Straight to Heaven
There is no foot to small, that it cannot leave an imprint on this world.
Four years ago this week I found out the baby girl growing inside me was not compatible with life outside my womb. They say time heals all wounds, but I have found that is not true. Losing my only daughter left a wound in my heart that time has softened, but the pain and scars will be carried with me to the grave. Just thinking about the heartache we endured four years ago brings tears to my eyes, a lump in my throat, and an ache my stomach. The pain of losing her still manifests itself as a physical trauma.
Four years ago, on June 17th, I woke up to find that I was spotting. I was 17 weeks into pregnancy. Up until this point, I had what seemed to be a healthy pregnancy. Terrified, I remained laying in bed as if my vertical position would stop the bleeding. I immediately texted my doctor, who had given me her private number. She responded that I should head to the hospital for an ultrasound since her office was not open yet.
Upon arriving to Emergency, my husband and I waited in a freezing cold, closet-sized room for what felt like hours. Finally, I was taken back for an ultrasound. I held my breath and pleaded with God to hear her heartbeat through the monitor. Almost immediately my prayer was answered. There she was. Her little legs were crossed at the ankles. We joked that she looked like she was kicking back, enjoying her time inside. Her precious hand reached up and sent us a little wave. Tears of happiness fell fast and furiously down my face as I sob-cried, “She’s okay! She’s okay! Look at her, so sweet, my baby girl is okay!” The ultrasound technician didn’t say a word. Then again, she isn’t supposed to. Moments later I was wheeled back to the same freezing, little room to wait for the doctor’s report. My husband and I chatted about how our baby girl was going to give us a run for our money, already proving to be such a drama queen. That joy and joking disappeared when the doctor came in with sadness in his eyes and solemnly said, “Your baby has significant deformities. I’m sorry, I cannot go into details, but I have called your doctor and you need to go straight to her office. She is there waiting for you.”
Never in my life has a four-minute drive felt like three hours. I couldn’t imagine what could be so deformed. We just saw her waving and kicking around. When we walked into the doctor’s office and I saw my doctor’s face, I knew something was terribly wrong. She swallowed the lump in her throat before saying, “I’m so sorry, you guys. Your baby has two very serious conditions; severe fetal hydrops and a cystic hygroma. I have not seen a case like this in all my years of practicing.” At least, that’s the jest of what was said because in that moment both my sight and my comprehension were blurred from the tears and sadness. She recommended that we see a specialist immediately, so we did. We went home, packed a suitcase, and drove across the state to a leading fetal hydrops specialist in Grand Rapids, MI. The next morning we waited in his office for another ultrasound. The technician asked if we wanted to see the imagery. “Of course!” I replied. Yet again our baby girl looked so completely perfect to us. The moment the specialist walked in, he took one look at the screen and said, “Life outside the womb will be impossible. I have specialized in fetal hydrops for decades and this is one of the worst cases I have seen.” He went on to point out the fluid lines that were weren’t recognizing on the screen. Her neck had a large cystic hygroma, essentially a fluid pocket that extended far wider than her head. After another specialist and several more ultrasounds, we learned things like; there was a hole in her heart, she was missing bones in her fingers, and her water retention was so significant it was impossible to tell if her kidneys had ever developed. With each passing day, each ultrasound was a little bit worse.
“Not compatible with life” are the last words you want to hear when you look down at your round belly which has finally reached the point of looking pregnant, not like you have just eaten too much pizza.
As I am sitting here writing this with tears streaming down both of my cheeks, my two sons just came bursting through my bedroom door. My rainbow baby was in a crying fit that matched mine. I asked him what was wrong, and his big brother answered, “Daddy took away the bag of Cheetos he was eating (it’s before 9:00am, folks). Then he asked incredibly concerned, “What is wrong with you Momma? Why are you crying?” I wanted to say, “Because God took away my daughter.” But I didn’t. In emotional moments I might default to thinking this way, but I know it isn’t true. I know that my perfect God, made of infinite love and mercy did not make my baby girl sick. She was perfectly and wonderfully made. I can look back to the beginning of His Good Word and see that His idea for all of creation was perfection and closeness with Him. It was sin that entered the world and resulted in every bad thing, including diseases. I believe that my daughter was not sick as a punishment to me, but that disease, illness, and death are part of the sinful world we live in. The same world that God sent His only Son to redeem and save through death on the cross.
Mayah Jeanne Neptune met Jesus on June 30th, 2015, four years ago this very day. Her Savior’s face was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. His death and resurrection healed her and returned her to heaven. My greatest comfort in losing Mayah was that she gained immediate eternity. That is a gift I will praise God for everyday, for as long as I’m alive.
Why am I sharing all of this with you? For a few reasons, really.
1. I want you to know the woman behind this blog. I am passionate about ethical fashion, missions, and living with purpose, but I am also incredibly human with scars and flaws that hurt me and others.
2. I believe in vulnerable living. I believe that in order to live with purpose and power we need to be real and honest with each other. That doesn’t mean we need to share everything with everyone, but it is very hard to live a life of power and purpose with hurts and shame locked up in the trenches of our hearts. There is incredible, healing power in sharing, and you may even be surprised by how some honest confession and sharing can result in “me too” moments from the person you confide in.
3. I believe we can use the difficult seasons we walk through to help in other people’s healing. I have learned this to be true over and over again. Both close friends and acquaintances have come to me in the last four years with tears in their eyes and a devastating loss in their body. They came looking for comfort, not because I had words of wisdom, but because I understood, and we could just sit and cry together. They could have been sitting all alone if I hadn’t shared my loss. There is always healing in knowing that we are not alone.
Maybe you have lost a child, or struggle with infertility, or depression, or anxiety, or an eating disorder. Guess what? Someone else does too. Maybe you are fighting back shame, or guilt, or anger. Guess what? Someone else is too. Sharing can be a crucial, healing step in your journey to live with power and purpose, as well as in someone else’s. I’ll say it again, because I believe it is true, we are more powerful together.
His Kingdom come, His will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
