I got pregnant for the second time in the midst of a messy divorce. My ex husband and I had separated a month before, and the man that I had quickly fallen in love with was always by my side. My daughter, 9 months old, had been stolen from me under the guise of a police officer telling me that my taking her away from my ex while we were still legally married was kidnapping and a federal offense. I would not see her again for a month.
It wasn't right, any of it. Jeremy and I had only been together for a month; he didn't want children; my daughter was less than a year old. I was couch surfing, as my ex had gone temporarily mad and I didn't know whether or not it was safe to go back to our apartment, even though he had gone too. The apartment was like a cold, gaping hole that I couldn't go back to. On top of it all, I didn't know whether or not I wanted another child, what with my daughter so young and both parents without financial security enough to handle two children. It was all too fast.
We made the decision together, and he paid for it. Everyone at Planned Parenthood was kind and clean and understanding. Since I was only 7 weeks along, I could take the pills that made me miscarry. I had to do the ultrasound before they could give me the pills, to make sure that I was truly pregnant.
I still have the ultrasound. In my heart of hearts, I knew I had a son, just like I knew my daughter was a daughter from the day I woke up with a tender stomach. We named him, oddly enough. Dante. Its a good name. He's a picture and a memory. A good one, of course. Joy and suffering. The joy of knowing I brought a life into the world, the joy of choice, of being able to give my son the mercy of not-life, to delay his existence until he could live fully and without fear of poverty. A life half lived and pulled down by the neck isn't a life. I didn't want that for our child.
I think of him once in a while..I think of, after it was over, Jeremy cradling me through the last of my cramps and crying. I think of the son I would have had..he'd be 3 and a half right now, and my daughter is newly 5. I've always been at peace with his passing, but I will always bittersweetly wonder what he would have been like. I love you. I love, always.