Divinity

I’ve always been a big believer in divine intervention, the universe, and spirituality. I’ve always believed in the proper timing of things, and that life would take care of itself. 

When I look down at my stomach, I used to feel embarrassed of how it protruded ever so slightly. It was my biggest insecurity growing up, and I always wanted it to be as flat as it could be. 

When I looked down in my shower today at the blood, and inflammation of my abdomen, I couldn’t help but try to pray to whoever is up there whilst knowing that my baby is with them. 

Having a miscarriage when I didn’t want to be pregnant is one of the weirdest feelings. I’ve always been someone to compartmentalize how I feel into specific phrases that felt biblically accurate to me. But, there’s nothing left to say here. I was terrified to be pregnant. I couldn’t even bring myself to take a test. But there I was, throwing up in the mornings, with persistent bloating that wouldn’t go away. 

There I was, with a father who I know would’ve stepped up. From the bottom of my heart, if I had to pick a parent out of everyone I’ve ever been with, it would’ve been him. I wasn’t ready for someone like him, and I don’t know if I ever could’ve been. He was too much in the best ways and I couldn’t commit, but carrying his child made me reconsider for a split second. 

It made me contemplate my entire existence. I thought about moving back home for college, where the nursery would go, and where I could get a job and switch to part-time school. I know I’m pro choice and I know what choice would be “smart” for my future- yet still, every time I think about my life, I know I wouldn’t have it in me to give up my chance to fix my mother’s mistakes. I’ve always felt this innate drive to be a mother. I’ve craved it since I was young. I wanted a little girl, so I could love her in the ways I wasn’t. I knew I could be a good mother. 

So there I am, in the Macduff hall bathroom on the first floor, after excruciating pain in my first college class this semester. I assumed I’d gotten my period, and this whole pregnancy idea was over. I looked down, and there was my Stevie in pieces that were otherworldly. I know my body well enough to know that this wasn’t a normal period, and it was later confirmed that my baby was there for a moment in time. I never found out, but I always had an inkling that Stevie was my baby girl that I’d always wanted. I just sat there. I didn’t know what to do. I went to my dorm an hour later and laid down, regretting every piece of sushi, and every shot of tequila that killed my baby girl. 

I remembered every detail. How I was peeing way more than usual, the aversion to foods and the craving for them, how my clothes fit differently. My breasts getting bigger, the mood swings, and how my body felt like it wasn’t mine anymore. Now, my body is forever a grave.

The last few days have been haunting. I’m watching my stomach deflate and the last pieces of my girl leave me, and although she’s already gone, my only worldly attachment to her and proof of her existence fleeting is so, so emotionally draining. I don’t know how Mother’s Day will feel this year, knowing that I’ve now lost the person that I was supposed to celebrate, and the person who was supposed to love me. 

There will always be such a special place in my heart for my Stevie girl. My heart and mind are permanently changed knowing that somewhere out there, I am a mother and there is a baby waiting for me to come home.