When You Left

36

*It physically hurt me to write this.*

01. 10. 14

My heart is gone again.

It happened on New Year’s Eve. I don’t remember much and from what I do, it’s all very hazy and unclear. But, I am thankful for that. I never want to remember that night.

I was out with Benny. He had gotten it out of me that I was going to be alone on New Year’s and had insisted that he would spend it with me, just drinking sparkling juice.

So, we went out on the town; to that little theatre on 5th street that only showed old classics. We watched “The Seven Year Itch” and compared Audrey and Marilyn; which I absolutely hated because how can you compare two very different people.

Then we went back to his loft and just talked about –well everything. Life, my family, his family, the baby. We avoided the topic of you, though. We always do.

What I hadn’t told him was that throughout the night, my stomach felt like someone was pinching the inside of it. I assumed it was nerves or possibly the baby already kicking. But, as the night dragged on, so did the pain.

Until finally, the pain became so excruciating that my vision began to blur. Benny scrambled to get me to a hospital, so I could be checked out. But, it was already too late. I felt the blood trickle down my legs.

And as I watched the paramedics wheel me away on a stretcher; my vision spotting in and out, my pretty new dress drenched in blood, and Benny’s face turn from worried to horrified I swear I could practically hear the heartbeat that had beaten so furiously only weeks ago fade out. And along with it went mine.

By the time I came to, it was already the next day. But, something felt different; I felt hollow, barren, alone.

But, I wasn’t entirely alone because when I woke up you had your head laid down on my bed, your hand clutched in my hooked up one, and you’re body angled towards mine while you slept.

I stared at you for a long time. I couldn’t figure out why you were beside me or why you were holding me hand. I thought that I had imagined you. But, when you’re finger absentmindedly stroked mine while you slept, I knew you weren’t just a mirage.

It took a moment for me to register what had happened and I didn’t need to look down to know that there was no heartbeat anymore –that there was no baby anymore.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t bring myself to cry. I just sat there for what felt like forever, listening to the sound of your steady breaths and the incessant beeping of the machine that, with each pulse, reminded me I was alive.

It wasn’t until the doctor barged in that you jolted awake from your slumber. You immediately looked at me and I saw your face clearly for the first time in almost four months. Your brown hair was mussed up to the side from sleep, you let your stubble grow out quite fully –something I hadn’t seen in a long time, and you looked tired, so very very tired. And you looked at me with those same soft leafy eyes, but they did not hold joy or warmth like they used to. They were clouded over, confused, slightly angry, but most of all they were full of grief and guilt. The sight made me uncomfortable and I had to look away without so much as a greeting or gesture of ‘hello.’

The doctor began to explain to me what had happened, but it all jumbled in my mind with only a few choice words rattling through my brain to take up residence.

“Ectopic pregnancy… saved fallopian tubes … sorry… loss… nothing you could do …grief counseling…”

He kept mentioning that it wasn’t my fault. That is was premeditated the moment the sperm attached. But, I couldn’t help myself from thinking about all my drunken nights before I knew. I couldn’t help but blame myself for torturing our baby.