Zoe’s 8th birthday

Today would have been Zoe’s 8th birthday. I really struggle to believe eight years have passed as everything about the day she was born is permanently imprinted on my heart and mind.

I can still remember waking up at 4 am, heading to the gym with Joe, walking to our car afterwards and telling him that I had such a great workout and felt so good. While I took a shower, I thought about how I would run errands after work because I just felt so energized.

I was just finishing up my hair when I felt something funny and ran to the toilet. My water broke and I shouted for Joe. “I don’t think we are going to work today.” He responded with, “What!”  I shouted out again, “My water just broke.”  He ran around collecting everything we might need. We weren’t fully prepared. We thought we had 3 more weeks. After 20 minutes of waiting for my water to stop gushing, I wrapped myself in a towel, and we headed to the hospital. The cramping, contractions and pain started as we made our way through Chicago’s rush hour traffic.

I called to let the hospital know we were on our way and shared we were high risk and that our daughter had been diagnosed with anencephaly. The nurse said, “We have been expecting you.” Apparently, our doctor had shared our story, and the nurses knew to be watching for us. It comforted me to know they understood a bit of our situation…our daughter had very little chance of survival outside the womb.

We parked and headed toward the hospital door. With each step the cramping intensified. A man walking by asked if I needed a wheelchair, but I declined the offer and held onto Joe. We made it to labor and delivery, and I looked down to see a pile of blood. Terrified, I told the nurse, “I think I will need a wheelchair.” She saw the blood and I heard her tell another nurse, “We might need surgery.” I was not prepared for surgery, I took a deep breath and prayed that I would not need it.

Everything happened so fast. I got in the room and the nurse checked me and shouted she is dilated at nine. What? I know my mom said our family has babies fast but this fast. Another nurse checked and said I was only at five. I took another deep breath; I still had a little more time. I needed that time to prepare my heart. Within a short time, we would hopefully meet Zoe while she was still living, but I also knew we would most likely leave the hospital with empty arms.

I continued to dilate quickly and in less than two hours I was ready to push. The doctor had not arrived, and the nurse continually told me, “Don’t push, don’t push!”  I held on to the side of the bed, trying with all my might to keep myself from pushing. “How long will it take the doctor to get here.” I asked the nurse. “He is on his way.” It felt like an eternity.

Finally, the doctor walked in, dressed from head to toe in a suit with mask and all, I guess he expected the grand entrance Zoe made after being held in for so long. Zoe came with just a few pushes. I watched the tears streaming down Joe’s face as he watched her be born and I did everything I could to stay strong.

The nurse laid her on my chest, and she was silent. Joe and I looked at one another with tears. She must have passed away during birth because she made no noise and seemed motionless. We had longed to hold her for even a moment while she lived, but it seemed that we would not have that chance. Then we noticed her little eyelid moving and we asked the nurse if she was alive. They checked her heartbeat and “YES” she was alive. She had a faint heartbeat and joy bubbled up inside. I took a little time with her and then passed her over to Joe. He had waited nearly nine months to hold her. I had the privilege of feeling her kicks and somersaults and now it was his turn to hold her close.  We smiled, we felt the fulfillment of long-awaited desire to be parents, we forgot for just a short time that we would soon say goodbye. Our daughter was alive and in our arms.

My sister, Lindsey and her family, were all the way in Ecuador and they called to welcome Zoe to the world with tears in their eyes. My parents jumped on the next plane home from Ecuador. Joe’s mom got on the next plane from Texas. My sister Amy and Chrissy drove as fast as they could from Indianapolis. They arrived in time to meet Zoe while she was still living. Amy’s kids were young but so compassionate. They barely left Zoe’s side the whole time they were at the hospital.  Gemma was only about four years old, and she said she had a song to sing. We all gathered around, and she got close to Zoe’s face and sang, “This little light of mine.” There was not a dry eye in the room.

Several close friends who had walked through our hardest days with us visited and met Zoe.

After two hours, Joe looked down and said, “It looks like she has teeth already.” That is when we realized Zoe’s heart had stopped beating and the first signs of death were setting in. Her body was growing stiff and the warmth we had felt was disappearing.

The nurses came in and took Zoe’s weight and measurements. Joe and I gave her a bath and we dressed her in the only outfit she would wear, a little onesie that said, “My daddy loves me.”  Watching Joe care for Zoe was so moving. His tenderness, his immense love for her, his heartbreak…it brought joy and sadness all at once. I always knew he was an incredible husband and for a short time I got to witness him be an equally amazing father.

I did everything I could to memorize her features. She really was my mini-me. The doctors had warned us that babies with anencephaly could be difficult to look at. I knew I would love her regardless of what she looked like, but they had me so scared. Could I handle seeing her without a brain and skull?  She was absolutely beautiful. I am so glad we had the opportunity to hold her and behold her beauty. A little life full of worth and value. A life that impacted me in every way and for every day that was to follow.  A life that showed me that life is to be lived in the present. A life that helped me find the joy in the midst of sorrow. A life that continues to strengthen and encourage me.

My whole life, I avoided thoughts of death. Death felt far too difficult for me to imagine. Goodbyes of any sort had always felt so overwhelming, but death even more terrifying. I would never have imagined keeping my baby with me after she died, but we kept Zoe with us until the next morning. Joe’s mom and my parents both arrived in time to meet her. It was incredibly emotional to see them holding her and knowing how much they loved her.

Morning came and we knew our time with Zoe was coming to an end. It is hard to describe in words the difficulty involved with dressing Zoe in her burial outfit and preparing to hand her to a nurse with our final goodbyes. Sobbing and eyes swollen we managed to let go. One of the hardest moments of my life. Letting go of someone I loved and had longed to know and spend the rest of my life with. I had less than 24 hours with her.   We gave her our last kiss and passed her to the nurse. Nothing ever prepares you for something like this.

I grieved.

I cried.

I remembered.

I felt loss.

I found strengthen.

I have never thought of moving on or getting over Zoe’s life and death. I have continued to carry her forever in my heart. She is a constant source of love and hope for me.  She encourages me to be present, to slow down, to have fun, to make memories. I experienced grief from her death, and I’m not sure how to put it in words, but that grief has been transformed and is transformative. Maybe because I our relationship was built on the intangible and today I continue to experience that relationship even though she is not her.