Skeletons in the Closet

I'm not positive, but I would think everyone has skeletons in their closets. Some skeletons are just worse than others...depending on the readers perception that is.

Well, I have a skeleton that I'm about to drag out my closet. Although I'm pretty much an open book there are a few select things I keep tucked away for safe keeping. I pull this skeleton out only because it won't hurt anybody and  it's no longer a skeleton in my mind. It's a part of my life that up until this post is published nobody but hubby and my son knew about.

Here goes...

Back in October of 1999 my youngest brother, David and his lovely wife Simona were scheduled to be married. Toby and I had been dating only 10 months at the time..living together only 6 of those months and I was 7 weeks pregnant with our first child out of wedlock..and still legally married to my first husband to boot. What white trash right? Why couldn't my two wonderfully successful brothers been born the black sheep of the family????

Anyway, being that I was the groom's sister I had an obligation  to attend the wedding. Under any other circumstance I would have been eagerly looking forward to the festive event. Unfortunately for me, the day of their wedding I was in the middle of having a miscarriage. I had cramped and bled all night long the night before and in general felt like a walking corpse both physically and emotionally.

I had never had a miscarriage before but common sense and instinct told me what was happening to my body. I had to change out the thick maxi pads I was wearing every fifteen minutes. I felt like a blood bath but I also knew that I had my brother, his wife, and a whole slew of family members, but most of all my mother, expecting me to be there for the wedding.

My mother was very old fashioned and didn't know all the sordid details of my life. I really didn't want to hash out the pregnant out of wedlock and still married to the ex thing with her while I was in the midst of a miscarriage so instead I phoned my mother and told her that I didn't feel well and probably wouldn't make it to my brothers wedding. I figured at least I had a 50/50 chance of  receiving sympathy from her but instead what I got was..'YOU BETTER GET UP, GET DRESSED AND BE THERE FOR YOUR BROTHER'S WEDDING!' In defense of my mother if she had known the true story I'm sure I would have gained more sympathy if I had had the balls to tell her the truth.

So that's what I did. I put me on the thickest pad I could find reinforced with an old hand towel, downed a few Tylenol for the pain, stuffed my purse full of the pads and extra hand towel that  I knew would be needed for the duration, put on an extra coat of makeup on my sickly, pale skin, put on the fanciest dress I owned a happy face and made it to the wedding.
As beautiful as it may have been, and I'm quite sure that it was the only thing I remember about my brothers wedding is feeling sick and having to locate a bathroom a few times.

Every year when my brother and his wife celebrate their anniversary I can't help but to look back on the memory of that day and cringe. I cringe not for having a miscarriage but for not being true to myself, not loving myself enough to be honest about my life, for not feeling connected enough with my family that I could tell them what was going on in my life. For not feeling worthy of love.

SAD.