When I discovered I was pregnant, my heart overflowed with joy. It was a moment of pure elation—becoming a parent was something I had dreamed of and yearned for most of my life, and I spent many years making various decisions to try and prepare to be the best parent I could possibly be.

I was filled with an overwhelming sense of love and anticipation, with endless hopes and dreams for the future. This excitement was not only mine, as it resonated deeply within my family also, who shared in my great joy. Amidst tears of happiness, I felt enveloped in a cloud of pure bliss. It was a magical time, perhaps the happiest I had ever been in my entire life.

I experienced an incredibly challenging pregnancy, marked by numerous severe complications that required multiple overnight stays in the ER. Unfortunately, no one had any answers for why the many alarming complications continued to happen.

Surprisingly, (at my original doctor office and the hospital they were attached to) I was never classified as high risk, and I was consistently assured that complications like mine were simply part of the process for some individuals.

Due to a unique family pattern that persisted across generations on my side of the family, I grew up with the expectation and assurance that I would likely have a daughter. Therefore, it came as no surprise to me when I learned I was having a little girl. 

In fact, I had already prepared for her arrival by accumulating a closet full of baby girl clothes over the years and had even chosen her name back when I was in middle school. 

I ended up having to undergo an emergency c-section. Before being taken back for surgery, the medical team presented me with the daunting and sobering statistics regarding the survival chances of an infant born extremely premature, which weighed heavily on my heart. Sadly, I didn’t have the opportunity to hold my baby after her birth. She required immediate transport to the NICU, a process that involved placing her in a medical plastic bag due to her fragile state. 

Nothing about the delivery process or having a baby in the NICU under these circumstances felt normal. It was a stark contrast to the idyllic scenes portrayed on TV or shared in most family and friends’ stories. Witnessing your child suffer is an indescribable pain that consumes you, and walking through the halls of Labor and Delivery to visit my baby in the NICU was agonizing. Passing by rooms where new moms joyfully held and fed their babies, while mine was tethered to life support, served as a stark reminder of our reality.

As time passed and my daughter appeared to be thriving, I began to interpret the grim survival rate statistics as only applying to the day of delivery and the first few days after, which she had made it through. Throughout the week she was born, I received countless loving messages from numerous people sharing encouraging stories of their personal experiences as micro-preemies and the normal lives they went on to live. Some shared stories of being born in third-world countries with minimal medical care, while others recounted their experiences from forty-plus years ago when medical technology and advancements were less advanced. So, I began to let my guard down, took a deep breath, and started to believe that everything was going to be okay. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until it wasn’t.

My daughter, Katherine, is a NICU warrior and she fought hard and survived for an incredible eight days. On the morning of her passing, before I could anticipate the turn events would soon take, I was overjoyed to receive news that she was doing well and her medical scan showed no signs of brain bleeds. This was particularly uplifting as I had been cautioned from the start to expect some level of brain bleeds in babies with her fragile state. With her scan results, I felt on top of the world. However, that day quickly became a whirlwind of emotions, transitioning from the highest highs to the lowest lows. 

Tragedy struck, shattering my world and leaving me grappling with unimaginable grief. The sudden transition from hope to despair was devastating, her passing was an unimaginably traumatic event, catching me completely off guard. My world quickly turned into the chaotic scene of an unplanned emergency surgery, where no one is prepared for what’s about to unfold, and there was a cacophony of noise and anguish, and the images I witnessed were haunting. To watch your child pass away before your very eyes, feeling utterly helpless, is a pain that sears into your entire body and leaves scars that last a lifetime.

For many bereaved parents, leaving the hospital without their baby is an unbearable moment, perhaps even more so than the loss itself. It goes against every instinct as a parent to walk away without your child. How do you condense a lifetime of love and dreams into a brief farewell? How do you say goodbye to all the hopes and dreams you had envisioned for their future?

As my family was saying our goodbyes at the hospital, fellow Board Director Jacqueline received the news and rushed to offer her support, accompanied by a thoughtful gift. She had purchased a set of stuffed animals that were sold together, they were almost matching, and represented being “connected” to each other. She already had this gift on hand, intending to give it to me later. However, with the turn of events, she knew the time for this gift was now. This gift turned out to be an incredible source of comfort, especially during that immediate moment of agonizing loss and separation. I do not think there is a better gift that could be offered to a bereaved parent at a moment like that.

The fact that the gift was a set with two stuffed animals was particularly important and helpful. As a parent, your instinct is to prioritize comforting and protecting your child above all else. If someone had offered me a stuffed animal for myself, I would have immediately given it to Katherine. Having a matching pair set allowed me to leave one with Katherine, ensuring she wasn’t alone, and take the other home with me, keeping her close to my heart. I vividly recall holding, cuddling, and shedding tears with my stuffed animal, which I named Lambie. It brought me a small sense of solace to have Lambie with me, nestled in the bassinet beside my bed, as I navigated through the shock and grief.

Shortly after my daughter’s passing, I stumbled upon a statement that became another significant turning point for me, aiding me in navigating those initial weeks of grief. It said something like this: “Would you be willing to die for your child? Of course, you would, but you only have to make that decision once. But what if the question were – Would you be willing to live for them? Then what would your answer be, because living is a choice you have to make every single day.” In the depths of my sorrow, this profound realization struck a chord, motivating and inspiring me with an unwavering determination to honor Katherine’s memory and the memories of countless other babies gone too soon. My grief transformed into a driving force, propelling me toward purposeful action and meaningful change. In honoring their memory, I discovered strength and purpose, embodied in the enduring legacy of Lambie’s Love.

***Long ago, when I was thinking about the things that are important to me and what I wanted for my future, one of the items on my list was having family photos taken regularly once I had children. I pondered how I would accurately represent my family now. However, I found a solution, with Lambie once again coming to the rescue. I realized I could include my Lambie stuffed animal in my family photos, either discreetly or subtly, in a creative and seamless manner. This ensures that my precious Katherine Rose is included, as my family would not be complete or accurately portrayed without her presence.