What's It REALLY About?

I've been reading a book on writing to move through grief and loss. It has lots of examples throughout it and personal anecdotes. I was reading about a woman suffering after the loss of her child. I read about grieving the death of a husband. All the stories of losing people and situations set me to thinking about the loss that led me to check out the book and the loss of Uber-Bitch and Baby shortly thereafter.

I've been a major part of Baby's life since Uber-Bitch told me she was pregnant and keeping the baby. I've been one of her primary caregivers the whole time, spending as much (frequently more) waking time with her than her mother. She has been an integral part of my life for over two years. And I miss her.

I miss the little things, like saying "Sure!" instead of yes or okay. I miss the big things, like hugs in the morning and stories in the afternoon. I hurt for all the things I won't get to be part of: first day of school, riding a bike, losing a tooth... prom, first kisses, graduation... I won't be there to cheer her on if she does sports or critique her stories if she writes. I won't be there to kiss boo-boos or sooth away nightmares. I won't be there to hold her when she is sick and watch her play when she is well. I just won't be there at all. I miss everything we've had over the past two and half years and I grieve for all the things I haven't had a chance to miss yet.

That led into thinking about the things I am grieving over the loss of Katy. Outside of the very real life she has lived inside my mind, I don't have all those little and big things to miss. I can't miss a smile I never saw or find myself using kidspeak words she created as a toddler. I can hurt from all the things I never got to experience with her. But really, having a baby at 17 would have caused so many complications and I never had to fight against those either. That's why they forced that choice on me in the first place.

Realizing the things I'm not grieving for made me wonder why, exactly, that event was so hideously traumatic for me. To the point of not being able to use the word. To the point of having a psychotic break where I was convinced she was real, alive, and part of my life as if it had never occurred. To the point that I fall apart from Easter until mid-June and walk a very fine line between choosing to live and allowing myself to die. What was it about that event that scarred me so deeply?

It's not that I am Pro-Life. I'm not - I believe a woman has a right to choose. I just believe it should be the WOMAN'S choice and not her family's. It's not because it ruined plans I had been making - I certainly did not plan to be pregnant at 16 and what happened allowed me to stay on track with the plans I had before I knew. It's not because I couldn't have children after her - I have four, exactly as I planned.

Is it just that I have allowed myself to get lost in a fantasy and I mourn the contents of that fantasy? Because I would never have generated that world if that "decision" hadn't ripped me apart. Why did that event break me?

My reflections on the topic brought me to the reason why I believe I the choice was wrong and I am dirty, evil, and unforgiveable. It wasn't MY choice. I didn't want that to happen but I wasn't strong enough to fight back. I didn't fight for that life that was growing inside of me. I let them control me and manipulate me to the point of not fighting and going along with them. To the point of marking NO the box on the form that asked if I was being forced or coerced into making the decision. And I will never, for as long as I live, be able to forgive myself for doing that.

Maybe the root of that trauma isn't so much about the life that was lost as about the reason for the loss. If it were just about the life, I would be crushed about the miscarriage I had between Kid-3 and Kid-4. I lost that baby too and that one was planned and fought for. It's not even about the procedure itself as I have no objections to women who who make that choice. It has to be about the reason I had it done.

Knowing Katy the way I do now may have come about because I didn't want to face that I had let things go that way. If I hadn't let them steamroll me, she would have been born and lived the life I remember so clearly. If I had been strong enough and good enough, I could have saved her.

Or I could be reading too much into that. Because being strapped to a table while faceless doctors painfully cut a baby out of me that I didn't want to let go of... that's pretty traumatic. Traumatic enough that the memory isn't mine but rather one of the Voices'. Traumatic enough that, combined with earlier traumas, I can't bear the thought of having a doctor do a female exam on me. I've had plenty of them while I was pregnant, out of necessity, but all of those memories are also from the Voices. I have most active PTSD symptoms from that than from my childhood situation.

It could be some of each, too. Or some other component I haven't unearthed yet. I dunno. Maybe some day I will figure it out, maybe I won't. Maybe it doesn't even matter.