I had just turned 20 and found out that I was expecting. It was not something that had been planned, but after the initial shock and fear wore off, excitement and love overflowed my heart in preparation for my firstborn.

At 18 weeks, the ultrasound confirmed that I would be having a beautiful baby boy. I was elated! I'd been hoping that I would be having a boy, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world that day.

All the ultrasounds were great and showed a healthy, wonderful little boy growing inside of me.

At 39 weeks pregnant on the day, I would go in for my last doctor's visit. Everything looked great, and I left the clinic feeling excitement and anticipation.

A few days later, I noticed that I had only felt a single movement early in the afternoon, and nothing since. By 10 p.m., I decided to eat something sugary in an attempt to "wake him up," and after two hours of unsuccessful attempts to feel any movement, I decided to check myself into the hospital. I wasn't scared. I thought for sure that I was over-reacting.

When the nurse spent what felt like 10 minutes trying to find my baby's heartbeat, I knew that he was gone. She didn't have to tell me; it was painfully obvious. I burst into tears; I've never felt such pain in my whole life. Not my baby, not my healthy, beautiful baby. It couldn't be. But it was.

And I was scheduled to be induced the following morning. I had assumed a Cesarean section was the standard procedure, and was extremely upset to find out that this was not the case. How on earth did these people expect me to go through labor and delivery? It was too emotionally painful to even think about.

But somehow it happened, and on Saturday, August 2, 2008, my perfect little Gavin Michael was stillborn. He was the most gorgeous being I've ever seen, and his beautiful image is something I will carry with me forever. I don't know how people manage to "get over" this sort of thing. In a way I don't think that I even want to. To "get over" implies that one is alright with, or has moved on from, a particular event. I don't want to ever move on from his memory. He is a part of me, and I will carry him in my heart until the day I leave this world too.

I won't ever get to experience raising him, but I do feel blessed to have carried him with me for 10 beautiful months. Every kick, every hiccup, every movement. These are the memories I have of my son. And I'm thankful. I would rather have these than none at all.

I hope in the future to have more children, but more than anything, I wish I could have my Gavin back. I've never experienced a love like that. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and all encompassing. I've tattooed his gorgeous footprint onto my ankle, and kept the photos of him with me wherever I go. I pray one day that I will meet him again in Heaven, and that he will know who I am, and how much I loved him.