Tag Archives: death

Losing Taylor, The Unspeakable Pain

After a rather eventful weekend (don’t get me started I’ll get to that another day), I come home to an emotional rollercoaster. I’ve literally cried about 5 times today. And I just about lost it once I got home.

A friend of mine who had been extremely excited about her second child, lost her baby at 14 weeks. When I found out I literally sobbed for a few minutes. Even as I type this I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

This is because I lost a baby, too. At 13 weeks pregnant my seemingly healthy baby boy’s heart stopped beating. It was literally the most devastating thing I had ever and I’m sure that I will ever experience. Death in general is sad, but te circumstances along with his death killed my soul. I had gone through hell with that pregnancy. It was the baby that no one wanted me to have; no one including my ex-boyfriend, his family and my family.

After having dealt with a number of really harsh realities, I found myself pregnant by someone that I loved that didn’t want to love me because I was too far away. My parents, those elitests, were against it. My father actually told me that I should have an abortion. I didn’t know quite what to do until I had my first ultrasound and I saw my little pumpkin seed. I cried. You never know how much you can love until you see your unborn baby for the first time.

I was in and out of the hospital several times. I was bleeding often. But I still did everything that a loving mother could to grow a healthy baby. I even made an active effort to reconcile and include my stupid ass ex boyfriends family (oh, Im not doubting that any of those aforementioned are stupid-asses. They are all stupid). I flew all the way from NY to see him only for him to think I was there to discuss an abortion.

I came home and about 10 days later my baby was gone. I had contractions an everything. I had no idea what was going on because I was just told that he was 100% healthy. I was showing and about 3 seconds from telling everyone at my job that I was pregnant.

My sons name is Taylor. Taylor Devin B. He is the love of my life. And even though I’ve never met him, I will always love him more than I love anyone else. I never got to hold him, or hear him. I never got to smell him and tell him how much he meant to me. Taylor is the reason that I believe in heaven. I have to believe in heaven because I want to believe there is hope that I will see my son someday.

People don’t talk about miscarriage or still-birth. Its the most painful experience and the further along you are the worse the feeling can be. I was a few days out of my first trimester, the time where they say miscarriages are unlikely. After I lost Taylor, I literally died on the inside. It was Christmas. I had little pre-birth gifts for him under the tree and everything. It was like the world didn’t want me to be happy. And there was so little remorse for how people had treated me during and after my pregnancy. I learned to cope alone. Mind you, I said cope, that wound is still as fresh as it ever was.

Nonetheless, I cried for my friend today just like I cry everytime a baby boy stares at me or everytime I hear that someone is pregnant. Someone that I know can’t be a better mother than I can yet, they have their baby and I have nothing.

Rest in Peace Sweet Baby Boy. Always and forever.


Rest in Peace to my friend’s baby too.

Both of which were too perfect for earth.

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Unpretty, Already.

Its like one day I woke up and actually stared at my reflection and thought “you actually ARE pretty.”

That was some deep shit. More precisely because I spent the past 24 years of my life feeling unpretty. Unpretty isn’t at the top of the list though. I’ve felt a number of really negative things. And most of them didn’t start with me.

I’ve always felt fat. I was pretty much always told I was fat and it wasn’t until I went to Miami with my lady friends that I realized, that I wasn’t fat at all. I didn’t think I was obese, just fat. Fat enough to know that it wasn’t attractive. Fat enough to be embarrassed when I would buy clothing at the store. My mom would always nicely suggest that I should hit the gym. It was always nice enough to make me know that I was overweight but not forceful enough to think that I was obese and about to die or something. In my mind, I was fat. Even the girls that I didn’t think were fat, but low key actually were, in my mind were smaller than me.

Then one day right around my 24th birthday, it hit me. Generally speaking, fat girls can’t wear a size small. Most girls that were fat could fit a 34 bra size, period. Those cuts, can’t be part of fat. These thighs are more likely to convince others that I might be related to a horse before they’d call me fat. It just wasn’t true. I wasn’t fat at all. I started looking at the people around me and compared myself to them. I was right. I wasn’t fat.

The only thing this epiphany made me do was realize that there were probably a million things that I thought were wrong with me that actually didn’t exist. I was out her in the street feeling bad about myself and bout being fat and I’m not even fat. I used to spend days analyzing all the things wrong with my body, my face, my life and I just absorbed all of this negativity. It made me question everything I ever believed.

Moving to LA was about to be more about me and less about freeing myself and trying to prove something about him (we’ll talk about him another time).




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