The Long Walk Home

—With a pregnant belly, tears in my eyes and an unbearable ache in my soul

It was a difficult and complicated pregnancy but not in the traditional sense - Photo by Janko Ferlic from Pexels

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I thought it was the day I would meet my child, it turned out to be the day I would last remember her alive. Alive in my womb, warm, safe and healthy: can’t wait to be born. Coming into this world pure, innocent but most of all—alive and well.

It started with a clinic visit that turned into a misunderstanding, leading to the long walk home with tears in my eyes and an ache in my soul.

Earlier that day, I had an argument with my father; it wasn’t really an argument. It was me asking for money, money for my shameful habit of smoking while pregnant, and him throwing a 50c my way; it hit the floor by my feet, and I gravelled to pick it up. It resembled, old, excavated and worn money, something that you would throw away or trample on by the side of the road, yet I picked it up from the floor, along with my dignity.

As my partner and I walked home on that day, the tears were a result of a deep-seated wound, a cut to my self-worth that was buried deep within. If it were brought to the surface, it would have the same appearance as that very 50c: dirty…