Today, we welcome guest writer, graphic designer and crafty part-time nomad, Skytimes, to Glow. Skytimes humbly shares her difficult story of abuse and loss for which we are so grateful. I have enjoyed her writing and perspective on single babylost parenting, grief, and survival. She blogs at Skytimes. —Angie
Once upon a time I was married and pregnant. And I have never felt so alone in my life.
Newly married, we had moved to my country to start our life there but soon after my husband relapsed into his addiction.
I was self-employed and the sole breadwinner, working all day, buying groceries on my way home, cooking, washing, cleaning and dodging bullets from a grumpy drug-infested (or withdrawal-ridden) man. All the while puking my brains out several times a day and tiptoeing around his anger and rage.
Then our son died in my womb around 33 weeks into the pregnancy. This propelled him into a full-on Idontgiveashit-relapse. I was induced and waited to give birth to my dead son for four long days while TheDad snuck off every day to get more drugs.
I went home. Food was rotting away on the kitchen counter, clothes and stuff were strewn across the room, babystuff everywhere. I grabbed a carton and packed all baby related stuff away right away, cleaned up the kitchen and cried.
A few hours later he left me, saying he couldn‘t always be there for me. He yelled for hours, packed up his belongings and left. I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up the next morning... my belly was as empty as the other half of my bed. Both my boys were gone.
The word Alone had a new definition.
There was no one to call: My family and friends were loaded with newborns, my best friends on holidays... there was no one. For a second I considered jumping from my window - a thought I‘d never had before (or after, for that matter).
The weeks ahead, he became more violent and unpredictable. I was scared for my life and at the same time I couldn‘t quite break from him. He was the only connection to my son, the only person that saw him and held him. Breaking up felt like severing the last tie to my one and only baby. Breaking up felt like betraying my son - when the only person I was betraying was myself.
Betraying myself from grieving, from freedom, from peace. He threatened suicide, he threatened murder-suicide.... I tiptoed and tried to make life better. I felt paralyzed and unable to make any move that might hurt the fragile state of "us". What I failed to see was that there was no "us" anymore... just two individuals in an abusive and miserable relationship.
We broke up a few months after Sky‘s birth. I got out the memory-package from the hospital and looked at Sky‘s photos for the first time. I bawled, I yelled, I sobbed—I finally started to grieve.
I realized I don‘t need TheDad in my life to be connected to my son. My life will always be Minus One but I will never be as alone anymore, because I got myself back.
Has anything delayed your grief? Did you ever have to wait to grieve because a situation or place felt unsafe, emotionally or physically? Were there any times that you or your partner's grieving and coping skills frightened you? How did you handle it?
Due to the nature of her relationship with TheDad, Skytimes uses a pseudonym in her on-line writing. In the comments, please feel free to do the same or utilize the anonymous posting options. If you are feeling unsafe, please call the US National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE. Internationally, there is information through the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence's International Organization Resources.