For Emily

6th November, 2016

I will never be a mother. Not in the real sense. But I have one child. I never met her. I’m not even sure it would have been a her – shit, you can’t tell that even at birth – but I think of her as a her, probably as a conceit. Maybe a healthy one? Difficult to say. Either way, she is my daughter and nothing will change that in my mind. She would have been ten. I think. Her birthday would have been near mine, in January. I call her Emily. Angela’s pick, but I quite liked it.

She was terminated. Not late term, but about as late as the law allows before the system starts asking for medical reports and doctor recommendations to allow a termination. So I never got to know her.

I should be clear, I am strongly pro choice. This is not some kind of anti abortion statement and I will put down any attempt to make it so… I’m getting ahead of myself.

The story isn’t very interesting. Angela didn’t cope with the sickness. It was pretty bad and she had days where she couldn’t get out of bed. She stopped eating or drinking with it. Things were going downhill fast and it became clear that she would need to spend much of her time in hospital, where she could be given liquids through an IV and administered powerful anti sickness injections to keep her feeling well. She decided that she couldn’t cope with that. She decided a termination was preferable to the months ahead. And I support her choice. It was hers to make and it’s important that we have that choice. And I hate her for it.

For me the greatest injustice is that I would have given anything to carry Emily. And I would have gone through it to see her face. I was meant to be the one to do that, but I was born with the wrong body so I had to sit on the sidelines and watch as Angela folded her hand and stepped away where I could have stayed in the fight. I am mentally stronger than Angela ever was when I knew her. I had the patience and the will to see it through. I didn’t like hospitals but I was willing to live with it; an inconvenience. Nothing more. My suffering didn’t matter; what mattered was Emily.

And now she’s gone. I have nothing of her. Angela kept the cuddle toy we bought for her and kept. I don’t know if she’s binned him or not. She kept the scan pictures. Maybe she binned those too. She told me, before she allowed me to be bullied out of the house, she was over Emily. That life moved on and there wasn’t any sense in hanging onto her. So maybe Emily’s only earthly home is in me. I hope I can keep her from being lonely. I couldn’t carry her before, so I will carry her now.

I was never a mother. But I am. A child never goes away. She is my child, and though I will never hear her voice, never see her smile, never watch her learn and love and cry… I love her and I will take care of her the only way I can.