Journey to our memorial

On this weekend, I want to honor my daughter, Genevieve. She's changed our lives forever. Our plans are to visit her grave and decorate it for the holidays with other families doing the same for the babies they also lost. I don't write this to bring sadness but to celebrate a baby we love who went to heaven on her delivery day.

A year ago this Thanksgiving weekend I was pregnant with Genevieve. I was huge. Everywhere I went people would comment on me possibly being over due or carrying twins. I waddled. I was in that reflux stage. Breathing was a bit harder. But, everywhere we went, Christopher was so proud of his sister I was carrying. He would talk to her, hug her as though she was already out in the world. They already shared a special bond. He couldn't wait to see her out of this temporary home.

On that Sunday night of Thanksgiving weekend, Steve and I had our first talk about what we would do if I went into labor -- who would take care of Christopher, who would fly my mom down, these types of details. After that talk, we text Diane, a close friend and asked her should I go into labor in the wee hours of the night anytime between now and the next 2 months could she come over and take care of Christopher. She immediately text back to say she'll be on call for the next 2 months for us. It felt like a huge relief.

The next morning, November 30th, I woke at 530am. When I got out of bed, my water broke. I was calm. I knew what this meant. Time to wake Steve, have him pack a bag while I text Diane to come and watch Christopher. While Steve packed, I text my friend, Amy Rider Johnson, and asked if she could make arrangements with my mom to fly down. I went to my online class and released the final exam a week early. Then, when Diane came (which was within 10 minutes), Steve and I drove to the hospital.

When I got there, they wheeled me up. I was calm still. Then when I filled out papers for checking in, I couldn't stop crying. I fought tears that whole time. My hands trembled.

The hospital was quick about getting us a room. While in the room Steve and I did some strategizing "Ok, they are going to say to deliver vaginally, but I really want the c-section. I don't want her to suffer unnecessarily. If she's trying to be born now she's already having a hard time. She's already fought so hard. I want her to be ok. The c-section will be the easiest for her."

So in our strategy, we came up with answers for every potential denial they might have for the c-section versus regular birth process. They did this with Christopher saying I was an athlete and it should be easy for me. We lost that battle and Christopher was stuck ... we could have both died...Then ultrasound tech and nurse came in to check her heart. Her heart beat was there, which is always a huge relief for any mom to see. Huge relief. They left. We continued planning.

Like predicted, the doctors came in and said we need to deliver vaginally " it's safer for mom", "mom is healthy" "mom is strong" etc etc. We were concerned with her health not mine. We both said we want the c-section. The doctor left and said they'll discuss it with my doctor who was on route from Thanksgiving vacation; she would be there in a few hours.

A few minutes later, another doctor came in with ultrasound equipment. 3 nurses were in my room -- one finishing a shift, one starting a shift, and their supervisor. Steve was there. The doctor did the ultrasound of her heart again to check on her status. When he had the device over her heart, allowing us all to hear her heart beat, there was relief again. For all of us. We then all heard what sounded like a larger heart beat and then we could all see her kick along the left side of my belly. The nurse asked if I felt that. I said "Oh, yeah. She's a strong one." Then what happened was unreal.

The doctor said it stopped. We lost the heartbeat. I said "No!" I cried out in disbelief "Do it again!" Do it again!" My voice cracked as tears rolled down my cheeks. "It's there! I know it's there!" My throat tightened, tears then streamed down faster. I paused, looked at the machine, then I sobbed. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I made the doctor look hard for that heart beat. She was gone.

I cried and reached for ultrasound screen as though it were a person. "NO!!! NO!!! NO!!" I cried like my baby. I ached and trembled all over. I just couldn't believe it. Steve held me while I cried like a floppy doll. Everyone in the room wiped tears. "This is not happening...no...nooooo!"

This was a year ago. But, I still remember it like it were today. I lost my baby. Who loses a baby?! I just couldn't believe it. My baby!

I cried for a good long time, but not long enough. It seemed like right away they planned for delivery. What?! Delivery?! I can't ...no...no ... I can't do this ...please don't make me do this!...don't..." My words got weaker and I just cried harder into Steve's arms. Steve told them "...she can't do this. Is there anyway she could have a c-section. She's not going to be able to do labor knowing this..."



Celebrating all babies today. Babies are true miracles on this earth and in heaven.


In the course of our lives we'll all lose loved ones -- parents, siblings, spouses, friends. Each time this happens, we become so aware of how short life really is and how it will have to end some day. I felt this way when my dad died 8 years ago. And, when my daughter died on delivery day a year ago today, I felt another level of loss.

But I don't want to live my life as a series of losses: I see these as a series of gains. I'll always treasure the experiences I was given with my loved ones no matter how long or short. I wish I could have the lyrics in the Five for Fighting song "100 Years" where they say "There's never a wish better than this when you only got 100 years to live". But since I can't predict I'll get 100 years, I want to take it all in for whatever time I've got -- the good, the bad, the unreal. This Thanksgiving season, I want to give thanks to all my family and friends for sharing this ride with me. I am truly blessed.

(I found this on today's anniversary. I had written it on Nov 30 2010 but never posted it, so I posted it -- hence the date of nov 30, 2025. She would have been sweet 16... still sweet 16)

There are no coincidences

I have to tell you about this experience of 30 minutes ago...

Today after my pool class I was chatting with one of my classmates. She told me what a wonderful thing to do on a birthday: a water aerobics class. I told her I felt somewhat a connection to my mother's womb in a weird way: diving into the water must have been a similar experience. 

I also told her that today, on my birthday, I actually woke up at 330 with alertness at 333 to work and I got so much done. She said that she read somewhere that she heard that from many people -- that the hours of 3-5 are creativity conducive ones. We then started to speculate as to why that would be -- that there is less energy in the way, that there is less stimulation to take our attention or interrupt it, that there maybe we can draw on energy that we don't see...this led me to tell her about an interview I heard of an  astrophysicist who recently won the Nobel Prize on his proof of how much that exists is not what we can see. In fact what we can see is something like less that 3% of what actually exists. She thanked me for telling her this because she believes that there are energy sources we can tap into -- much in the same way Yogis do.

She said as I was then anxiously heading out (we were the last two people at the pool and the life guard looked like he wanted to leave) that I have to read a book called Proof of Heaven -- it's a book about a neurosurgeon who had was hospitalized with an attack of E. coli.

I paused, sighed and said "That's what I had!!!!!"

In fact, I was released from the hospital this very day, on my birthday, 3 years ago from a deadly experience with E. coli, that I'm lucky to be alive. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and thought about this discussion all the way back home. I especially thought of how there are no accidents...of this one church sermon I attended in which the pastor said of the busy holiday season 'allow interruptions -- these are gifts' instead of flying off from experiences we might view otherwise when we have long 'to do lists'. And, of course, I couldn't help but think of the gifts my daughter in heaven sends on my birthday. Three years ago on a rainy December afternoon as I sat on the bench outside the turnabout at the hospital entrance waiting for Steve to bring me the car, I cried and instantly looked into the skies where a rainbow popped out. We don't see many rainbows in our world so to me this felt like a gift from Genevieve and immediately those tears of sadness were tears of joy. Today, I feel like she gave me this 'interruption' -- this gift. How else would I engage in such a conversation that might seem random to someone else. Today would be the day I would hop onto my computer and order that book my classmate mentioned. Here's the best part: my symbols of Genevieve that pop up at 'coincidence' times are rainbows and butterflies. Who ever knew that the butterflies on my wedding dress would be ever so symbolic?! Well, when I found the book on Amazon, the cover had a butterfly on it.

There are no coincidences. I love you, Genevieve -- thank you for such a great gift on my birthday today!

LINK TO BOOK: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008AK8FHM/ref=docs-os-doi_0

Thank you for this journey

Dear Genevieve,

A year ago to this moment my water broke and we were rushed off to the hospital. 14 hours later I was so fortunate to hold you with your Daddy. Holding you was amazing. Like your brother, you changed my life forever on this date. And through you, so many wonderful people entered and re-entered our lives.

I'm grateful for all the women who have told me about their experiences. All babies are miracles. All babies have souls and impact us beyond words. Babies make us know the world is ok, and there is always hope.

I'm grateful for the strength you've given me throughout the year. The hardest times were holidays and then re-entering all of Christopher's class settings without you. I'm grateful for them asking where you were, which was hard, but it meant they cared.

I'm grateful Christopher didn't lose his mommy a year ago. It was a hard 9-day hospital stay for all of us, but I'm so blessed to be here. Thank you for taking care of me in my darkest hours surrounded by ICU doctors trying to keep me here. I'm so grateful for their wisdom. I know you helped.

I heard these lyrics this weekend. I thought of the moment I held you and the experience you've given me this year on our journey:

"And at last I see the light
And it's like the sky is new
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once, everything looks different
Now that I see you"

I feel this way even with you in a different place. You're always in my heart, you always bring me joy.

Love,
Mom

Some memories of our journey...

celebrating Thanksgiving

Brief video 1 on Halloween:

Brief video 2 on Halloween:

awesome mom's group!
5 months field trip with kids
4 months field trip with kids
family meetup
3 months announcing the news to two grandmas of another grandchild!

husband and wife -- happy to finally have a sibling for our first born

Picture of our baby Genevieve and letter from Mom

Our Two Newest Favorite Organizations:

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Miss Foundation

Happy Birthday

Dear Baby Genevieve,

I wanted to write you on my Birthday to tell you how proud I am of you and how thankful that we had you for a wonderful journey that started with love and will always remain in love. I want to tell your story to honor the life you lived on this earth, the peace and hope you gave our family. We are forever changed by you and we will always remember you because of this.

We knew after the birth of your brother that we wanted you. His life has been such a blessing to us of which we are so grateful; we knew you, too, would also be a blessing. We knew the right time would present itself to start the process. That time was last year when Christopher asked for you. We were at a toy store and he asked for a baby; he picked one out and said he wanted a baby. He then told us with such confidence that he really wanted a baby. We knew what he meant.

Little did we know that when we finally became pregnant with you we would be speaking at your 2 year-old friend, Morgan's, eulogy. Little did we know we also would be writing for your eulogy of the same year. Like Morgan, it was a celebratory message. Though we are so sad you are no longer on this earth with us, we know you are in a beautiful place. Though we don't understand, we do know your life is meaningful.

Like all pregnancies, you showed us bits and pieces of your personality. You were calm, yet you craved sweets. I'll keep fond memories of the many ice cream parlors that caused you to kick in excitement. Anything vanilla and caramel satisfied your cravings. Whenever we listened to the music played by the worship band at church, or played in one of your brother's many weekly music classes, you danced in delight. You shared that special bond with Christopher -- music is such an important part of your life and you loved an eclectic mix of Laurie Berkner, Elmo, Bocelli, Guitar Hero Heavy Metal, Worship, Latin Beat, Mommy's 80's mix, Signing Time, Dancing with the Stars, Leapfrog. When I cried, you moved about to sooth me. Like your brother, morning sickness was minimal with you. You were sweet, sensitive, passionate, humorous, lively, easy. Each unveiling of your humanity made us eager to meet you and share you with the world.

In the summer and fall you loved your brother's schedule -- we wondered if you, too, would be reading music someday. Signing meetups were places of belonging -- would you also learn bilingualism and culture through these friends and Christopher? Would you be fingerspelling and signing with Christopher? Would you learn Spanish-English bilingualism through my side of the family? Would you see the language of numbers and analysis like your Daddy's side of the family, or would you be more artsy like mine -- or both?

Library storytelling hours were also sources of excitement. Would you be reading stories to one another, or asking us to read the same book over and over again? Would your brother be teaching you, or you teaching him, or both? Would you kiss and hug him as many times as he hugged and kissed you while you were in my belly?

How would our holidays look like with a brother and a sister at a table, conversing with one another, saying Grace -- or at our daily saying of nightly prayers that included reflections of our day?

When we knew your gender, the name Genevieve was the only name I wanted for you. It is French, Germanic, and Celtic in origin, meaning 'woman of the people'. It is pronounced JAHN vee EV in French and JEN eh VEEV in English. We wanted a strong name, a leader name that would influence positively the hearts of many. It is the perfect name for you, and like you, the name is beautiful. Your brother was learning to sign and say and fingerspell it. It felt right.

We craved you and looked forward to the day our family would include you in this world.

But, we know now we can't have you in this world.

I go back and forth between two song lyrics throughout my day -- that of Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven and Watermark's Glory Baby. When I heard both those songs long before I ever gave birth to two children, I cried at each song -- wondering how could anyone ever experience the death of a baby? I now know too well those lyrics first hand:

Tears in Heaven lyrics

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would you feel the same

If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong and carry on

Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven...

Would you hold my hand

If I saw you in heaven

Would you help me stand

If I saw you in heaven?

I'll find my way through night and day

Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven...

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees

Time can break your heart, have you begging please...begging please

Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure

And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven...

Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would you feel the same

If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong and carry on

Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven...

Glory Baby Lyrics:

Glory Baby, You slipped away

As fast as we could say baby, baby

You were growing, what happened Dear,

You disappeared on us baby, baby

Heaven will hold you before we do

Heaven will keep you safe

Until we're home with you

Until we're home with you

We miss you everyday

Miss you in every way

But we know there's a day

When we will hold you, we will hold you

And you'll kiss our tears away

When we're home to stay

We can't wait for the day

When we will see you, we will see you

But baby let sweet Jesus hold you

‘Til mom and dad can hold you

You'll just have heaven before we do

You'll just have heaven before we do

Sweet little baby, it's hard to understand it

Cause we are hurting, we are hurting

But there is healing

And we know we're stronger people

Through the growing and in knowing

All things work together for our good

And God works his purposes

Just like he said he would

Just like he said he would

I can't imagine Heaven's lullabies

And what they must sound like

But I will rest in knowing

Heaven is your home

And it's all you'll ever know

All you'll ever know

So, throughout the day I cry but I also breathe moments of peace knowing you send me this gift.

I think back to how hard your body fought to stay with us in this world -- of how we looked forward to feeling and seeing your heartbeat at every ultrasound, especially those of the past 10 weeks. On November 30th, the septic shock we experienced was one that came close to taking both our lives together. It was too much for your little body to survive but I am so proud of your fighter spirit throughout our journey. I'll always be in awe of your life. I'll always treasure the months we shared a body; I'll always be grateful for having the time to hold you in my arms, tracing every feature of your body. You are so beautiful -- sharing almost identical lips, cheeks, forehead, fingers and feet with your brother. I'll cherish those hours I held you with your Daddy. We'll forever feel that peace that a baby can produce. Thank you for letting me experience that. You are my precious daughter.

When we left the hospital today after 9 hard days, it poured hard. But, I thought happy tears from heaven. Then, right away the sun poked through and delivered a rainbow. For me, this was my birthday gift from you. I cried happy tears knowing this.

Genevieve, we will always acknowledge your life and I will always say I have a daughter, though not with us here on earth, in heaven -- a place we'll meet again someday.

I love you forever!

Love,

Mom