Six years ago I went to bed, exhausted and excited. I was whole and happy. At peace. We were 6 weeks away from meeting our girl. I didn't know what was to come. I didn't even sense the sweeping wind of grief that was about to knock us over, shatter the world as we knew it and change us forever.
What would I have done differently if I had known? If I had some sense of foreboding or some premonition? Would I have acted on it? Would I have written it off as anxiety or trusted my instincts? Who would I have called? What would I have demanded from them? Would I have been able to change anything?
But I didn't have any premonition. There were no clues, no cloud of despair wafting through the room. Hannah was dancing around in my belly like normal. I went to bed fully expecting the next day to be a normal day. I didn't know everything was changing. I had no idea. Not even when the doctor said she was gone. I didn't believe him. I didn't want to believe him. I didn't know how to believe him. So I didn't. I just asked for a c-section to get her out right away. "I'll show them" I thought "She fine. Babies don't just die."
But the thing is, babies do just die. Every day. In rich countries and poor countries. Babies of every religion and color. Babies who were loved and wanted. Babies who were prayed for. Babies with loving families to come home to.
Babies do die and it's the most unfair thing imaginable. I learned this 6 years ago. A lifetime ago.
