I have been quietly agitated the last few days. I heard back from my doctor's nurse (first irritation). My balloon was so deflated when the answer to my question of what would be the earliest we could deliver than answer was a depressing 38 1/2 to 39 weeks. I really don't know what I was hoping for...I was kind of thinking 37 weeks. I know that everyday up until the birth will be such a anxiety stricken time. Maybe the thought of delivering sooner, in my mind, would be less time spent in hopeful misery. And I guess it made me feel like Beckett's death was just another number or blown off as a fluke. The loss of his life is not important enough to think with a little more urgency next time or for my doctor to make a personal phone call to me to tell me that she will do everything she can to make sure this does not happen again. I don't think that is too much to ask. In her defense, maybe she already told me that but I was not listening. Anyways...her answers would not stop us from trying again. We both would love to have a happy ending...hopefully it is meant to be.

I found Grace digging through Beck's memory box. She looked like a deer in headlights when I asked her what she was doing. His little hat lay there on the floor. I picked it up and touched the blood that left stains on the hat. I brought it to my face and took a deep breath. I just want to feel him physically. I feel his spirit in my heart. I feel his spirit with me, with us. But there is that insatiable yearning to hold him again.