I was surprised that I could get over the miscarriage this quick. I was back to my normal self and started to forget that horrible thing that ripped me apart. I thought people around me would be so glad that I wasn’t a whiner.
I knew that there were women out there who chose not to talk about it. Yea, why should they tell a million of strangers (on fb, twitter blah blah blah) that they had lost a child? It was their personal lives, and that other people should not be bothered to be a part of it.
But not me. I liked to tell. I had always been a teller. Whether it was a small, itty bitty thing that wasn’t significant at all. I would tell.
Anyway, I was about to sleep last night, after the two girls had gone deep into the forest of LaLa Land, when my mind suddenly thought of Little Bub (whom I strongly thought would be a boy). I couldn’t stop thinking of him. I had a tugging in my heart, so strong that I began to tear. A little.
But the tugging was painful. Because, there was my love, probably “visiting” me and I couldn’t see or touch him. Let alone hug him tight. Baby, you there??? Really???
I posted a status in fb, saying that I was thinking of Little Bub and that I missed him. Oh so much! Till now, unconsciously, I would rub my tummy. Maybe I was trying to feel him.
Missing Little Bub made me think of Mom. Almost 35 years ago, a year before she had me, she was carrying my elder brother. She lost him when she was 4 months pregnant, which was a whole lot worst than what I experienced. She had so much bleeding one night that my dad called for an ambulance to ferry her to the hospital. Her abdominal pain was so intense that she prayed to Allah, if it was meant to be, let her keep him. If otherwise, she would sincerely let him go back to Him.
And home to Allah, my brother went. Mom told me that he was so tiny and red, and he had traces of curly hair. And ever since the lost, Mom had been dreaming of my brother every year on his birthday. On each birthday, he would visit in her dreams. Each time in each dream, he had grown into a young boy. He didn’t speak at all. When Mom called him to come with her, he refused and was gone. Mom dreamt of him till his 4th birthday and he stopped visiting.
Now, it got me thinking. Would it be the same for me? Would Little Bub come to visit me in my dreams? I would sure love to see him. He had left many tiny footprints in my heart.
Come visit me, Angel. I’m waiting for you. In my dreams.