Why Number Five

I had gone through the process of de-converting before this last loss. This was not the final straw as they say. But this was the day that I asked for a divorce and told John to get the fuck out. Our marriage was very rocky from the beginning and that is putting it lightly. I was trying to get out for at least a year. 

We were living in Southwestern Illinois. We decided to move back home to see if it would help our marriage. He knew without a doubt that I was hanging from a string with him. 

He asked me, begged me, to get pregnant again. I knew he was doing that to try to keep hold of me. I was angry that he was even suggesting it. He saw everything I went through. Sitting in the shower even while it was cold, bleeding and crying. I was a complete mess. I was so fed up with people telling me that god had a plan, everything happens for a reason, and offering suggestions.

I do not know why I agreed to do it, I knew what the outcome would be. I would lose it again. How could he ask me? How could he??? I think it was selfish and cruel. I told myself if and when I start to bleed then I am done. That is exactly what happened. 

So I began to lose the pregnancy when he was at work. I went to pick him up and I will never forget the look on his face. I did not even have to say it. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see again? The hate I had for him in that moment was probably like none I have ever experienced. 

I lost my fifth pregnancy, I lost what I thought my life would be, I lashed out, I made him watch it to the bitter end. Then I made him leave and I filed for divorce. 

The thing is that this entire time I thought something was wrong with my body. I felt like I was poison, my body hated me. I found out a couple of years ago his new wife was having problems. They went for testing and it turned out John had a chromosome abnormality. No one bothered to contact me to inform me. 

I lived all of that time thinking my body is just a fucking graveyard. But No, it was him. I was so angry when I heard that through an old mutual friend years after he knew the truth. It would not have taken much effort for someone in that family to care enough to let me know. Put my mind at ease. Offer me some healing and condolence. I guess that was just too much work. I guess none of them cared even the slightest bit for what I had gone through and how I felt. They say you should forgive. I do not believe in unconditional forgiveness. That bridge is not only burnt, it is like it never existed in the first place.