I knew when she sat down that she had a complaint. She plopped in the seat as my mother did after the grocery store. My mother, at least carried six bags of groceries as triplets clung to her waist. This woman had neither groceries nor any visible ailments to contend with. I wonder what was her foe?
She was unhappy that she had found herself pregnant again in her forties.
She already had a grown child who gave her trouble, and since recently married, her husband was happy about a new child between the two of them.
What was she covering for?
Having gone through the loss of a child, I could not imagine being this unhappy with being pregnant, especially with a husband who was over the moon. She was covering for something.
There have been times I've downplayed happiness with unhappiness. Not wanting to appear overjoyed, scared of what may come next, I've used sarcasm to hide my fear. She was doing that.
I wanted to congratulate her, to slap her out of it, to inform her that life was indeed precious and given her age she should be on her knees thanking God that he saw fit to provide her with another child and make the dreams of her husband a reality. I wanted to tell her my story about how loss can happen without warning and thwart all plans for the future. However, I knew she hide the fear that often accompanies joy.
She buried her happiness like a child does their misbehaving. She tucked it away to present to the world the image of a woman "with too much good she ought to complain."
Months later, I saw her again. She showed no signs of pregnancy. Her body and speech betrayed her. She lost the baby.
Had her disgust spoken out load manifested itself into reality? Did she know what the future held and pretended to be unhappy to hedge her suspicion? What story had she told herself up till this point? None of that mattered now.
I gave her a gentle hug and did not mention a word.