My body just can't forget .

 One of the hardest parts of my trauma is how my body is affected. A hard place to be and even harder to explain. My body feels like it was yesterday, there is a feeling of cold in a warm house. A feeling of pain, that is incomprehensible, for no apparent reason. There is an emptiness where the screams echo. I sit here all these years later feeling things that I cannot explain.  I feel them as real as they were yesterday. All I want to do is curl up in a ball. Because there is a knowing where they came from and what happened but no specific memory.

 I was left that day with nothing to hold and no real memories to be had. My one memory in a room of people where I can't see faces.  A room bright white with big lights. And a Doctor who so gently and kindly touched my leg telling me I had lost her the most important thing in the world. I wonder if it could have been an operating room, not sure why I didn't think of that before.  Maybe I don't remember the faces because they were all nurses and Doctor's of course none of them would look familiar. 

She was never spoken about, my Bella.  I was never spoken to about what was done.  I was never held and never ever allowed to cry.  I don't know what happened in the emergency room, I don't know what happened when I got home. I am pretty sure Calvin brought me there, how did I get home and why don't I remember that part it wasn't traumatic.  I would have needed medical care.  Did I literally forget all of that.  I know that my heart was broken into pieces.  I know that nothing was ever the same. I know that after that I was broken and became a shell of a person.   I know that there are some answers that I will never have.  I know that for some things there just is no explanation.  

I can read all day about what happens when a pregnancy is that far along.  I can read it in the papers but even that is not my story.  That is not what happened to me.  I used to look and try to find some kind of comfort and answers to my questions, but really there aren't any.  What I know remains that I knew very little,  the bare minimum really.  I knew I was going to be a mom and keep her safe and sound. I felt her little kicks and felt the most alive.  I was going to do things better for her.  I can fill in some blanks and know some of the answers but that is not the same thing as knowing your own story.  

I sit here writing this and I have cramps, I am achy, and I can promise you there is no reason.  That makes me more than sad.  I want to scream at the world.  I will keep working on this piece, and trying to come to a place where I can be ok in the pieces I have.  And I have to be ok with the pieces that I don't have.  Emotional support is a crucial aspect of care and yet I as a 13-year-old girl got none.  That is just as devastating.  I have the loss of my girl, who carried all my thoughts and dreams.  Then there is that loss of so much for that Spunky girl that had dreams of making a life where her girl was safe and would know love like no other.  Today in this moment, this body remembers.  This body grieves and someday I hope this body can replace the feeling of loss with the feeling of all that has been accomplished.  

I heart your heart.