Sometime in my twenties, I got knocked up.
Pregnant or in the family way would probably be more acceptable but I had just gotten out of a shitty relationship that lasted way to long and was finally living alone. Saying that I was expecting seems wrong when I had gotten myself knocked up.
It was the first time that I was living truly on my own. No roommate, no parent, and no boyfriend – I was on my own and loved it. And then, the ex-boyfriend came to see me, on Valentine’s Day, wondering why I would not answer the phone anymore when he thought we would get married one day.
Married? I knew I would never marry him. Maybe at some point there was a possibility but I left him, moved across town and deliberately moved to a place that was suppose to be so secure you had to know the apartment number to ring my buzzard.
I never told him my apartment number but he got in anyway. Where was that security they promised in the brochure?
We talked, we argued, we said our goodbyes, and one thing led to another. A few weeks later I took that dreaded test, so much for that fond farewell idea and so much for birth control.
Needless to say, when I called to tell him, the truth came out. He had been living with someone for months and I would be on my own if I had the baby. I was actually okay with that scenario. It was him that I didn’t want anymore.
As it turned out the baby was not meant to be and life went on. I have not thought of that time in my life for many years.
My mom on the other hand, thinks of it every April.
It’s amazing how events in our lives may impact the ones around us more than we know. I think my mom saw the miscarriage as a lost grandchild, a lost miracle. I saw the miscarriage as a blessing, not right away mind you but eventually.
It took a long time for me to be around any children, including the children in my family. I had even given up ever having a family of my own because not long after my miscarriage I was told it would be hard for me to conceive. Although it was not necessarily in my plan to have children, taking the option away devastated me to the point I told my husband, “What’s the point of getting married if I can never have kids?”
Obviously, the doctor was wrong and I had no problems conceiving two kids and the husband and I eventually got married.
Looking at our family, my husband and our children, I realize that sometimes the best answered prayers are the ones that weren’t answered at all.