I loved my life.
And I still love it. Just parts of it now.
I have the perfect husband for me. Great family. Great friends. A beautiful house. Awesome dogs. Six horses. I live in a great community. I had a great job, but gave it up to do the most important job I could ever do.
And then, something really, really bad happen to me. Something really, really bad happened to my husband. Something really, really bad happened to my baby.
My baby died.
I sit here and I stare at those three words. My baby died. Is there anything worse? It doesn’t feel like it. It almost hurts to say those three words out loud. It brings tears to my eyes.
My baby died.
We all have bad things happen in our lives. Bad things happened to me too before my baby died. People lose their jobs, people get divorced, get a flat tire, they lose a friendship, people get depressed, gain weight and the list could go on.
But something really, really bad happened to me. This is like no other pain. It really doesn’t compare. Something that nobody will ever be able to understand, unless you physically give birth to your dead baby.
So the sight of seeing cheery pregnant women, facebook pictures of someone’s newborn, Christmas cards filled with happy, complete families – brings me back to the long, sad night when Jonah was born into Jesus’ arms.
1 in 160 pregnancies result in stillbirth.
I swear, everyone is pregnant and having happy, healthy babies.
Why me? Why Jonah? Why were we the statistic?