By Brian Kemper
(Editor's note: This piece contains some graphic details about a miscarriage.)
Advertisement - story continues below
On the morning of February 23, 2011, I awoke to the scream of my wife coming from the bathroom down the hall. I jumped out of bed and ran to her, finding her standing next to the toilet bleeding. In tears she pointed to the toilet where the body of my son (approximately 12 weeks into his development) was floating.
I stood in shock for a moment as we did not even know we were pregnant; the test we took weeks earlier came up negative. Then I noticed my wife was not steady and she was bleeding badly. I wrapped a towel around her to stop the bleeding and scooped my son’s body out of the toilet. I then loaded my wife into the van, as I knew driving her to the hospital would be faster than waiting for an ambulance.
TRENDING: Trump pardons Michael Flynn