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The funny thing is I’d already started to love my unborn sibling. I had wanted to be a big sister.
A person she could rely on. A shoulder to cry on.
I wanted to prove everyone wrong.
But couldn't help it.
She was torn so violently from my heart. My little sibling, who would never get to witness the miracle of the world.
would never get to hear a story. Never get to listen to a song, or read a book, or watch a sunset.
She wouldn’t get to be my sister.
I wouldn’t get to be hers.
Now my tears fall freely. I can’t hold them back any longer.
I wanted her. I wanted her so badly.
I wanted the years of loneliness and stumbling around blindly to end.
I wanted a true family.
Not the broken one I’m left with. Not the depressed mother who honestly scares me sometimes. Not the new boyfriend who I’m never comfortable around.
It’s been 4 years since my mom’s first miscarriage. 1 year since the horrible divorce.
3 weeks since her second miscarriage.
Twice I’ve had to get my hopes up and have them crash down around me, drowning me in sorrow.
Burning me with misery.
Tearing apart my heart.
Sometimes I truly worry about going crazy. I feel as if I’ve come close numerous times.