I just posted a link on my Facebook - One Less Second Grader, found here. It's a piece by Angela. She's been an amazing guide and friend since we lost Henry.

I agree so much. I wish I could go back to when I only felt happiness for other people. Birth announcements, pregnancy photos, first steps, first first firsts..

There's a sick sort of jealousy that seems to bury itself into the forefront of my brain - it's nothing that I want or relish. It's not a jealousy of the kids - no!

It's more like.. a jealousy that people can walk around in life without knowing this pain. So many can walk around in a safe bubble, where babies don't die. Where a single pregnancy test means a happy baby nine months later. It's seriously a bubble - you can't really understand what is inside until you pop it, and then there is no return to normal.

My bubble popped. I check Amelia for breathing every few hours. I don't sleep well. I have terrors of car accidents, stray bullets, falls. We went on a Ferris Wheel and I nearly broke down - I kept on seeing the possibility of her falling. One of my babies died; the other can, too. Of course, I will do anything to prevent harm. But I know that I can't hover and bubble wrap her -- I have to let go. It's seriously an exercise in restraint.

When I see families with two kids - especially a daughter and a baby boy - I die a little. I wanted that for us so badly. I wanted us to be a family. I wished and prayed so hard for a miracle. I begged every morning, to a faceless god. In the shower. Driving to work.

It probably sounds horrible, and bitter. But I promise you that I am anything but - I do feel a warmth towards the announcements, and a relief that your bubble hasn't been popped yet. I don't wish this on anyone. These things just tend to tip me towards my own sadness, my darkness.