11:11... Make a wish.

It's been two weeks since I drove myself to the hospital praying my little girl was just taking a nap, getting ready to make her appearance. Even though her Daddy had specifically told her to wait until he got back home later that day, I've never expected any child of mine to follow the rules.

Waiting. I hate waiting for water to boil or the microwave to finish. The hour I waited to go back to the monitoring area never felt so long. They gave me crackers and juice. Still nothing. I push. Please move, Evie. Panic is slowly setting in but I hold steadfast that she's just being stubborn and sleeping like her big brother and sister do as often as they are allowed.

I finally get back. Get changed into that God-awful robe. The one that shows off every asset from the back. Daddy's not here to poke at me; he's finishing lunch and heading home. Like Mommy said it was ok to do. I send some quick texts while the nice nurse, Wendy from somewhere in the UK, starts getting me hooked up.  "Ran to the hospital to check on the baby. I'll keep you posted."

First strap is on. Yes, that is a real, large contraction. I feel it. Second strap time, heartbeat monitor. Wendy plays around to find it. She's decided to get an ultrasound because sometimes babies are stubborn. As I lie there, I hear the loud thumping of heartbeats from the six other monitors in the triage area. I tell Evie, listen to all those babies. Please let me hear you.

The doctor comes in. Not my doctor but one I know from his office. My own stubbornness has been diminished to begging silently. Please God, let him see her heartbeat. Wendy sits on the bed and holds my hand.

"I don't see a heartbeat”…  We were prepared for everything. Your room was ready save for a couple decorations and maybe some more diapers. Your outfit was ready, your car seat. During the previous months, we'd been prepared for Down's, Trisomy 13, a heart defect like your brother’s. But those five words? Nothing in the world could have prepared me for that. I tried to silence my cries so as not to upset the six other mommies in that room that were no doubt doing their best to keep their shit together. I tried. I heard one of them say she was praying for you, for me.

Worst of all, Daddy was still a couple hours away and I now had to decide whether I needed to wait until he was here or tell him over the phone and risk him driving way too fast to get here. He'd asked if I’d wanted him to stay home before he left but dammit, we needed the cradle. There was a baby to get ready for. I've been on the giving end of awful phone calls but that one broke my soul. Telling the man I love, the one who's been just as excited as I was, that his baby girl has no heartbeat. I felt like the worst person in the world.

Somehow I managed to get my mom and stepdad to the hospital and let her make phone calls because I couldn't hardly breathe, much less communicate effectively. There was some shuffling around of rooms. Delivery. Only going in that room made what was about to happen real. I waited. I prayed. I waited some more. There was now a plan. I had to deliver or risk my own safety.

When Taylor finally got there, I don't think I've ever held someone or let someone else hold me so tight. That's a hard thing for me to do. Not be in control. Not be the one that keeps it together. But I really couldn't anymore. I allowed them to medicate me. For the numbness. I needed to be numb even if it was fake.

The rest of that night is blurry. Apparently, I let his car get so low on gas, he ran out. I laughed. That's my MO if I've ever seen it. I don't need gas right now; I'll get it later. My dad, little brother, Taylor's parents, my grandparents and two of my closest friends were still there. Claire came by; I remember that. She'd just brought the swing a couple weeks before. We'd need that; it'd be a lifesaver. I remember thinking, "I wish that was THE lifesaver." I prayed more.

November 11. 11/11. I kiss the clock at 11:11... make a wish. Wishing wasn't enough today. I was in full blown labor by this point. My hand firmly being held. Our family close by. Small laughs breaking the unbearable sadness we all felt. As parents, our first thought is to protect our children. From the world, themselves, danger. Here I was though, unable to do a single damn thing for my child.

It's soul crushing, not even an understatement. I know because I've done this before. My sweet Holden. The only one with dark hair. Irreparable damage to his little body created by a heart defect that went undetected. I've sat and held my baby while he took his last breath. I've made preparations, stood by a tiny graveside, picked out a headstone. Twice? My God was now asking me to do that twice. I'm not strong enough for this. Is this really all a plan? I've never been terribly big on religion but I’ve always felt like He and I had an understanding. You took one but don't ever do it again; I may not survive.

Yet somehow, I managed to keep surviving every minute of horror I was living. I managed to survive giving birth to a baby I knew I wouldn't be able to bring home. I let someone hold my hand through the whole thing and I felt everything he felt. I watched his heart break as he saw his little girl for the first time. My heart broke ten times over because for everything loving him has allowed me to feel, this was one cross I was willing to carry on my own. Losing a child. It's a huge cross and boy is it heavy. I never wanted him to feel that pain. No advice that I could have given him would have left him fully prepared for how it really felt.

Man, was she beautiful, though. I tell myself, I did that, with help. We made a beautiful angel. A beautiful angel that we had to give back. We made preparations, we stood at a tiny graveside, we picked out a footstone... And a bench. We did that, together. We cry and we still laugh and we hug and sometimes we don't do anything at all. But we do it together.

I have no answers for all of the questions in my mind and heart. My body has done it's job, it grew and birthed a baby and now it's getting back to normal. I can fit in my normal jeans, though I tear up a little every time I slide them on. My milk has come and gone. It doesn't feel like there was a baby in my belly two weeks ago. But there is an emptiness that could fill the Grand Canyon. Minute by minute, day by day, I move forward. We move forward. Life being a carousel, it keeps on moving. There's no choice. I still have unanswered questions. I still have anger. I still have moments of complete devastation. But I am moving forward.

Evelyn Jane. Along with your brother, you will never be forgotten. You took another chunk of my heart with you to Heaven. I am so thankful even when I feel like dying that I was chosen to be y'all's mother. I treasure that. Two tiny little angels that nothing bad will ever touch. You never felt anything but love.

How wonderful it is, my sweet girl, to know that the first time you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Jesus' face...

Photo courtesy of Shelly Chetty with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.