There are so few. I hate that.
The day I took that positive pregnancy test.
The few early ultrasounds with her little heart beating and her arms and legs moving.
Listening to that heartbeat.
Knowing in my heart something was dreadfully wrong.
Crying in the shower that morning before the ultrasound, unsure exactly what was bothering me.
The blue sky.
Driving to the dr, telling God I knew she wasn't mine but asking Him to make her be ok.
The ultrasound. The circle of her head. Her tiny, unmoving body. No flickering heart.
The fear of unknown.
Her tiny, perfect little body.
The feel and smell of the flannel blanket she was wrapped in.
Her cold, little forehead where I placed the only kiss I gave her.
Tiny toes and fingers.
Watching a stranger take her away.
Tiny, white casket.
Walking away from the grave.
|This was as big as I ever got. I'm pretty sure she died very close to when this was taken.|