I got the news that my hormones had gone down. I have miscarried or a I am, semantics. I have handled this final news really well so far. I think that it's because I accepted it as fact a few days ago. I knew before the tests told me just like I knew before I looked at the pregnancy test. Pregnancy is a whole lot of hormones to not notice. When they leave, you notice that too. Oh, and the blood. That's pretty obvious.
So, my boobs don't hurt. My upper abdomen isn't sticking out with bloat. I can enjoy this third cup of coffee and pretend I enjoyed the vodka I drank last night. It's still very hard.
I haven't really gotten to the "what do I do now?" part. I know that I go to work on Monday. I know that I delete the pregnancy email updates and the bag of thankfully unpurchased maternity clothes.
Then on Tuesday, what do I do then?
And poor Bill. He's just heart broken and not letting it show. I can see it in him and I wish he'd cry and let it out. I wish he'd show the reaction I got when I told him we were pregnant. I know he needs to release it.
That's not my place. I ask but I don't pry. I share and then smile to let him know he can share. He'll open up eventually. I've seen it happen.
Hours after shrugging a reply, lying in bed, he will say in the softest voice, "Remember what you asked me today?" and then he'll keep going.
I always turn to face him and watch his profile in the darkness. His eyelashes flutter and he puts together his words and I remain quiet. He will talk until he stops and then we'll both go to sleep.
I dislike the phrase "man of few words." It seems so cowboy or savant. "He's not stupid, he's just quiet." I sometimes forget that Bill doesn't talk much unless he's around friends. He's a quiet worker. He waves to neighbors. Most people like him but few know too much about him. Even quiet, everyone can tell he's sharp. He's smarter than most people I know.
He's had so much piled on him and he turned out loving, kind and thoughtful. His mother abandoned him long before she physically slipped off and left him with his grandparents. Of course she waited long enough to marry a guy who beat the kids for a while.
His father was gone before he remembers. It was the bad kind of gone too, on the streets drinking. His dad turned 18 in Vietnam and had two kids in the suburbs before 24. Bill never saw him after his early childhood. We now know that he died a few months before we looked for him. Lung cancer, VA hospital.
Instead of being hardened, Bill has become the hardest-working and most dedicated man I have known. He can't wait to right the wrongs of his childhood but his desires have no hint of bitterness. He doesn't care to show anyone or prove anything. He just wants to settle into the type of happiness he's never known before. He wants a baby as much or more than I do.
I know that it isn't my fault but my heart aches that I haven't been able to give him what he wants. I grieve the loss and feel a sense of failure. This is the gift I have wanted to offer him for so long. I want to do this with him and watch him meet our child.
I know this isn't the end. We will be parents. It may take more time. It may take adoption or medicine but we will get there. He's too good of a man not to be a father.
