On Tuesday, December 3rd, 2019, Deb, my midwife, put the handheld ultrasound into her white coat pocket and placed her hand on mine. “I don’t think this is a healthy pregnancy, sweetie.” There had been trouble finding both my two older children’s heartbeats their eight week appointments, so there was probably nothing to worry about. But, then again I though, between thirteen to sixteen weeks there shouldn’t be a problem. “I’ll see if our ultrasound technician can squeeze you in.” Deb slipped out of the white room and came back a few minutes later to escort me to the ultrasound room. It didn’t take long for her to locate my baby, and I smiled as I saw his or her little form. She pushed it down and used every possible angle and feature, but the answer was still no. My baby who had stopped growing at about eight weeks and a day.
Joseph: “Guess who.” Mary: (spins around.) “Joseph! You’ll never believe what just happened.” Joseph: “It took you less than an hour to fold all the laundry?” Mary: “I just saw an angel.” Joseph: “Like an angel of the Lord? Come, on Mary. I know you like to be creative, but don’t you think that’s a little far. Angels only appear to great people.” Mary: “But one did, Joseph! It’s no story! I’m telling the truth.” Joseph: “Well, what did he tell you then, dear?” Mary: “The Lord, He came upon me and said I would bear His son. I’m pregnant. Just like the prophet Isaiah said, “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” [Isaiah 7:14]
The girl turned into ash. Rodney blinked; his breath catching in his gut. “Avaria?” He scooped some of the ash into his hands and shouted her name again. He felt his heart race. He knew he was panicking, but what else did one do when their girlfriend turns into ash right next to you. A breeze came by and the ashes were pushed to the edge of the blanket.