Tuesday, September 1, 2009


Profil d'un embryon de 14 semaines.Embryo at 1...Image via Wikipedia

Today is the first day of September.

Twelve yeas ago, I had been on bedrest for more than a couple of months. I was pregnant with our second child: a girl. As her brother died less than 6 months earlier, the dr decided that I was to be bed bound and taking a zillion hormones to help this little one grow.

I did all that the dr ordered. We were so looking forward to finally having a baby in our home.

But it didn't happen. At the end of August I began feeling "different". I called my dr and he said that I should not worry, that everything was OK. I finally got him to check on us on September 3rd.

I remember that day as if it was yesterday: lying on his stretcher, having an ultrasound done on my belly. Watching that beautiful baby, perfectly formed, completely immobile. I was in awe by her features. I didn't know I was supposed to watch her heart beating.

The dr told me to get dressed and that he would be in his office, ready to talk to us.

His words crashed our world for a second time: our baby was dead. As I write this, my chest gets tight and my breathing shallow.

Our beautiful baby girl was dead, I would never get the chance to hold her, to look into her eyes, to tell her I love her more than life itself.

Arrangements were made for me to get the hospital. I still get goose bumps as I felt my body betray me once again. I was my daughter's casket. I couldn't handle it anymore.

I could write a book on that horrible experience, minute by minute.

The fact is that I survived, we survived.

It was a couple of years later that I decided to be her voice, her siblings' voice. Their short lives matter. Their untimely deaths would impact the world we live in, one way or another.

I have to make sure I am able to hold them one day, I have to be my best self to get where they are: happy, loved and knowing no harm or pain.

Dearest Jo, until we meet again... Love, mommy
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