My best friend, who recently announced that she was preggo (yay!), also recently did a maternity shoot. And while, I was, of course, very excited for her, there was a ping of regret from my pregnancy.
My pregnancy was not smiles. There were no quite pictures of me starring at my bump. If fact the only picture there was taken of me (by someone else) where my bump is visable is me tear stained, starring off blankly in a black dress.
You see just about the moment I foundd out I was going to bring a life in this world, I also found out that a life was fading, my father’s.
I won’t get into the nastiness of PFF an autoimune disorder that mimics COPD, but pretty much you get to watch your loved one slowly sufficate, knowing there is nothing you can do about it.But the disease, which crept up on my father had taken hold by the time last Christmas came around and I announce my pregnancy.
After a few months, it was clear that my father wouldn’t make it to my child’s birth, so I set a small goal, hoping he’d make it to the twenty week sono to learn the sex. At least he would know if he had a granddaughter or grandson.
Irronically, he died at 1 in the morning the day of my sono.
Instead of the joy of finding out if I were to have a girl or boy, I spent the bulk of the day crying and sleeping, though for some insane reason I still kept the appointment, simply because it didn’t cross my mind to cancel it.
The doctor who told us my father would die, said American’s know how to live but don’t know how to die, maybe that’s right, though honsetly I’d still like to punch him for saving such a bloody insensitve thing to an obivously upset and preggo woman.
Either way, I took his death hard. And spent the majority of the rest of my pregnancy trying not to cry and dragging myself to work in between tears.
I slumpt through a baby shower, in between helping my mother deal with the estate issues, still in my mourning dress and tried to breath through my fiance’s first father’s day which also marked the first without my father. And counted the days until I’d give birth knowing that I’d wish my father was there.
I still miss my father. It’s a raw pain, a new type of pain I am not use to, one that I don’t think will ever really end. And one that is punctuated sometimes, when I think of what he is missing out on.
Of course though, in the end of course, I ended up with a beautiful child and that’s more than a lot of people. .And my father at least say a few sono of little wiggle worm, which is more solace than other’s get.
But everytime I see my friends’ smiling pregnancy photos, I wonder if they know how lucky there are to be able to savor such an experience.