“How did I get here” she wonders with her cheek sandwiched between her bones and the tile on the bathroom floor. The tropical candle scent cannot mask the aroma of shock and despair. What felt like hours was mere minutes as she develops the strength to sit up, back up against the wall and test in hand. Who can she call while in tears as two pink lines begin ripping through her heart? She should have learned by now that she is more than capable of anything and everything. Past experience has taught her this at the very least- she is perfectly capable of committing any and all sin she thought would never penetrate through her heart.
Suddenly strength trickles through her blood as her body rises above her callused feet and broken heart. After a few robotic movements she is surrounded by the familiar living room paintings that seem to be lacking their familiar spirit of hope and inspiration. Her mask of happiness starts losing its place on her face after finding refuge there for years. She has been able to cope with all the other struggles that she as brought upon herself, but not this.
Days and weeks sail by without as much as a whisper from hope. She sits in the cold, lonely office with outdated magazines to keep her company as doctors confirm her body is no longer her own, but the home of her growing child. How can a baby be so close to her yet feel so unreal? How is it that she is surrounded by bodies but feels as though she is alone in the desert with only the heat of the earth as company and support? How can a human grow inside of her that she feels no connection with whatsoever?
Whispers from Satan take root in her mind- she is already a failing mother, how could she not posses love for her child (secretly and shamefully praying for miscarriage). So many women hope and pray for the blessing she is experiencing. She hopes and prays for something else. Words may comfort for a moment, love may uplift for a second, but she always finds herself returning to the rock in the wilderness where she sits staring at the vast array of nothingness, feeling abandoned and alone. If her life were a song it would sound something like a bittersweet symphony ending in a boom.