In July of 2008, I was about to start my freshman year of high school. I was so excited and could not believe I was finally a high schooler! Just four more years until I could move out and get rid of the hard life I had already behind me. I was raised in an abusive household, and I was reaching my breaking point. Life was not easy... But I did what I had to do. Which ended up being nothing at all.
However, at the end of the summer, my mom was in the hospital, and during that time, I was raped. For the longest time, shame wasn't a strong enough word to describe what I was going through. Pain wasn't strong enough to describe the feelings. I went numb. It was the best I could do.
I started my freshman year happy to just be out of the house for most of the day. I thought everything would just go back to normal and I'd be fine. However, things were very different after I started school. It started with nausea, which later turned to vomiting. By the time we were in September, I was bloated, eating weird things at weird times, tired, and just gross feeling. That's when I realized that something was wrong. After hours or searching for the answers to what was going on, I realized it had to be the thing I was most afraid of: pregnancy.
I wasn't scared of pregnancy itself. I was scared of abortion. At the time, I believed I'd have to have one if my mom found out, and I did not want this to happen. As much as the circumstances were cruddy, I did not want to kill my baby.
So for several weeks, I kept it a secret. I didn't tell a soul, even after a pregnancy test confirmed I was, indeed, pregnant. Over this time, behind closed doors, I became very happy. I was going to be a mom! Even though I was only fourteen, I was excited. I didn't care how it would work. I had faith that it just would. I was so sure everything was going to be okay and work out for the best. I had even picked a name, for both a boy and a girl, depending on what I was having. Nothing could deflate me... Or so I thought.
In mid-October, I came home from school to find my dad drunk and fuming, but before I could stalk off and just lock myself away, he pushed me down to the floor and started beating me, but the damage was already done, and I didn't even know it yet.
The following Saturday, I woke up alone in my house feeling off. I woke up on my own at about six or seven in the morning, when I normally slept in to nine or ten. Not only was I awake, but I was having terrible cramps and I felt ill overall.
My back and stomach were killing me, so I went to the living room and curled up on the couch, watching the first thing that turned up on the television. I was like this for three hours before things went fuzzy.
The next thing I know, I'm on the floor of my bathroom and blood is seemed to be everywhere. I probably recall more blood that there really was, but to me, I just knew there was just too much to be good. I fell apart. Broke down. I couldn't stand it.
But it wasn't really until I started cleaning up that I realized what had happened... Because I saw her. My daughter. All that was left of me shattered, right then and there. My little Sophie Olivia was gone.
At the time, I never told a soul, even as I endured both physical and emotional pain for the next week or so. Nothing in this world can describe the pain of losing a child. She may have not made it to full term. I may not have ever heard her cry. I may not have ever held her in my arms. I may not have ever been able to kiss her goodnight or sing her lullabies. But she was still my baby. My daughter. And she still is. She lives in heaven with all the other angel babies waiting for their parents to come to heaven too, to be a proper family.
Sophie was due in late April, but I lost her at around 14 weeks in October. If I had had my bay, she'd be on her way to her fourth birthday. I still love my daughter, as if she is here. She is my world; my everything. And she is the inspiration for starting this blog. Because we are not alone. And together, we can make it through.
A mother's love never dies.
