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My husband, Robert and I found out we were
expecting a baby in early July 2002 and excitedly told our 4 other children
over breakfast at Denny’s. There were mixed responses from our oldest 20
year old, engaged daughter to our youngest 7 year old little girl who was
afraid of being “dethroned”. We are a blended family with the
“his”, “hers”, and “ours” complications that go
along with creating a new family unit and then adding to it. But after the
initial surprise, everyone was happy and looking forward to the new addition to
our family.
Around 8 weeks along, I began spotting but never really
thought much of it – I just never ever thought it could happen to me. I
had an ultrasound to make sure everything was fine. And they assured me it was.
I heard the baby’s heartbeat and had pictures. So, when I went in again at
11 weeks after more spotting, I was stunned by the nurse’s words,
“Well, we’re not seeing what we would normally see….” It
hit me like a ton of bricks. I’ll never forget the image of the black hole
on the monitor as she moved the wand over my belly.
I was shaking and
crying as I tried to get dressed. I called my husband who immediately came to
the doctor’s office to be with me. We decided to schedule a D&C for
the next morning. I was handed a very clinical brochure the morning of the
surgery briefly describing the medical procedure. Afterwards, I felt so empty
– figuratively and literally. I was surprised at the intensity of my
emotions and the deep sense of loss I felt. For weeks I alternated between
crying and numbness and even with loving and supportive family & friends, I
still felt very alone in my grief. I spent many tear-filled hours reading
others’ stories on the internet and voraciously read everything I could on
miscarriages and infant death. All the while, I felt compelled to do something
about the emptiness of it all.
The idea of Heaven Born emerged in my
mind and as an artist, I began to visualize the logo, and found the perfect
poem to combine with it. I began compiling information and writing down points
that I had found the most helpful. I discussed this with noone and kept these
thoughts to myself for fear of people thinking I was obsessing about it. My son
David, who was 11 at the time, unknowingly lit the spark that started this
whole project. I was having a rough time one evening and as I was quietly
crying when David said to me, “Mom, I think this happened to you so that
you could help others.” It was a goose-bump moment for me as I felt like
God had spoken directly to me through my son. That night I stayed up late
designing the logo and incorporating the poem. I set it up as two cards on a
layout and brought the file with me to work the next day. That morning at work,
a co-worker hesitantly approached me and asked if I would mind helping her. The
night before, her sister-in-law who was expecting twins, found out that at 19
weeks her babies had died. I printed out the cards I had made and on one I
wrote a note expressing my deepest sympathy as well as noting some websites to
visit that had helped me. And the second card I took with me to my six week
follow-up appointment with my doctor that just so happened to be the same day.
I didn’t know exactly what to propose, but I felt like I needed to do
something.
My wonderful doctor, Kent Snowden of St. John’s
Hospital, listened to my thoughts and then, much to my surprise, said he would
support me in this endeavor. I spent the next several months writing the
booklet and then a printer friend of mine, Chris Kuhl of Trio Printing,
produced it for me. The idea of the pillows emerged thereafter as a way to
present the booklet as a gift and offer something real that could be held.
Every time I carry a box of pillows into the hospital, I feel I am carrying the
precious souls of those sweet little angels. There is a sense of purpose and
peace that transcends any words I can use to describe it.
We named our
baby Katie (Kathleen after my mom and Therese is my middle name). I thank God
every day for the gift of this child that I have yet to meet. And I dream of
spending an eternity getting to see her, know her, hold her and love her. Her
sweet little life, so brief, has already made such a difference in this world.
And that is what truly matters.
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