Genevieve C. West

Fear. Hope. Sadness. Joy. Loss. Life. I feel like I don't have a right to feel the way I do. We lost our baby  last July. No one knows what to say to that.  I know I didn't.  Heck, I still don't. Some people tried to be sensitive, but usually ended up prying too much and bringing it up when I didn't want them to. Most people mumbled an "I'm sorry," and continued as if nothing had happened.  In a culture where abortion is normalized, it sometimes feels like first term miscarriages aren't considered a real tragedy.  But they are. Our baby died. After a lot of crying, I started pretending like it didn't happen. I was really good at that. Too good. 6 months later, I was sound asleep and I heard a baby cry so clearly that my eyes popped open! I took a pregnancy test first thing in the morning and it was positive! Then came the fear .  I was afraid to be intimate with my husband. I held my breath every time I had to use th

Sometimes life throws something so big at you that time stands still for months. When you finally remember to look up, you sincerely wonder how the rest of the world has just keep going, as if this life-altering event never occurred.  Something so traumatic that it changes how you keep time. All other events are now remembered as "before" or "after" it happened. You can tell by your Facebook page that it's changed you forever - that part of you died with them. Your own status updates from the days before are too happy, or complaining about something so trivial that you're embarrassed and contemplate deleting them. After it happened, I couldn't stand the color red because it reminded me of blood. I hated the dark and the night. I only slept during the day. I wouldn't leave the house at all, unless it was to go to court or the police station. Once I was able to leave the house, I would drive miles out of my way to avoid having to d