I was three months along when I found out I was pregnant with a baby boy. God! My heart was at ease for a moment when the doctor told me that I was expecting a young hero. All I wanted was to meet my son already. I was imagining my soccer star and I was a proud mom to be.

The pregnancy finally kicked in, I started having swollen feet, cravings, hormones, mood swings and my breasts were getting bigger. Around the fourth month my stomach started to show. I could feel my little champ. I started reading pregnancy books and I’d read bedtime stories to him. I learned so much about pregnancy and also learned to communicate with him. I would ask him to kick and he would respond; such an experience is to die for.

As time went by, I had no one to turn to but my son. I had to choose him over everything else. I was so happy in my life; he was the only thing that kept me going or made sense in my life. I had no job, but I kept on going. I wanted him to be in my hands. In my mind everything was well but who was I fooling? Because deep down I had some stress, but I chose to be ignorant.

Just when I thought everything else was fine, the miscarriage happened. I was just five and half months pregnant. I felt pain, I was bleeding. I decided to sleep on it, I will go to the doctor the following day I told myself. In the morning I woke up after I prayed so hard to God to save my son. I begged my son to kick but it was already too late, yet I still had some hope left in me, but faith was long gone.

When I got to the doctor it was too late for my son, nothing could save him. I was sent to hospital immediately. I was confused. I couldn’t speak. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I didn’t know whether to pray or not, I had no words; instead I looked up and cried because I couldn’t understand why was this happening to me.

After a few moments at the hospital, the doctor told me that my baby was coming anytime soon. I couldn’t believe it, but I kept on praying so hard. At around 22:45 my son arrived and I could see that he was no more. The nurse held him and brought him to me so that I could see him.

As I took a glimpse of him, he looked exactly like his father. He was cute with a tiny little nose, cute little lips, my charmer boy. I kept on looking at him then I started realising that my son’s soul was at peace. The way his eyes were closed, I wished I could’ve woke him and talked to him but he was just lying there, quiet. At that very moment I started crying as they took him away from me. The weather changed and it started raining. I looked to the sky and I saw shining stars, I knew that my son’s soul was resting in peace.

I then realised that I had no child and I was all alone. My mind was disturbed, my heart was shattered, my soul was never ready for this kind of pain, I knew that my body would never heal. The miscarriage destroyed me. My heart died the day I lost my son. A part of me was taken away from me. God never trusted me with his life. I wanted to die too, I lost my mind, I had no feelings.

I couldn’t eat or move, I was so numb. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, I always would. My wish was to hold him, squeeze him, and let him feel my love for him inside of my heart. That was the worst pain I’ve ever felt and that is the pain I don’t even wish upon my worst enemy. The Miscarriage Destroyed Me.


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