Today I felt fine on waking and ate breakfast and started to do some things I needed to get done. I went to look for a paper I needed and was confronted with Luke’s memory box from the hospital on the desk. I had to open it. I looked at his little hand and food prints, touched the lock of his hair (and felt mad that it looks like they taped it on there wet and the color doesn’t show true), and picked up the onesie they had dressed him in. I pressed the onesie to my body and wished for his body to be in it. I noticed for the first time that there are little brownish splotches on it in places that I think are dried blood. This broke my heart. Was my little baby bleeding on his clothes while we held him? I know he was stillborn and although he was beautiful and perfect, he had some bruising and a couple of blister-like things. But I hate the thought of his little body bleeding. This sent me into a tailspin of tears, which I can only handle by going to God. But I wanted to know why, God?! Why did you choose this for us? The sentence “I didn’t choose you, I chose him” came into my head, then “He’s special”. Still I cried my broken heart out and asked God questions and expressed my anger and hurt at what He has allowed in our lives. And then I had a moment of hope in thinking of the Bible verse that says that God can move mountains if you have enough faith when you pray for it. I earnestly prayed for God to just turn back time 3 weeks, to before my last two doctor’s appointments, to before we were told there was no heartbeat, and just let me have a do-over and get to keep him. I long so much for this to be possible. Please God, just send him back to us. Please just let me wake up and have time turned back and have Luke back in my belly kicking and soon to be born. Please just let this not be really happening. I don’t want to be these people with the sad stigma now on them. I just want to be with my baby. I even tried saying take me instead. Then at least Josh and my parents could have Luke. The only thing that gave me comfort was to picture doing the things I wanted to be doing with Luke. Holding him against my chest and smelling his hair, breastfeeding him on the Boppy pillow, carrying him in the little backpack carrier in the grocery store, putting him in the back of the car in his car seat. I could see it all as if it had happened. But it didn’t.