The hardest story to start

Have you ever had a story that you didn’t know how to start? A story that you have never really shared out aloud.  There is no easy way to start this story. A story that you know you must tell in order to be able to tell anymore and to be able to move forward and create more stories.  I have a story just like this. I have tried to begin this story many times. I think sometimes it is just best to start and not worry if it is the right way.
So to start, I lost my first two sons during pregnancy. My first baby boy was lost at just 14weeks. Quickly and painfully. Just like that I became and excited expectant mother to an empty, grieving woman sent back home and that was that. He wasn‘t officially given a name and his birth wasn’t recorded. But he existed and he was my first baby boy. I fell pregnant again quickly, just 1 month later. The first trimester spent in fear until I reached that safe point and 15 weeks. Baby's progress was monitored regularly and we both were doing well. He was growing bigger and stronger, we reached the third trimester. Excitement built, names picked, room readied. But then he was gone. At 32weeks 6days know heartbeat could be found. I spent the next two days with him still in my womb, until we could be fitted in to schedule of the labour ward. If giving birth is painful, then it is even more so knowing that the baby that will be born to you will never take his first gasp of air, never cry, never sleep on your chest and grasp his little hand around your fingers and never grow before your eyes.The anaesthetist was slow in arriving to my room; just in time to tell me that it was too late and thing had progress too far. So I felt every contraction, every pain. Trying hard to focus on anything except what was happening in that room. Tiny little Lincoln was stillborn at lunch time on the 22nd October 2008. We spent the rest of the day with him. We held him and caressed is precious little face, counted his ten fingers and toes. I was so scared that I would break him so a beautiful midwife named Eve dressed him. In a white cardigan knitted and donated by a lovely lady who I would never meet and thank. Later that evening we walked out of the hospital without our baby boy. No one can ever be prepared for becoming a mother of a dead child. It is a world of endless grief. Still after almost six years I feel the exact pain I felt that day. I can recall exact sensation of my heart breaking. But your heart has the amazing ability to keep on working, even when you think it couldn't possibly. Despite the all the fear and grief in September 2009 we welcomed our Isaac into our lives, after a scary and intense 9 months of pregnancy and about 9 hours of an awful labour. Three years after Isaac was born we had had two more sons Cohen in 2011 and Sam in 2012. As I type this I can feel our new little person doing back flips in my belly. The next 22 weeks of pregnancy and then the birth will not be any easier or less frighting then any of the others. I will doubt my body's capabilities; doubt my mind's strength, second guessing every twinge. So six years on and three health babies, why share this story now? Their story is important. Their little precious short lives played a part I who I have become today and how I will and want to continue to develop as a mother, wife and as my own person. It is important for me to be able to celebrate them aloud so that I can move forward and celebrate, create and share more stories with my little boys who lived.