Frida's Miscarriage
My fingers were shaking, I didn’t know why. I could feel the tears clouding in my eyes but I didn’t feel sad enough to burst out crying. I could smell my husband’s scent outside the door but I was hoping he wouldn’t come in anytime soon, I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to let go of the life that was growing inside of me, I wasn’t ready to just accept this, as everybody says. They have no idea what I’m going through they have no room to talk but that didn’t matter at that moment. Nothing did. I was staring straight at my now dead baby that was placed in a jar to be preserved. He was curled up like an egg and eyes shut. His tiny, fragile body was just being drowned in the yellow water of the jar. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me to be. When they pulled him out of me I was sedated, I didn’t do a thing to save him. Disappointment: “When one is angry at the fact that they have failed at something that they wanted to succeed in.” I was broken, not in the right state of mind either. When I ate, I tasted nothing. Not one thing. Whenever someone talked to me it like a thick piece of glass was blocking my ear. I couldn’t focus either, my eyes were just straight not looking to the left or the right.
