Remembering

Funny thing about time.  They say it heals all wounds, but I'm not sure I agree.  The passage of time may lessen the pain of loss, but I think there are some wounds that will never fully heal.  This time of year is hard for me, and I suppose it always will be.

Nine years ago today, I delivered our first baby.  Her name was Emma.  I don't have a picture of her.  I don't have her footprint or hand print, and I never got to hold her.  In fact, I chose not to even see her, a decision I sometimes regret, but am assured by those who did that it was the right decision for me.  And I believe them.  Our sweet baby Emma was born still on the first day of my 20th week, but we lost her a week or so before that.  By the time we knew for sure something was wrong, she was already gone.

It started with a routine test... that screening test that was supposed to rule out any possibility of a birth defect.  But instead, with one phone call, my world turned upside down.  The midwife told me my test came back "positive" for Trisomy 18.  She warned me not to overreact, and not to start looking things up on the internet, a warning I wished I'd heeded.  But as bad as Trisomy 18 is, what actually was wrong would have been worse.  When we went in for the ultrasound, and discovered she was gone, I had the amnio anyway, and I'm glad I did.  It told us what happened.  

A condition called Triploidy; our baby had three complete sets of chromosomes, not two.  A condition which usually results in a first trimester miscarriage, but is always fatal.  In rare instances, babies with this condition make it full term, and are even born alive, but it is a condition which is completely incompatible with life.  If there was anything to be grateful for in our situation, it was that we were not faced with a terrible decision to make.  The ordeal we went through was painful enough, and I cannot imagine coupling that with either the guilt of deciding to terminate, or the agony of continuing the pregnancy knowing what the ultimate outcome would be.

She was supposed to be born on our second wedding anniversary.  She was a surprise, but welcome nonetheless.  I remember being so excited, I couldn't help but buy a few cute little baby things, and going shopping for maternity clothes almost as soon as I found out I was pregnant.  In the back of my mind, I knew something wasn't right, but I pushed those thoughts away, thinking that every first time mom-to-be feels that way now and then.  Now I know differently.  Now I can recognize the difference between fear and intuition.

Sometimes I wonder, what if.  What if that extra set of chromosomes hadn't been there, and she'd developed perfectly normally?  I'd have an almost-nine-year-old, a 3rd grader now.  But, what if that meant we didn't have Sarah?  Clearly, that wasn't the plan.  I don't know why we had to lose Emma, but I do know we were meant to have a daughter, this daughter who is the light of my life.  And Charlie, old soul that he is, was meant to be the older brother.

Perhaps it was a lesson in humility.  Perhaps it was a reminder to appreciate all the gifts in my life.  Maybe Heaven just needed another angel... I'll never know, and I've accepted that.  Whatever the reason, and regardless of whether I held her in my arms or not, she is still my child.  I will always remember her brief existence, and hug my Charlie and Sarah a little tighter today.