I wish things turned out different

Note: various mentions of miscarriage, religion, and death. Apologies for the grammar and any punctuation errors.

“Are you there, God? It’s me, Violet”, I whispered hoarsely. With my eyes closed tightly, I forced myself to swallow hard as I felt my throat threatening to tighten again. It almost seemed amusing to me if I should pass out from crying, but the thought of someone finding me and telling my parents when they just lost a child forced me to control my breathing. My parents did not need that right now.

But after trying and failing to speak, I gave up because no words would be spoken anytime soon. Just more sobs and whimpers. I took a moment to rub my eyes as I felt tears starting to run down my face again. I took uneasy, shuddering breaths as I attempted to focus on the noisy sounds outside the hospital. It felt odd that I was still alive and breathing while my baby brother was not.

I could hardly believe that 24 hours prior, I was happy and oblivious of what horror awaited me today. This morning, I was blessed to wake up, brush my teeth, etc., while my sibling quietly passed away without anyone knowing. Unaware, his little heart stopped beating, and his tiny lungs stopped pumping.

As the oldest of my siblings, my secret wish was that I never had to bury my younger siblings. I was always encouraged to be a good example for my siblings, which is why I worked hard to get good grades. I was always tasked to look after them whenever we went to church and family gatherings. I was the one my siblings looked to for help with their homework, emotional support, and advice. I was supposed to be their protector, and it felt like I failed. There was not going to be any first steps, first words, or first smiles for my baby brother.

What happened today felt wrong…unnatural.

I felt numb as my body worked hard to breathe normally again. To distract myself, I focused on the abundant fauna outside. The well-trimmed small trees and brush were quiet witnesses to my current predicament. The night was getting colder, but I refused to step inside the lobby at this time. Other families were able to hold their precious, crying, alive infant, while my family was going to have to plan my brother’s funeral.

I never thought something like this would happen to us. It all felt like it was a horrible nightmare, a cruel joke, but the cold metal of the bench and the numbness on my face reminded me that this was all real. This was happening to my family. I have outlived one of my siblings. And now the others remaining are waiting for me to go back in and try to make it better somehow. We were all so excited for the new baby. I was at least grateful my mother was now surrounded by family, so she wasn’t alone when I left. It was just us two when we first arrived at the hospital this morning. I drove her to the hospital earlier that morning after she told me something was wrong and she couldn’t wait for my father to come home. After four full-term pregnancies, I trusted my mother’s instincts and took her to the nearest one I could find. She gave me the option to stay or wait. Knowing my anxious, overthinking brain would not allow me to leave my pregnant mother alone. I stayed. Which I suppose was for the best, my mother’s nurse and doctor did not speak Spanish. I stayed to provide support and translate when my mother had questions about something. Blood tests and an ultrasound were done while I tried my best not to panic as time flew by with no answers. Hours later, the doctor told my mother she miscarried, but she did not understand what he meant, so I had to be the one to explain to my mother, she had a miscarriage. I do not blame the doctor, for he was very sympathetic, and I thanked him for his time. I just wish it did not have to be me.

Some time later, I texted my dad to let him know I was safe and unharmed. I did not mention I was okay, because I wasn’t, but he already knew. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell about the unfairness of it all. But my fear of being kicked out for disorderly conduct forced me to be careful. I did not want to miss the chance to hold my brother and say a proper goodbye before his small body was placed in the morgue. Before he was transported to a funeral home to be cremated or buried.

“Hey God, it’s me”, I start again. My body felt exhausted from the crying, but I was finally able to speak. Normally, I follow the order I have been taught for years in Sunday School. Approaching God with reverence, thanking God for my blessings, confessing my sins, and finally making my requests to him. But this time, I decided to just make my demands. “Why…why did you take him from us? We were so excited to have him. Is this a punishment? A test? Like what happened to David?” I feel my voice getting louder and angrier. I take another moment to pause and try to calm down.

I didn’t even get a chance to meet him properly. I’ll just be meeting his corpse. He has already gone to heaven. He is no longer here. I wonder if we will ever know why this happened. I did not want to finish my prayer with anger. Praying mostly for my peace of mind. It was a distraction from the numbness that I felt right now. Closing my eyes, I mumble quietly, “Thank you for my supportive family being here for us. Thank you for not taking my mother”. I only hear the street noises as I stand up and go back towards the lobby.