That’s the biggest question. Not why, but how. How could he have left me? How could he be gone?
It’s so surreal, unbelievable, like I am locked in a nightmare that never ends. He wasn’t supposed to go. He was tricked in to it. Cheated. Yes, that’s what we both were – cheated of our happily ever after.
And then there is what if?
What if he hadn’t gone that day? What if things had worked out in our favor? What if the embryos had implanted?
Well I know the answer to at least the last one! I visited a friend in the hospital today, she just had a baby boy. She traveled to G’s village to see him for the last time, she was pregnant then, but she didn’t know it yet. I wasn’t pregnant then, but I didn’t know it. If the embryos had implanted, it might be me in the hospital today with people coming in to see my baby. But instead, I was the visitor, with a box of cookies in hand, wondering on the tricks of fate. What’s worse, these last few days I’ve had this feeling that this is not going to work for me. Everything has gone downhill from August last year, how can this be any different!
As I drove there my legs were jelly and my mind wandered to all sorts of things. Perhaps not the best state to drive in! I had been in that ward before, 9 months ago, as G & I waited at midnight to get my trigger shot that’ll start the egg retrieval process. And now I stepped in alone, and I could just see us sitting there, in the emptiness of the place at midnight; on the ivory sofa, his hand draped casually around my shoulders. He’s come in the room that day to watch them give the shot, and he winced when the needle pierced my stomach. That was G, he hated if I got hurt, even if it was a pin-prick.
As I left the hospital my head was buzzing and unfocused. The what if’s were threatening to take over. So I made an SOS call to a friend – perhaps a beer would be a temporary fix? But it didn’t happen, people have their own lives, and then I wasn’t in the mood to call anyone else. As I reached home, my head was already throbbing. It’s curious how emotional upheaval is manifested as physical pain.
After a bout of emotional eating, here I am, penning it down again. As if any number of words could compensate for what I have lost. But the tears help, and the tears come when I write…