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WildBerryJam helped so much in this, without killing me in the process. I own nothing.

            They’d just finished setting up the nursery the weekend before. The walls were a pale yellow, and Pam had painstakingly painted a jungle theme around the room, animals hiding in tall grasses or peeking out from behind trees. Jim had assembled the furniture while she painted. He’d only get so far before stopping to watch her work; the crib alone had taken him a week.

            The baby shower had come and gone, and now their house was overflowing. They were amazed at the amount of stuff that one baby could need. There were blankets, toys, outfits, and a whole closet full of diapers.

 

            Pam sat, curled up in the rocking chair, trying to disappear. The pain never went away, it hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to exist. Every second was a reminder of the life that was lost.

            He’d never been that active, so she hadn’t thought anything of it when the kicking had stopped. He’d normally start up again in a few hours. But hours had turned into days, and the doctor had said it was too late.

            The doctor told them it was a boy as he placed the stillborn baby in Pam’s arms before leaving the room. Pam rubbed his wrinkly cheek gently, as if afraid to wake him up. Jim refused to hold him, he could barely look. The instinct to run was overwhelming, the pain too much to bear.

 

            They’d buried him two days later. The headstone simply read Parker James Halpert, always in our hearts, December 15th, 2009.



EmilyHalpert is the author of 44 other stories.



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