"Actually, we had a child before Zachari..."

I've said that sentence, or once similar to it, more times than I care to admit. The truth is, I hate to admit that I'm even able to utter a statement like that. I still hate that I've given birth to two children, but only one is here beside me. (And this is not to say that I - in any way - hate my daughter.)

On November 27, 2008 at 6:38 p.m. I gave birth to my first child, a son named Elpida Matthew Blinn.

I never saw his eyes, heard his cry, or saw his tiny limbs flailing about like so many newborns' do.

I never smelled his breath, swaddled him, latched him to my breast, or quieted his frightened whimper.

My sweet boy entered this world a few months too early in silence. A silence that could quiet a crowded room. The only sounds that filled that miserable hospital room were my groans of pain - both physical and emotional, our tears falling to the floor, our hearts screaming out in confusion, anger and disbelief.

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I don't need a special date marked on the calendar to remind me of what I had and lost, but today I want to remember him in this special way. His life was short and sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm the only one who truly knew him, but his life was still so very significant. He taught me things about myself I probably never would have discovered. He brought his daddy and I closer than we'd ever been and made us count our blessings all the time. Though his birth was quite traumatic, unexpected and grief-filled, it was also peaceful and hopeful in some weird way. Before we even knew who he was, before he was named, he was living up to his name: Elpida: hope; Matthew: gift of the Lord.

Our story really isn't all that unique. There are millions of parents out there whose hearts have broken the same ways ours have. Some are surrounded by the love and support of friends and family who help them through the darkness. There are some though, who walk this path alone and oh, how thankful I am that I haven't been one of those people. Stories like these need to be shared so that there's never another person who has to endure this pain alone. Today I'm remembering the families of the children who have been lost too. May they come to know hope, peace and joy in a time that has otherwise been full of despair.

Its probably been a year since I looked at the pictures we have of Elpida. Its a heavy thing to enter into, seeing your deceased child in a photo album. Today I was strong enough to look. I flipped through photo after photo of his frail, limp body bundled up in my arms. Then I got to the pictures of his feet, one of my favorite things about him. He had his daddy's feet - long and skinny - and those two feet, those ten toes made me smile on that November day... and even now.

He was such a little guy.

A little guy with big lessons to teach , that's for sure.