Originally posted January 17, 2019 / Revised September 16, 2023

In the idyllic setting of our household on Saturday, April 2, 2011, an ordinary day took a sudden, heartbreaking turn.

The 3 kids, well-rested and filled with giggles, exploded with joy as they awoke.  The house was filled with their infectious laughter. These were the moments that Jack cherished the most, for being a dad was his greatest joy, his reason to wake up every morning.

As they gathered around the kitchen bar, sharing stories of their week, it was evident that this was their haven – their home. The children cherished their weekends here, filled with new adventures and creative activities. Jack and I worked tirelessly to create magical memories, from crafting sessions to delicious home-cooked meals with their favorite desserts. Their only responsibility during these precious moments was to be kids, and Jack found solace in quietly observing them, his heart swelling with love.

However, on this particular Saturday, an innocent conversation about childhood memories took a haunting turn. Liam began sharing a story from his early years, describing his struggles with breastfeeding as a baby. He recounted how the alienator had told him he needed to be held a specific way during feeding. Liam, with his childlike innocence, also mimicked a silly noise he supposedly made after feeding, sending his siblings into fits of laughter.

But what followed shattered our peaceful atmosphere. Jack’s face turned pale as a ghost, and he hurriedly left the room without a word. Moments later, he returned, carrying a photograph that held a devastating secret – “None of the kids were breastfed.”

Taken 2002- Liam less than 1 month old

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