Today marks one year since the loss of our child

While we now have a lovely little rainbow baby that's everything we could've possibly hoped for, she wouldn't be here if not for the sacrifice that two of her siblings made before her.One year ago today, one of those siblings left us. We will never forget you, little one, nor will we ever not wonder who you might have been.Here was the post I made a year ago talking about it (several days after the fact)When you tell people that you and your spouse are pregnant, they usually respond in the same way. The congratulatory things they say provide a friendly warning of the hardship ahead, like "prepare to not get any sleep", or "I hope you're ready for some poop", or some other similar cutesy well-intentioned little poke about just how much your life is going to change.No one ever tells you to prepare for a miscarriage. No one ever tells you what to do when you watch your wife helplessly clutch at her belly, fear in her eyes and prayers in her soul that what she knows is true, isn't.No one ever tells you what to do when existence decides your daughter belongs in the "reject" column.No one ever tells you how to comfort your wife as you watch her uncontrollably expel her own creation in a river of blood, clotted flesh, and despair.Never have I felt more powerless or more useless as I did when my beautiful, strong wife lay there in a hospital gown, IV in her arm, her stomach doubling her over in pain, as she slowly realized that the worst possible outcome was exactly what was happening.Never have I felt more frustrated than when the nurses repeatedly told me they didn't know how long it would be until they could get her into the ultrasound room, just so they could tell us what she already knew. Never has my heart been more shattered than when I looked at her face, as they told us our sweet little girl was gone.Despite all the uncertainty before, and despite all of the bodily fluids and grimacing and tears and anguish that came after, that one image of watching her eyes lose some of their light is something I will never forget. Hell on Earth. A nightmare, fully realized, laid bare, and repeatedly lashed across our entire being.My wife, my stepson, and I all sat there in that hospital, looming around us as cold and still as a tomb. We held each other, and we wept. My stepson embraced this terrible reality with an incredible sense of maturity and poise; I'm so very proud of him for that.The next six hours tested our resolve, our very ability to breathe, as our daughter slowly left us, piece by piece, along the I-81 corridor as we crawled back home.The past few days have been a foggy, numb blur. I find myself running through the same endless spiral of terrible thoughts, enveloping me in a cloak of desperation. Some small part of me still doesn't want to accept that this is true, that this isn't real, that our little girl is no longer on this plane of reality. But it is real. This is a thing that happened.I watched it happen to my wife over the course of several hours, as her body did its due diligence to push out the lifeless flesh that no longer belonged. I watched it happen as my wife gritted her teeth and endured unimaginable anguish, as her OB manually removed what remained of our once glowing star, pulsating with life, now reduced to a few scraps of inert organic material.Despite all of the despair, and the blood, and the helplessness, and the tears, and the misery, there are some rays of hope.I take solace knowing that, even though our daughter couldn't stay with us, she was able to leave before she was consciously aware of what was happening to her. I'm comforted by the knowledge that she didn't have to endure a life potentially filled with heartbreak, and difficulty, and strife.She had no knowledge of evil, or tragedy, or sorrow, or hardship. Brief as her heartbeat was, she experienced nothing but admiration, love, care, hope, and positivity.We love you, little one. Some day, our souls will meet again.So many images have been permanently etched into my memory these past few days. So many sounds, smells, emotions, experiences, sobs, and sorrows. Never have I been more challenged. I thank all the gods that may or may not exist that I walk through this gauntlet of fate with my wife by my side.I don't know if I'd survive this without her.She is the strongest, most resilient, most beautiful soul I know. She inspires me with her unyielding will to spit in the face of death, and dull its scythe with her resolve.She is my boat on this hellish sea of darkness and despair, and she is carrying me towards the sunrise. via /r/Parenting http://ift.tt/2iY06sa