My daughter is beautiful, smart, and stronger than anyone I know. She lost two babies before giving birth to my wonderful granddaughter. The first was ectopic and she was not even sure she was pregnant. The second died at 12 weeks. This is a pain only a broken-hearted mother can ever know.
Right now she is carrying her fourth baby. She is 20 weeks in. He is a boy. Little Sawyer Timothy isn't going to make it. The angel in charge of putting him together must have been distracted for a moment. The details are not important. The chromosomal anomaly is exceedingly rare. The important organs are not forming as they should. The experts have clinically detailed that Sawyer likely will not survive to term, and for only a few days outside the womb if he does. Yet he kicks and moves clings to life with tenacious spirit.
The little guy might be less than perfect outside, but I know he is all his parents and sister and grandparents could ever hope for on the inside, where it counts. A rare twist of genetic fate will take him from us before we ever get a chance to know him.
I'm heartbroken. My wife is despondent. I have no idea how my daughter and son-in-law can bear it. How will my daughter make it through each day when people ask about her baby, knowing cruel fate has already left its mark? I cannot imagine.
Why? It does not matter why. Random chance, genetic mishap, plain bad luck. I do not question God. I only pray to give everyone strength in the coming days, weeks, and months. If you are so inclined, a prayer to ease the baby's pain and to help his mom and dad would be appreciated.
I have not shared much of my personal life this year. Trust me when I tell you that 2017 sucks.
In the meantime, the usual frivolity, nonsense, braggadocio, and shallowness that make up the bulk of content around here seems a bit pointless and more than a little trite.