Updated: May 11, 2021
Hi I am Rhonda! I am a HUGE supporter of The Addison Foundation and here is my story .
At 30 years old I was excited for my first child. It was a perfect pregnancy with great doctor visits. Then things changed. We found out that our baby boy had no heart beat.
Now the after story...
Both families were called and were at the hospital when Zack came into the world on a Saturday. I held my son for 4 1/2 hours until his little nose started to bleed. It was then that I knew I had to let him go. When I was on the way home I called my friend to take M&M's and Coca-Cola to the house. My comfort food.
The families, except my sister, had all left and we had a week until Zack came back from the autopsy to have his funeral.
We went shopping to get me something to wear. We went to the shoe department and I saw the traditional white, high top baby shoes. It was then that I realized that my son would never have his first set of shoes, his first pictures, his first date or his first anything. We bought those shoes and hung them from the picture of his hands and feet that the hospital gave us.
At the funeral I refused to leave the casket. I stood by his side while the people paid their respects. Daddy wrote him a letter which was placed in the casket with him. When the service was over the employees came from the back to take Zack to the hearse. That was when I flipped out and had to be held in my chair.
We went to the cemetery and it was there that I placed a single white rose on Zack's casket. As my grandmother stood behind me she whispered, "no parent should ever bury a child." Tears rolled freely down my face. Each day after that I would visit the cemetery and have breakfast, lunch and dinner with my boy. The deer would stand by watching as I lay by my little angel.
Five weeks later I went back to work and that's when the anger hit. Everyone got a piece of it. Anyone who said "I hear you lost your baby" got an ear full. I always said "I know exactly where my son is buried." I made a promise that I'd never ask why my son, why was my son taken. Twenty fours years later and I can say I have not broken that promise.
The story never ends...it lingers forever.