harsh sorrow (to put it lightly)

My soul is sick. My story: I was twenty-four. I was engaged. I was four months pregnant. My planned first child that I had dreamed of since I was a child. I was buying a house with my man.....
I had a dream about my baby. He looked like my Grandpa and his daddy with big blue eyes and full dark hair (he looked exactly like my son Aiden who was born a year later, except for his blue eyes).
I went to the doctor for my 16 week prenatal check-up. My nausea had subsided a bit finally and I had told Garry that I didn't even really feel pregnant anymore. I wasn't. The doctor felt I wasn't big enough for four months so he sent me to get an emergency ultrasound. They said they couldn't find a heartbeat....what did that mean. Then back to the doctor. He said sorry, just like that. Then he gave me some pills to bring on a miscarriage that my body had not taken care of. I was in shock. Extreme shock. I called my dad but I couldn't speak. I just cried. "Dad my baby died." Then Garry came home and my dad sent my mom up on an airplane.
I took the pills and we walked over to our house inspection. After awhile I started to feel cramping so we went home. I took some T3's that the doctor had prescribed and went to the bathroom, thinking that this would be bloody but just like a heavy period. It wasn't. I went to the bathroom and felt something come out. I thought it was a clot. It was my baby. In it's sack. Hanging there. I panicked and put my hand down to cradle it. I sat like that for hours. Pushing. Hoping it would be over. When I couldn't take it anymore, I went to the tub and layed on a towel. Blood came and I labored quietly. Not intense labour but still pain. After four and a half hours (the same amount of time that I laboured later with two of my children), my placenta finally came out. I was free of the baby. I didn't want to touch my dead child, so fragile, but I stared good and hard at him. He was tiny with a little black eye and tiny arms. So amazing even in his underdeveloped state. I called my mom in and asked her if she would like to see the baby. I think I needed someone to know this was real. I didn't show Garry. I couldn't. I needed him to be okay. Next, what to do with my precious miracle gone. I put him in a shoe box, wrapped in a towel. I had to come to terms with the fact that he was gone. This would be his burial.
I thought I overdosed on tylenol that night, but I think now that I was maybe just having the worst anxiety attack that I had ever experienced. I tunneled into immediate depression and now know that I have Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I feel everything tens times worse than I should and feel like my children could die at any minute. It is hard to even say that. I am exhausted. I am now seeking help and am forced to push beyond what I want to. I need people to know. I need to not be trapped. I may regret saying this all. It needs to be said. I am not complaining. I am waiting until I can go home. I am too tired. That is a long way from now. I need to live and I need some peace.
His name is MacCrea....child of grace.