, ‘honey?’ he stirred and held her tighter, pulling her into his chest. She licked his nose lightly and his eyes fluttered open as he kissed her cheek. 'Honey?’ She asked again. He sat up, holding her into his lap. 'What’s up, sweetheart?’ She pondered for the right words to say then nuzzled his cheek before replying, 'I don’t know but I’m scared.’ He kissed her softly as he pet her stomache. Her eyes widened in realization and a small, 'no…’ escaped her lips. She ran to the bathroom and vomited as soon as her feet felt the bathroom tile. He pulled her hair up and rubbed her shoulders softly as she cried. He started cleaning up her face then floor as she took her pajamas off to inspect the cause of her worry. Her underwear was stained so dark it might have been black. She looked up in horror, her breathing exphasizing her inability to process what she was seeing as her head spun. Her husband reached for her as she passed out.
This bed wasn’t very comfortable. She moaned and stretched as her body fought waking but someone was holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings. They wanted her to wake up. Her eyes slowly opened to her husband’s concerned face so she gave a small smile and held her arms out to him so that he’d come closer. He wrapped his arms around her, joing her on the small bed as he kissed her softly. 'Hey, honey. Where are we?’ She looked around and it seemed like they were in a hospital wing. That didn’t make any sense… she was only 5 months pregnant. She looked into his eyes and noticed that he was on the brink of tears. He never cried. Fear seeped into her and she grabbed his arm in panic. 'Honey… what’s going on?’ He just pulled her into his lap and pet her hair softly, stating that it was going to be okay. Cramps overtook her. 'Please honey, please tell me that our baby is okay.’ Tears started coursing down her face as he didn’t respond. She cried into his shoulder, giving herself a headache as he whispered, 'I’m sorry.’ She couldn’t stop crying. She cried so much that she wouldn’t have been able to hear him say soft words of consolation. She had murdered their baby. How was she supposed to get over that?
The next few weeks were a blur. She spent most of the time in bed or on the couch, lying there with a hopeless look on her face. She only ate when he put something in her mouth and talked her through eating. She didn’t have any motivation to eat. She didn’t want to shower. He would carry her to the bath and bathe her just so she’d get clean. She didn’t resist but she never helped. She would only listen to him but sometimes the words didn’t register. Every time she fell asleep, she would awake screaming. The nightmares were ongoing and all he could do was watch and hold her tight. She eventually stopped crying but her depression seemed to unravel her. She lost weight, she wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating… if he left her alone to go to work or get groceries, she would just stare at the wall while he was out. He didn’t know how to reach her, he didn’t know how to bring her back. The woman that he loved.
He broke down finally. He screamed at her. It wasn’t just her that was hurting. They both had lost their child. Was she really so selfish that she put all the blame on herself? Couldn’t she see that he also felt guilty? He pleaded with her, begging not to lose his wife in addition to his child. She saw him for the first time in a very long time and the tears returned. They shared some soup and color came back into her face. He stroked her hair and kept reiterating that she was his girl. Things were not okay. But they would get better. Together.
A few months had passed and grief no longer ran their lives. But she couldn’t be in the same room as a friend who talked about her efforts to get pregnant. They didn’t understand why she didn’t want to hear about new contraceptive methods or what they were planning on naming their kids. They didn’t understand why it was so important to her when some of them had abortions and so many women go through this. Family only seemed to add insult by offering life style changes to prevent future occurances or mentioning that they had also 'been there’. She didn’t want to hear it.
And her poor husband… fear controlled their love making. To want to express love for each other with each other, to desire a second chance but terrified of a repeat or forgetting what they had lost by moving on… oftentimes alone time in their room was the most bitter. How long were they supposed to grieve the loss of their child that they had not yet known?
He took action one night and didn’t wait for her to say it was okay– he loved her and needed her and she was the same so he took her and loved her. His hands owned her flesh, his lips left reminders on her skin of his devotion. He let her cry, he let her tremble, he wasn’t going to let go or stop loving her. When they once again became one, she couldn’t remember why it had taken so long. He was her home, this is where she belonged. She was his and he filled her. No fear, no doubt. Looking at him, she knew it was all going to be okay. They kissed like they were kids again and after cuddling, they fell asleep in each other’s arms and there were no nightmares. They would no longer be defined by their loss.
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