It’s 6:11 AM, September 29th. Yesterday was an awful day. As soon as I woke up I knew it would be an awful day.

Every hour I thought back to what I was doing during that same hour just one week ago.

It’s torture.

Losing a child is literally living in hell.

It’s dark, lonely, sad, confusing, and a torture that cannot be described.

Yesterday we got a call from my Doctor letting us know that the pathology report came back on my placenta.

It confirmed what she suspected in the hospital.

My placenta separated from my uterus causing an abruption.

I had absolutely zero symptoms.

No bleeding.

No abdominal pain.

Nothing.

But my baby, Scotty, suffered the ultimate loss.

A loss of oxygen.

My body failed me.

Yesterday I yelled out something I haven’t yet, “Why did God do this?”

How could He take such a perfect life? In a way that my Doctor describes as a freak accident?

I’m healthy.

Scotty was healthy.

To top off the day we also had to discuss his death certificate with our Doctor.

The funeral home had been in contact with Steven to let him know that they haven’t received the paperwork from our Doctor to confirm the death and proceed with the cremation.

Yup. Pure torture.

It turns out that our Doctor wasn’t even setup to be able to sign for this sort of thing.

For her year and a half with our practice, she hasn’t needed to sign for death.

She’s used to bringing life into this world.

That’s how little this happens.

Until now.

My heart is absolutely broken.

Shattered.

What I would do to have my baby boy.

Thank goodness for Steven and his strength right now- his strength to hold me up.