I know the statistics: 50% die prenatally. Of those born alive, 50% die within the first two weeks, usually the first couple days. Only 5-10% turn one here on earth.
I know that families can be forever. We get those precious ones we lose back later. We get to love and raise them. I believe that love extends beyond the grave and that those whom we love and that love us, continue to be close to us even after they (or we) have passed.
BUT, when those statistics take on flesh and blood, they cause pain. They hurt. Like hell. Today I found out that a beautiful little girl, Sophie, born on May 6th in Gilbert, Arizona passed away. One week ago, little Alayna, up here, died. Two in one week. The pain is real. I love those moms. We have shared so much with each other and they will always have a place in my heart. I hate this. I really do.
In medical literature, babies with Trisomy 18 are "incompatible with life." Our precious son, Aaron, defied the odds, not only living, but thriving and loving his life. He passed away 13 years, 6 months and ten days after his birth. This is an effort to share his joy in his journey. Like the little purple pansy, he was tiny, but strong and still brightens his corner of the world.
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