There’s Always Something Going On

So in my long and rather saddening history there’s been a few spots of temporary happiness, getting engaged, Leeds getting to the premier league, and one that’s been playing on my mind as of late, my first pregnancy. Now I’m not able to get pregnant as you can imagine but around two years ago I was on my way to becoming a father. But then life got in the way.

 We were too young, we weren’t ready. I can make all the excuses why things turned out as they did. This was the first time I was with my ex fiancé, it was an amazing time. I was happier than I’d ever been, we were practically living together despite how long we’d known each other and most importantly, it worked. Honestly when both our heads are actually able to communicate properly to one another we were an unparalleled team, but death waits for no one and even our relationship had to go. The exact date is a little fuzzy for me due to alcohol and narcotic abuse since then and a talent for repressing those memories I just don’t want. I can remember like 10% of my life and to be honest that terrifies me, I remember some awful things so does it have to be worse to be repressed? I’m sure I’ll break down at some point and find out.

It was around this time, late June early July we fell pregnant. Like I said, we didn’t plan this. We weren’t even sure if we wanted this and yet the second she confirmed she was I could see in her eye the same thing she could see in mine, joy. I’m not saying I’d be a good parent, honestly I don’t think I’m up to the job, but a chance to raise a family has always been a personal dream of mine. I feel secure in numbers and who is better to talk to than someone who came from your own literal DNA? As you can imagine the likely hood of us actually raising that child was always slim, two young workers on minimum wage fast food jobs with no savings and no clue what they were doing. It was always going to be a good idea getting an abortion. 

  But we never did, we clung to these dreams of family rather stupidly. Neither of us had a family we were truly comfortable with, this was a chance to make our own. Make a mark on the world and do something amazing. But alas we both do tend to be smart people and we never committed either way as we were still weighing up the options trying to figure out what was better for the both of us and the child.

 This went on for the entirety of the pregnancy, having realistic conversations about how we can’t keep the child and give it the fair chance in life it deserves. But we couldn’t help ourselves we got heavily attached quickly, we even gave the child a nickname “Julio”. For the record the name means so much to us both after all this we were going to give our firstborn the middle name of Julio to remember their sibling but I’m getting ahead of myself.

 Honestly I still remember when it happened, I’d been on a night out in Manchester with my friend Dan the night before. It was early august and thankfully I wake up early, I don’t get hang overs or anything so im still up for about 8am most of the time. She wasn’t with me the night before as you can imagine but she woke around the same time I did and honestly the conversation, the fear that followed it haunts me when I close my eyes. She told me of her pain, in her stomach that hadn’t gone away for a while. She spoke of the fact that there was a lot of blood when she went to the toilet, now neither of us are stupid and if you’ve figured out where this is going you’re on the same page I was. But there was a denial, this can’t happen right? This only happens in movies and stuff, no one actually goes through this pain. Obviously we were wrong.

 More than anything we were daft, we left going to the hospital longer than you should ever leave it in a situation like that. How were we supposed to go to the hospital when we both knew deep down what had happened already? It was torture, but the pain wouldn’t stop and eventually we went to the hospital. Now I used to like hospitals, in fact o was planning of becoming a medical practitioner myself but this experience has put me off the field entirely. Agonisingly waiting for what feels like 10 hours or forever but in reality it was closer to just an hour. I remember her coming back to me in the waiting room. No words she just shook her head and continued to walk outside. As you can imagine, wasn’t my best day. We went outside and just kept walking for about half a mile before she finally broke down into my arms. We had lost our son before we had to chance to actually decide weather he was to be raised by us or another family. An entire life gone in the blink of an eye, all hope and happiness that goes with that particular string of destiny snipped with it. I don’t think I cried that day, not because I didn’t want to. I’m literally crying writing this right now believe me o wanted to break down. But she needed me to be strong at the time, and honestly so did I. 

 In a way it would bring us closer together, neither has ever truly let go of our child. And we both agree he would have been quality, with her as a mother it was a guarantee as far as I’m concerned. But it also forced us apart, for her I’m not sure but it’s hard for me to even look at her a lot of the time. Not for any blame or thing she did wrong in the situation but because every time I do I’m reminded of Julio, and as you can imagine that fucking sucks. 

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