I was asked by Kathleen Rice to tell the story of my Daughter Merida, who we lost at 18 weeks gestation. I will apologize ahead of time for the length of this. I didn’t know what parts to include or leave out. I have told her story many times, but never written it out.

In the winter of 2013 my husband Jon and I found out that we would be expecting our third baby. With our second son, we did not find out what we were having and decided to wait and let it be a surprise. It was fun and exciting not to know, so this time we decided to wait again. We already had two sons and I was quietly praying for a baby girl. I had some complications with my second sons pregnancy and I was starting to have the same complications with this pregnancy too. We decided to wait to tell everyone we were pregnant. We actually thought we had lost this baby to miscarriage due to some very heavy bleeding, but came to find out that the baby was alive and growing well. We were very happy to find this out, but this made us even more hesitant to announce our pregnancy. So, we decided to wait until we were past the “scary” part of pregnancy to tell everyone. With this decision, we waited until I was 12 weeks pregnant to announce our pregnancy. This happened to fall on Mother’s Day 2013. Our family was the first to find out and then we made the big announcement on Facebook to our extended family and friends. All my complications with this pregnancy had subsided or completely gone away and we were finally able to breath.

This pregnancy was moving right along and everything physically seemed to be totally normal. I went in for my 18 week check up with my OBGYN on June 20^th, 2013. This appointment we were going to be getting another ultrasound, and Jon took off work to attend, he wanted to see his baby too. We were walked back and prepped for the ultrasound. My doctor started scanning my belly and he was very quiet. The images were projected up on to a larger screen so we could see what was going on. After the doctor started the scan, I knew something was wrong right away. The baby was lying differently in the pictures than you normally would see during an ultrasound. My doctor continued to be quiet and kept scanning. I was beginning to get more and more nervous, and I finally said to him “you cant find the heartbeat can you”? He didn’t answer me right away, but I knew, and then he told me that he could not find the babies’ heartbeat. I cannot even begin to say what I was thinking, I cannot remember it myself. I know I was horrified, in shock, and in disbelief. How could I be 18 weeks pregnant and lose the baby? You were supposed to be “in the clear” after 12 weeks. Time seemed to stop, I could not even think of what was going to happen next. My Doctor tried to explain to me what the next step was and what to expect etc, etc, but he first wanted me to go back to our Perinatologist to have a second opinion. He didn’t want to take his ultrasound as the final outcome, he wanted to make sure that the baby truly did not have a heartbeat.

The Perinatologist confirmed our worst nightmare. Our sweet baby was gone.

While we were still there I asked him to tell us if our baby was a boy or girl, since we never did find out. I wanted to know now. That is when he told us she was a girl. It shouldn’t have, but I feel like this hurt even more, knowing that we lost our only daughter.

The Doctor drilled me with questions on what had changed with me since our last visit with him, and the only thing that happened was I got Hand, Foot, and Mouth. He told us that this should not have caused her to pass, and made sure that I did not get a fever when I had it, I did not. The Doctor said that all my prescreens were totally normal and he does not know why we lost her. He said we may never know, the only thing he thought that might have been the cause of her death was a cord accident.

After the visit with the Perinatologist, Jon and I called my OBGYN to let him know it was confirmed, that our baby girl had passed. We then had to set up a date for me to be induced and give birth to our beautiful daughter. We would go in on a Sunday evening, June 23rd to be exact, I would be induced like a normal induction for a full term pregnancy. I would labor and deliver my daughter, like a normal full term pregnancy. The only difference is, there would be no cries to be heard, there would be no living, breathing baby to bring home. I had a choice of what I wanted to do with her remains; I would make that decision at the hospital. So we set the induction up, and for the next 3 days, I cried, and cried, and cried. I do not even know what else happened those three days. Everyone was notified of our loss, I know I sent a message out at some point. Im pretty sure I had people call or come by, but I don’t remember. I do remember picking a name out for her. We had not narrowed the names down yet, so I didn’t have a girl one picked out. I know this made me feel horrible, that I didn’t even have a name for her yet. I remember watching the Disney movie Brave. The princess in that movie, Merida, I loved that name. It was so pretty. I decided to look up the meaning of that name. There were several, but the one I found first was “A Woman who has achieved a place of honor.” I felt that this was what our baby girls name should be. Because she had received a place of honor, up with God.

Jon and I went to the hospital on Sunday evening; I was placed in a room far away from the rest of the rooms that were occupied. A single yellow rose was placed on my door. I was told this is a sign to those who work at the hospital, it alerts them to know that I was not a normal, laboring mom to be. I made one of the nurses bring an ultrasound down, I just wanted her to double check that there truly was not a heartbeat and that Merida was truly gone. She graciously did what I asked, and confirmed the nightmare was still true.

I was then induced around 10pm. I was given IV pain meds, not like you would during a normal delivery. I was in labor for about 5 hours. Merida was born around 5am on June 24, 2013. We got to hold her, and the Chaplin came and blessed her. We got to spend some time with her. Although I look back and wish I would have spent more time with her or taken more pictures. But how much time is enough, there is never enough time. The nurses took her picture, got her hand and foot prints.

I had complications and had to go to surgery. When I was out, I held her one last time before they took her away. Jon and I had to make a decision on what we wanted to do with her remains. Since she was so small we did not have to do the normal burial if we didn’t want to. I didn’t know what to do, what do you do? We decided to have her cremated and her ashes spread with babies just like her at the Hope Memorial Garden that is at the hospital. To this day I regret that decision. I wish I had brought her ashes home with me. I will live with the grief of losing her and the regret of not bringing her ashes home every day.

I was placed on the floor for high risk pregnancies for the next three days. I was told I was put here so I could be monitored closely and so I didn’t have to hear the cries of other babies. The nurses gave us a keepsake box with her hospital blanket she was wrapped in, her hospital bracelets she would have worn had she been born alive, a teddy bear, a knitted blanket, a small fabric heart, and her pictures. I left the hospital with a box with reminders of my baby girls death. You normally leave the hospital with your baby, not empty armed.

Never, would I have or could I have imagined that we would lose our daughter during pregnancy. I didn’t even know that this could happen. I never heard stories about it, or maybe I did, but didn’t realize the impact of a loss like this could make. Everyone loses someone, but the loss of a child, no matter what their age, is more detrimental. I will never get over her loss. I have learned to live differently, always wondering what if. I will continue to think about her everyday as long as I live. There is no grief, like the grief of those who lose a child.

Everyone grieves, everyone grieves differently. The best thing for the ones who grieve is to have a place to go, to talk to someone about their grief. I have heard how The Journey of Hope has helped so many. I am happy to help support such a wonderful place.

A wife who loses a husband is called a widow.

A husband who loses a wife is called a widower.

A child who loses his parents is called an orphan.

There is no word for a parent who loses a child.

That’s how awful the loss is.

- Jay Neugeboren – An Orphan’s Tale – 1976 -