to the nurse, so he could get some rest, and my mother and mother-in-law took me home. All the way, I envisioned getting Rocky up to the hospital as early as possible so that he,too, could hold his son. We pulled up in front of the house, and every one of my brothers and sisters as well as my beloved Rocky ran out of the house. Before they even reached the car, I knew my son had died. My husband would never hold his living namesake, and I would never use the tiny infant things I had scrimped to buy, nor would any of my siblings ever see their nephew.

Robby--Robert,Jr.--had died in my arms as I held him for the first and last time. My son had died--only seconds after I had rejoiced over his seemingly perfect body. God had gone and done the unforgivable--He had teased me with a perfect-looking baby, and snatched him away from us without further ado. He had refused to answer our prayers, our pleas, our vows, our hopes--and He had sounded the death-knoll on our fragile marriage. I would lose this man I loved, I had lost my precious son, and I had lost all hope in myself or anything else.