Mama, I'm Coming Home

Synopsis: A woman realizes that her teenage son's adoption was botched and is determined to make things right by sending him back to his birthplace. Although, getting him there safely won't come easy.

Losing the baby was tough. When I saw the Red Sea pouring from below, I passed out because I knew it was gone, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't comprehend how it was possible to love something, even after knowing it for such little time. When the nurse was finished with me, she said I could go home, but I didn't bother moving. I laid there on the table until Tom had to peel me off like a band-aid. I was distraught and confused because I did everything right. I read the books. I took the prenatal vitamins. I went to the doctor. But it wasn't enough, none of it was ever enough.

I had lost something that I spent time making in my womb for three weeks and all my hard work had gone to waste. It was like being on an episode of Worst Cooks in America and Anne Burrell yelling, "Hands up!" Only I didn't want to surrender to this thing called a spontaneous abortion. I wanted to finish my masterpiece and take it all in after it was done. I wanted to hold it, touch it, and admire the beauty in it, but it was too late. Time had run out.

Tom was devastated as well. When we drove home, the car ride was silent, but he kept glancing at me every now and then, making sure I was okay. He clutched my hand with his right and gripped the steering wheel with his left. I could tell how tense and infuriated he was, but I knew his anger wasn't with me otherwise he wouldn't have kept asking me if I was okay fifteen times the moment we got home. However, what he did the next day made me believe that he wanted to hurt me because he immediately took down the wallpaper in the nursery. Since it was the only thing in the baby's room, it was an easy job to get done, although I wished he would've waited a few weeks before making that decision.

Deep down, I think it crushed him that he missed an opportunity to become a dad. He was so thrilled to teach our child how to play football or soccer or anything involving balls because he was a sports guy. He was a different person when he played sports; he was more alive. That's not to say that he wasn't alive in our marriage or in general as an individual, but there was just something about sports that lit a fire in him. And I deprived him of ever having the chance to bond with our child.

I knew it wasn't my fault that I lost the baby. I was also aware that nine times out of ten, a first-time mother was more likely to miscarry. I didn't know why. It was just science, and I just had to accept it. However, I did feel that I was a screw-up. I wanted to reach into my body and fix what went wrong with my pregnancy except that was the thing. I wasn't a machine that could be broken down into pieces. I couldn't troubleshoot my miscarriage and then wait for a few more months until I was ready to give birth. I had to accept that these things happen and that sometimes it was out of my control, but it was up to me to decide whether I wanted to grow from it or let it eat me up inside.

Fast forward to three months later in March, Tom and I headed for Thailand. Somehow he had convinced me that a vacation would help me take my mind off the baby and focus on my mental health. To me, it was no different than wallowing in self-pity at home except this time, I had a view to visually entertain me instead of plain white walls. When we got off the plane, we were hit with the humidity, and by the time we got to our hotel and looked in the mirror, we looked like we belonged in a Britney Spears music video.

On our first night, Tom and I had a tiny argument about the baby. He complained about me not having an open mind and lacking optimism because I wasn't smiling hard enough at the concierge, and I had barely uttered a word or looked the bellboy in the eye. To which I exclaimed that it was normal for me to feel this way as a woman and as someone who carried a baby. Of course, I "took it too far" when I asked him if I should turn into a Stepford Wife like his mother and then surprise him with an unexpected h*nging. Part of me wished I could've swallowed my words and put them back into my mouth because I had created this even bigger wedge between me and my husband. The reason being was that my comment about me being a Stepford wife and kicking the bucket was a shot at him because his mother whose whole life revolved around being a housewife was cut short when Tom came home from college his first year.

He had told me all about it during his second year when we met and started going out. As the oldest of five children, he planned the funeral all on his own and his aunt helped pay for the expenses. Ever since his father left his family for someone younger, Tom had always been the one to step up and take over things. He knew how to think resourcefully and work out problems in his favor. I always admired the strength he had in him, but as I tore him down, I could tell I had picked apart every fiber of what he had left in him.

That night, he left the hotel and when I asked him where he was going, he said he was going for a short walk. When he came back, I planned on apologizing to him, so I waited in bed for him to return. Unfortunately, his short walk turned into a little over an hour and the longer I waited up for him, the more I got tired. So, I fell asleep and when I woke up, he was sitting at the edge of the bed with a phone to his ear. This Tom was different from the Tom I had angered last night. This Tom was ecstatic as he drew his mouth upward in a smile. Little did I know that behind this smile was a reservation at a restaurant for brunch, followed by that was visiting a temple and an elephant sanctuary, and last but not least was the spa and then dinner on the beach.

I was elated, but guilt wore down on my face like sagging skin. I knew that Tom deserved an apology and I was going to give it to him on our way to the restaurant. I just couldn't find the right time to tell him during the drive, especially since the car broke down on the road in the middle of a storm.