|
February 25th, 2005, was the saddest and most beautiful day of my life. With the help on my husband, my doctor, and my dear friend Katy, I labored for little Sarah, who was stillborn. We knew that was her most likely outcome. We were 22 weeks and 3 days along, and it still seems unfathomable that all our hopes and dreams for her could lead us to that moment.
A week and a half before had been Valentine's Day we celebrated love, we celebrated our daughter Bridget's first birthday, and we celebrated having our ultrasound. The ultrasound is how we learned the truth. Somewhere early in pregnancy, Sarah had stopped developing properly. Her brain had not fully divided. It's a disease called HPE or holoprosencephaly. She also had hydrocephaly, a meningocele which bulged through the top of her skull, an encephalocele, and problems with her heart and placenta. It's probably why I had such trouble with bleeding during the pregnancy. Because of her wide range of problems besides the holoprosencephaly, they believe that the condition was likely chromosomal in nature.
My husband and I had to assess our situation. Our daughter was terminal. No matter how long we carried her, she would die. Nothing could be done. No treatment, no surgery, nothing. If there had been we would have done it. We loved her and wanted her so much. At first that was all I cared about. Then I found out that carrying her to term meant putting my life in danger. We are a pro-life family. An abortion was not an option for us. Ultimately we made the agonizing decision to induce labor early. I prayed for a miracle, but knew I had to protect my health, and not leave my children without a mother. I am so grateful that God gave me such a loving husband, without whom, all of this would have been even harder than it was. We made our decision together, but not without council, prayer, and grief. We hoped for a miracle till the very end.
We wanted Sarah to be born whole, and to know that she was loved. I don't know if she knew how much we loved her, but she was born whole. With a terribly silent delivery, and two weeping parents, she slid gently into the world. Her soul was already gone.
We held her for three hours, shared her with family, and cried with the nurses. She was so warm and beautiful with her button nose, long perfect fingers, and great big feet. It was so wonderful to have her in my arms. I touched her face, played with her ears, marveled over her little mouth, and kissed her sweet face.
The hard part came when I handed her back to the nurse to take away. She told me I could have her back if I hadn't had enough time. But there can never be enough time.
I did see Sarah again before I left the hospital. I needed to say goodbye before I left. Our older son was sad that he hadn't been able to say goodbye to her, and so, with the help of the mortuary I saw her one more time, with him. I think she actually looked more perfect then. Her skin was perfectly clean and she looked just like her sisters. She would have been a beautiful little girl.
We buried her in the Garden of Little Angels in the nearby cemetary. Through all of this I have learned that neither Sarah, nor Dominic and I are alone. Sarah is in the company of so many other precious children whose mother's miss them and I have joined a sisterhood of mothers of loss. I would give anything to take away their grief, but I am thankful for their support and the support of so many people who offered me encouragement and kindness when the world seemed to have turned upside down.
I still miss her everyday.
|
