A blue line– faint at first and then growing darker–told me I was going to have a baby. I felt full of joy and hope. New life was taking form inside of me. 

I started thinking of names, of all the adventures to come.  Then at 13 weeks something didn’t feel right. I felt sick, I had pain, but I tried to push it to the back of my mind.  I tried to talk about it, to voice my concerns, but I was met with criticism. He told me if something went wrong it would be my fault for thinking negatively.  2.00AM it happened. Excruciating pain and blood, red as a rose in bloom, the thorn piercing my womb. A scream came from deep within me. It didn’t even sound like me. It was full of fear and of anguish. I was so afraid.  At hospital, an operation. I woke up with nothing inside of me. A space where my unborn child should have been.  I felt empty, alone, and so very sad.  I went home. It wasn’t mentioned. It was as though it had never happened. I kept it all inside of me. I blamed myself. I hated my body for not keeping my baby safe.  I slept and had dreams. I woke to a nightmare.  I wished I hadn’t felt like I was burdened with an awful secret. I should not have been made to feel that way.  Nature can be cruel, but people don’t have to be.  It is not a failure. I will always be a mother to my lost child.  I tell my story so that others can. Let’s talk. Let’s share. So that no one will feel as alone as I did. 

Henry Ford Hospital by Frida Kahlo

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