On June second, just little over two years ago, I was in car accident. I survived and so did my husband. The family of four from the other vehicle also survived from death. They experienced several serious injuries, like concussion, open brakes, many damages to the spine... but they survived. Every one that you could see looking from the outside of the car. But there were more than six people in that crash. There were seven living and beating hearts on that day, but only six kept theirs.
On June second, I was second month pregnant. Exactly two years ago I had lost my child. My little baby girl. Barely two months. It was so early. You couldn’t even see. Just eight weeks. A month before that, I didn’t even know myself and yet from that day everything changed. It was the most life changing thing in my life. Until now.
We were so happy. I was 25 years old and my whole life was ahead of me. My husband Matt gloving from joy, though I was the one pregnant, and the one that should be gloving. We had so many plans.
And from there it really went down the hill. Regrets, hidden anger and resentment that was slowly destroying our lives, or more to the point our marriage. We still had other things to care about, like our carrers. Those parts that didn’t require resentment. The parts that didn’t disappoint us. I had an architect degree and my job as a decorate designer. It kept me going, when my thoughts turned to darker shades. Times when I looked at my husband and no longer so a person I once loved, but a stranger... or maybe worse than that. I saw someone responsible for my pain. For my loss.
And he had a carrer of his own. After all he was a successful PR manager and a computer genius. They adored him at the office. He was the man with a plan, someone who always had a solution. His job always took long hours. That was never an issue. We separated our personal and private lives with ease. We weren’t like other couples. Always nagging the other person about the late night at the firm, or cancelled plans. The difference was, that we really loved our jobs. Just as much as we loved each other. So when we were coming home, there was no room for frustration and moaning at the “bad boss”. I mean we all had our bad days.
After all nobody ever had a perfect life, right?
But as it went, it was quite close at times. But I guess that all of that changed after the accident. Like we lost something very important, a very special part of us... and it wasn’t just the loss of our child. Our little baby, that hadn’t had the chance to grow up... that was a crushing moment. It was unbearable, but it wasn’t the worse thing... that day we lost something else. Somehow when the car crashed, we also lost ourselves in the process. Slowly falling apart. Rusting inside and out, just like the battered remains of our silver Volvo.
We lost our love, our happiness, the future that we had planned... or maybe it was just me. Maybe I started this, because my pain was so much bigger than his. After that day, no matter what I did, I felt empty inside. Physically and emotionally. And underneath it all, I felt angry. All this time he was the one to blame.
Not the car that crashed into us, not the bad weather or the fact that we were both tired. None of these things made me angry or resentful... no, not as much as he did. I was furious that he made me go. That I agreed, when I really didn’t want to go. I could have stayed at my mothers, but he wanted to come home earlier. I could have made him go alone. I should have stayed.
But instead, I went with him and argued in the car about silly, meaningless, idiotic stuff. I was two months pregnant... you couldn’t even see if you didn’t know. Funny, you couldn’t see it, and yet it still felt as if I was being ripped into pieces, crushed... chewed and spit out. As if all that was left were my bare, cold bones. I could still feel that belt digging deep into my body. I remember the sound of two cars crushing against each other... it felt like I was a million miles away, away from myself and a million miles from my baby. But she was gone. I knew it instantly, the moment the belt sank deep into my stomach. I could fell a sudden change, an empty feeling. Even though there was this loud, ear crushing noise, all that I could hear was the silence. The silence inside of me. I just knew. My little baby Lucy...
Later in the hospital I would still somehow cling to some delirious hope, that it wasn’t true, that maybe I was wrong. That all of this didn’t actually happen. I think I was in deep denial by then. Protecting myself from reality and the entire world put together. Using the rest of my energy to shield my mind from the obvious truth... or maybe, I just wanted a couple of more moments with my daughter... no matter how delusional that time might have been.
So I laid there, on the hospital bed. Trembling hands spread lovingly across my flat belly. My left shoulder and leg bandaged tightly. Still hoping, still praying.
But it was too late, I knew that...
I lost the little love growing inside of me... and the other love of my life, that was standing behind the hospitals doors... was slowly shifting and changing its shape,
with every passing moment turning destructively from love to hate.
This story is not based on real events.