September 5, 2002, my life changed forever. That was the day I found out my baby died. I had no idea the journey that was ahead of me... 

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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.

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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.

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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 which briefly described the medical procedure. Afterward, 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.

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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 no one 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, 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.

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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.