Three Stories: Joan's Story

I don't blame him for leaving me.

But I do blame him for betraying me.

He had made his choice after stringing Jane and me along for the longest time. I had told him many times that he had to make his choice. He always promised that he would, but that he couldn't bear to hurt Jane. Finally Jane and I met up. I didn't hate her. Not then. Perhaps not even now. But if he had chosen her, I would probably have been devastated.

But not knowing for sure, not being able to move forward, was worse. So Jane and I met up, and told him he had to choose.

He took Jane aside and spoke quietly to her, his face serious, his brow furrowed, an anxious look on his face.

I could see Jane shrinking as he spoke. His words were hurting her. Her shoulders slumped with defeat. Her lips trembling as she controlled her tears.

She raised her head finally, defiantly, proudly. She said something that apparently surprised and startled John. But then she went on and I could see the tension flow out of John. His shoulders eased and relaxed.

I guess she was telling him that she accepted his decision. He was saying something else, when she leaned forward to hold him awkwardly as he tried not to return the hug. She kissed him on the cheek and let him go. Goodbye, her lips moved, then she turned and walked away without looking back.

I thought she carried herself rather well in this her time of defeat. I caught myself feeling sorry for her, and told myself, she wouldn't want my pity. Well, she had my respect, then.

John turned to me after watching her go. He looked up and smiled wryly at first. Then he allowed his smile to broadened. I smiled in return.

We got married soon after and just before our first anniversary, I got pregnant. He was so excited.It was the happiest time of our lives. Really. Because after that first year, I was never that happy again.

I miscarried in the 11th week. Miscarry. Yeah. My fault. I carried it wrong, it seem to say.

I felt so lost. Up till then the life growing in me had been a miracle. I could feel it. Could sense it. Could talk to it. Could almost believe that it understood me.

Then it was gone. Suddenly I felt so alone.

John tried to cheer me up. I did appreciate him trying, but it was not something I felt he understood. His attempts sometimes depressed me even more. It was not his fault. II doubt if anyone or anything could have made a difference.

It was months before I finished grieving. And a little longer before I gathered enough courage to try again. I remembered thinking that I appreciated John's patience in waiting for me to be ready. If only I knew...

I got pregnant again, but did not dare tell anyone for fear of jinxing the pregnancy. John and I had a quiet celebration and prayed for a safe delivery.

But again it was not to be. This second loss hit me harder. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. John tried to assure me. But this second loss drove doubts deep into my heart and it stayed there like a raw, sensitive, festering sore. The doctors consolation were medical and mechanical. I was probably just another unlucky woman to them.

The one good thing was that John learned from the first time and did not try too hard to console me. After a few days of grieving with me, he told me he had to go back to the office and promptly buried himself in work.

I guess men are better at dealing with loss. What is gone is gone for them. For me, perhaps for women in general, we feel more. It is not just a foetus. It was alive! It was part of me. It was my child. I lived only a short while. We didn't even know its sex. It never even had a name. But it was my child. I had to grieve because there was no one else to grieve for it.

John grieved for a while, but mostly he worried about me. Which was why he never realised it was not about me. He never really got that. Which was why I knew he couldn't really understand.

But bless him, he was persistent. He gave me space to grieve, but he would call from the office, call while on the road, call while having lunch just to see if I was alright. He would SMS when he thought I would be asleep. He kept trying and trying, that after a while I felt bad about shutting him out. So once in a while I would make it a point to get out of the house for dinner. I would try just to make him happy, let him know that he hadn't lost me completely. But I wasn't done with grieving for my two lost children. That would take time.

He was patient and persistent. And one morning, I realised that I had cried it out of my system. I had given enough recognition to my second child. Just as I had with my first. I could almost sense that they were telling me, yes, we know how much you loved us. Now go love yourself.

John and I went dancing that night. My idea, but in a sense, my children's idea. I danced with John, but I danced for my children as well. It was the most fun we've had for a long time.

I got pregnant again. We were hopeful again. And our hopes were dashed again.

This time, I wept not just for my child, but also for me and my husband.

I don't care how strong a person you are but after 3 miscarriages, you will have doubts. You will wonder what God's plan is for you. You will question your faith. And you will curse fate and destiny.

I so wanted to hear those comforting words that John had told me after the first and the second losses. But it seemed he had run out of words just when I most needed to hear them.

Tell me again how it is not my fault because I'm starting to believe that it is my fault. Tell me again that you love me because I'm starting to wonder if there's anything to love. Stay with me again, because I don't think I want to be alone this time.

But I couldn't bring myself to ask him.

The silence dragged on, and he finally asked, "will you be alright?"

I lied with my nod.

He seemed to want to believe my lie.

"I'll call you later. See if there's anything you need."

I NEED YOU! I telepathed to him. But I guess he's not telepathic.

He left. But I was not alone. Grief was there. So was Doubt. Uncertainty hung about. Self-recrimination paid a visit. Despair came by and stayed for a long while. Loneliness wrapped itself about me, selfishly.

But I was a good host and entertained all of them.

John started to withdraw from me. I guess I couldn't blame him. After three miscarriage is there still anything left to say? That hadn't already been said with greater conviction at an earlier time.

He buried himself in work, and let himself be sent off on overseas assignments and conferences. It was good exposure and would stand him i n good stead for promotion.

It was while he was away on one of these conferences that Jane came by. With his 12 month old son.

His betrayal was complete. He had told Jane of my miscarriages, and Jane had borne not just his son, but also his daughter previously. But his daughter had succumbed to a fever and died at the age of two.

I must say I admire Jane's courage and ability to read the situation and the people in the situation. She told me that John would never leave me of his own accord. He was a man of his word. He had chosen me all those years ago, and would not go back on his choice.

But he wasn't happy. Neither was I. Jane said she was not happy either.

She would like her son to grow up with his father, but that was up to me. It was up to me to let him go so that he could be a father to his son. I could choose not to do so. That was my right, and John would respect and uphold that right. But we would never be happy again.

She was right. I could hate her, wish her dead, scream, deny, and be stubborn about it, but she was right.

John may have chosen me all those years ago, but it was time for me to "un-choose" him.

I got a lawyer two days after Jane's visit, and when John came back, I gave him the papers to sign.

I could have confronted him, interrogated him, trip him up, see how he tried to lie his way out of it, but it wouldn't have changed a thing. He would still have a son with Jane, and I would still have lost 3 children.

Jane got to me at the right time. I was too tired to fight.

There was nothing left to fight for.