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I haven’t known a happy Easter in many years. One Easter I went to church and watched my little girl in the pageant while my other little one was tucked safely inside me, only 28 weeks old. I can remember thinking that someday, daughter #2 could be in the pageant too.

Well, life takes its twists and turns.

Little Maggie came too early on Easter Monday, she went straight to heaven before I could hear her cry or comfort her.

I will never forget certain moments of that week. Hearing the doctor say there was no heartbeat.

They asked me if there was any chance of domestic abuse.

Holding her tiny body and wishing she’d open her eyes.

The nurse telling me the state took my daughter’s tiny body. They wanted to do an autopsy to determine her death. I told them NO!

I can still feel my breasts being fully engorged the day we placed the little white coffin in the ground. My mother carried her to the grave.

I wonder if I should have let my other daughter see her before she was buried.

It’s all clear as day. The pain has lessened over the years. I don’t cry as much.

I will never have a truly happy Easter again though.

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