Patrick’s cousin was due with her baby on May 21st. As of the 24th, she had not gone into labor and was scheduled to be induced this morning. Just before lunch today I received a call from my mother-in-law. Abby had a septic infection and her baby boy died and she is in critical condition. I was shocked. Sad. Scared. Confused. How could this happen? I still don’t know any other information.

My first reaction, once the initial shock wore off, was an intense need to drive to day care, scoop up Griffin and cover every inch of him in kisses. His fat little feet. His pouty lips. I wanted to breathe in the warmth of his neck and hear him giggle. I wanted to watch his face light up. I wanted him to know how grateful I am that he is my baby boy. How lucky I am.

I thought back to 9 months ago. The colic times. Those 4 long months of crying and screaming. The back arching. The red face. The hardening of his tummy as he cried. I thought back on how horrible I thought that was. How I thought it would never end. But I would do it all over again. I would relive every single one of those days, every one of those minutes because I know it would be a hell of a lot easier than what Abby will face in the coming days, weeks, and months. The tears that I cried, the ones out of frustration and fear and lack of control and yes, even moments of regret, cannot compare to those she will shed for the loss of her precious boy. Baby Connor.  The loss of someone who she will never get to see smile. Or hear cry. Or watch sleep. She will never feel his breath on her neck as she rocks him to sleep in the middle of the night. She will never hear him babble or get to comfort him when he is sad or hurt. She will, however, have to go home without her baby, and close the door to his nursery – a constant reminder that there was supposed to be one more person in their house. How do you ever recover from that?

I have never felt as lucky as I do right now.

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