Does He Even Remember Me?

That's a question I asked myself last night while trying to sleep.

I sometimes have dreams about getting back together with "Matt." Many times it comes to fruition. But then he disappears. Or one of us we will try to contact each other, yet missing a connection. We are never parents in any of the dreams. I never really gave much thought to any of these dreams, other than wonder where that came from after waking up.

Until last night. I was thinking about him. Thought about the good times and the bad times. And yes, there were good times. But does he remember any of them? Does he remember the woman he dated for a year and a half? Does he remember the woman whom he impregnated? Does he ever wonder if the child really was lost to miscarriage? Did he ever wonder if she was pregnant before breaking up with him? If he thought yes, did he wonder what happened to that child?

Does he even remember her name? Does he remember what she looks like? Does he remember that he was her first...everything?
I remember the first time he kissed me. I giggled. It was nothing against him. I wasn't laughing at him. I was almost twenty years old, and had never been kissed! Heck, I had never even dated anyone! It was a nervous reaction. I remember when he first told me he loved me. I just couldn't bring myself to say it back. He was rather offended by that. I wasn't sure if I did love him. I didn't know what love is. Perhaps I still don't. I did end up reciprocating the sentiment. But did I mean it? Did he mean it? I don't know. Perhaps, on both accounts.
I remember the first time he tried to have sex with me. I remember being swept away and taken in. Almost relenting. Then pulling back. I remember the first time of surrendering to him. The details of which would not be appropriate to speak of.

During the breakdown of 2014 I did check on Facebook to see if he had a profile set up. Not really that I wanted to reconnect, just checking to see if he was on there. What would I even say to him? Why would I tell him that I was contacting him after all this time? At that time he was in a relationship. He may or may not still be.

I have since found out that he now has a son. Doing the math, that son is less than a year younger than what Hanelore would be. Because I don't know the exact mathematics of that boy's birth month or even when Hanelore's due date would have been; I am not sure if "Matt" impregnated another woman towards the end of our relationship or soon after my breaking up with him.
There is a bit of hurt in that. Whether he was cheating on me or started a relationship soon after the break up. I can't help but wonder what was so special about the mother of his son that she was "allowed to" give birth to his child, but I wasn't. Did she have support from "Matt"? Did she have support from her family? Or was she stronger than me and stood up to them all? Is she the woman "Matt" is in a relationship with, or was recently? Does "Matt" look at his son and think that the son may or may not have a sister? Does he regret his non committal attitude toward my pregnancy with Anastasia? 

I'm Mad at God!

Well, not really. Well, yes, maybe. I don't know.

I am coming up over a cold that had me bed ridden for a while, other than going to work. But not only that, it is around about the time my first child (Anastasia) would have been conceived twenty years ago. Funny thing about when you are sick in bed; not much you can do except sleep, read, watch online movies, and think. The thinking is what can sometimes knock you down. Heck, even the sleeping, if you are notorious for weird dreams. Which I am.

Been having buttload of baby and young child dreams. Nothing I can really remember much of. Sometimes it can just be simply giving birth. Having the baby in my life, yet being kept at arms lengths from being able to hold her. An older child being introduced to her new sibling. Being at an airport or some sort of transportation center; handing children over to some random woman and saying goodbye.

OK. That being said; let's get to the title of this post. The phrase "hindsight is 20/20" seems to be fitting for my current situation. When I have been awake I am just mopey. Hard to clean house, fix a meal, or do any regular household chores. Just sit and stare. While not technically a thing, I would call it "conception mourning." I already Googled to see if the description existed. Nope. I guess there is a rock band by that name, or a song.
I have read that women who have had abortions will mourn many anniversaries surrounding the abortion(s). One of those times could be in regard to the time the child was conceived. Probably true for women who have experienced miscarriages.
Looking back, that could be consciously or sub-consciously. In my case, I think it is leaning more towards the sub-contentiously. January has always been a sucky month for me. Never knew why. Always attributed to coming down from the holidays. Which could easily be true. But not the complete picture.
It was about this time three years ago, in 2014, in which I had my first break down. I felt like absolute crap! Yet I didn't know why. Oh, this has got to be a whole separate post as to when my break down and memories started. I will get to that soon. Hopefully sooner than later.

In the looking back, I feel as though I am mad at God. Where was He during the "family intervention"? Why didn't He give me the words to convince my family that abortion was wrong? Why didn't He smite my family; mom, aunt, grandmother? OK, maybe that's a bit harsh. Why didn't He at least temporarily incapacitate them, to give me time to get away from them? I could have run off and hid until I could find something resembling a nineties version of a crisis pregnancy center. Where was He the night before the abortion? Where was He when I walked into that clinic? Where was He just before the abortion happened? Where was He afterward?
Actually, come to think of it, where was God when I first met "Matt"? Where was He when"Matt" was first trying to seduce me? Where was He the night I finally did relent?

As has been stated in the post about the abortion itself, I came to a "conclusion" "that there is no God." But the reality is; I rejected God before the abortion. Sure, I had been baptized as a toddler. Sure, my mother occasionally took me to Sunday school, sometimes keeping me with her during church services. Sure, I did attend church during high school. Even belonging to the teen club at church and joining the teen choir. Of course calling myself a Christian. But I didn't really have much of a prayer life, nor attended church after graduating high school.
So, basically I didn't turn to Him during any of the moments leading up to the abortion. Didn't pray for the relationship between "Matt" and myself. Didn't pray about my child after I became pregnant. Don't remember much about what I was doing or thinking in the time between the "intervention" and the abortion. But I do know I didn't pray about it.

So in the end, it is myself I am mad at me. Not God.

(Since the time of the abortion I have since came back to church. It has been a journey. Becoming a member of a denomination different than that which I grew up. Joining a church of another denomination, once again. But this time I am sticking to it to the end. Have a much stronger prayer life. Perhaps I will talk about that at a later time.)

The Yellow Onesie

Last I finished off with Damn! That Hurt!, the telling of my actual abortion experience.  Now onto the aftermath.  The aftermath is not just a one time incident.  I have since learned that the aftermath is something that has been ongoing in my life for almost 20 years.  Having come to the realization of my abortion; looking back I can see how the planned death of my child affected me throughout my life.  But for now, I will just talk about the immediately following aftermath.

To read previous posts leading up to this one click the links below. 

I Knew, Almost Soon After Conception
"Matt" Didn't Care
Her Views Turned on a Dime
Damn! That Hurt!

After a few days I returned from my mother's either I called "Matt" or he called me.  I did not tell him about the abortion.  He came over to my apartment.  We talked.  He showed me a onesie he bought for our baby, the baby that no longer exists.  It was a typical yellow non gender onesie.  While much of my memory is fuzzy, this is one of the exact things I remember.  I remember exactly the layout of my old apartment.  I remember where in the apartment I was sitting.  I was sitting on "Matt's" lap and told him I had a "miscarriage."  He cried.  Or so I thought.  It could have been crocodile tears.  I am not sure.  I do know that I was unable to cry.  I just put my head upon his shoulder. 
He never asked about any of the details.  Then I was glad, because I didn't want to make anything up nor was I ready to tell him the truth.  But looking back, I wonder did he suspect?  Did he even actually care?
I had a horrible sinking feeling inside.  Hurt because of the abortion.  Felt bad because of lying to him.  Angry because of all that time I was pregnant he never acknowledged that I had a child inside me.  And now that she was gone he acknowledges the situation?!  Where was he when I was pregnant?  Why wasn't he "fighting" for me and our child? 
I did have sex with him that night.  I have since found out that women are told not to have sex for at least 2 weeks after the abortion.  I was never told that.  I was given antibiotics and instructions, but not the no having sex part.  But unless it wasn't written down for me, if I was only told verbally I probably wasn't paying attention in the state of mind I was in. 
"Matt" did find the antibiotics.  I told him I had to take those because of the miscarriage.  Next day or two he told me his sister told him that the antibiotics are only for abortions.  Yeah, after the baby's gone is when he tells any of his family members.  I insisted that it was a miscarriage I had.  After all, my own mother convinced my that abortion and miscarriage are basically the same thing.  Right?  We didn't fight or anything.  He just dropped the subject. 

Then came having to tell my best friend.  This is the friend from the Christian school who did the book report about abortion.  I called and told her that I was no longer going to get married.  And that I had a miscarriage.  She didn't press me on details.  Just gave me sympathy.  I felt worse lying to her than I did to "Matt."  Why didn't I say something to her, before the abortion?  Maybe she would have been able to help me or find someone who could?