Eight years ago I was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a fetal monitor, nervously waiting to see how our baby was doing, still thinking that things would be perfectly fine.
Eight years ago, I had a knot in my stomach, hoping beyond hope that *surely* things would be normal and I would soon be holding our precious baby in my arms.
Eight years ago, I had no idea that the next morning I would be rushed into surgery, praying that our baby would survive and all this was a very bad dream.
Eight years ago, I couldn't imagine I would have to say goodbye to my little child and let my husband travel home to bury her.
Eight years ago, I was still blissfully ignorant of how wretchingly horrible losing your child could be.
Eight years, eight months, eight minutes, eight seconds...
It all seems so vivid on days like today.
to Hannah's memorial