Somehow I am here. We are here. My husband, this little baby, and I have somehow made it to 39 weeks. Tomorrow is the big night. We are to call at 11 pm for a room in order to start induction at midnight. It is as though the light at the end of the tunnel is finally in reach. I can almost imagine her in my arms, being so wrapped up in joy I will have forgotten all the pain. Here is not where we started though. As I am reflecting on the last nine months I think it is important to start from the beginning.

It was the weekend of our anniversary that we were getting ready to go on a little trip. That morning I woke up feeling very dizzy and nauseous. I did not think much of it until I had texted my neighbor and she giggled and asked if I was pregnant. Pregnant? That thought had not even crossed my mind. I am one to overthink everything though, and with the trip consisting of wineries and hikes I thought I guess I better check. My jaw dropped. Two pink lines. I cannot fully put into words the feeling Anthony and I felt in that exact moment, but it felt like God was playing tricks on us. Tears streamed down my face. Our anniversary weekend exactly one year prior we had found out that Emmie was a little girl. This time we found out that our little angel was going to be a big sister. God was at work and at that time I could not even begin to see the magnitude of His beautiful plan for us.

Emotions set in. After Emmie had passed away many scans were done on both her and myself. Everything came back normal for her. Every single thing. I do not know that having an answer would have made any bit of difference, but I do know that I was grasping to find one. A week prior to my positive test, I was having some problems with my body. With suffering from a thyroid disorder for years, your body can get off track following a previous pregnancy. I had been diagnosed with PCOS just a few weeks earlier and I cried in the doctor’s office thinking infertility was a real possibility. I truly pray for all of those suffering with that because it was overwhelming to even hear the reality of what could have lied ahead for us. I share this because God’s plan is so much bigger. I promise. Back then, there was no light for us. Your world goes dark when you bury your child and with that it was our first and only at the time. Honestly, it felt like it would never shine again. Here – the light is shining. And it is shining ever so bright.

9 months have passed. 9 months of doctor’s appointments. 9 months of grief therapy. 9 months of worry, anxiety, and fear that the future may consist of burying our second daughter. 9 months of work, followed by Covid 19, and then more unknowns. 9 months of holding my breath. Here I am. Days away from being able to let go. I cannot fully grasp what that must feel like.

“Little baby. Little baby. I love you. Yes I do. Faith is all you need. Just as small as a seed…it will get us through. It will get us through.” I made up this song in the very beginning of this pregnancy and I have sang it to her every single day since. Faith is what got us here. Nothing more, nothing less. Without it, we would still be there. There – being in the depths of pain and loneliness. Feelings of emptiness and hopelessness would continue to consume me if it were not for this amazing gift of faith. I still do not know what is to come tomorrow, the next day, or next year. What I do know is that God has carried us to here. We could not have made it on this journey without Him. Trust is something I am still working on whole-heartily, but sometimes when you are forced to do things outside of your control there is simply no other choice.

Here’s the truth. I am going to mess up. A lot. But I pray that through my imperfections this little girl of ours comes to know the Lord and her big sister in Heaven. I pray she is kind and humble, and that she grows up to believe the sky is the limit. I think having gone through what her daddy and I have had to face will only make her a stronger little person. I cannot wait to watch her from over here and smile because she’s alive.

And she is ours.

“Deep breath in and hold…” the ultrasound tech advised me yesterday as she scanned my kidney. My left side has been causing extreme pain this pregnancy and they decided to dive deeper to find a cause. As I held my breath I felt so much pain until finally she said, “Okay Kelsey, release.” Turns out I have what is called hydronephrosis in my left kidney. This can be very common in pregnancy and I was assured it plays no affect on the baby. Thankful for an answer, but still in pain nonetheless. It’s okay though. I’ve learned pain is temporary and sometimes the greater the pain the greater the reward.

Releasing my breath yesterday made me realize once again just how little control I actually have over circumstances in my life. For some time it has felt like I have been holding my breath. When crossing your fingers and living on a prayer seem to fail you time and time again you try to gain a sense of control over your life. In losing Emmie and in some of the hardships we have had to encounter over the past year and a half, it has felt like walking on eggshells. Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mom’s back. Don’t “jinx” it. All of these phrases sum up what it feels like to be living while waiting for the floor to cave in. It is not pleasant and it really serves absolutely no purpose other than that of worry and fear. We know life is uncertain and we are always at risk of losing something or someone near and dear to us. This pandemic has caused many of us to go into that fight or flight response. We point blame at anyone and everyone that is not us. We feel sorry for ourselves among our own circumstances and desires. I know I am 100% guilty of this. The world seems cruel and unfair right now. I often sulk over the loss of enjoyment and freedom in this pregnancy and feel sorry for myself as pregnancy is difficult by itself, let alone after a loss during a pandemic. Once again I am finding myself holding my breath. If only I can get through this then I’ll be happy. If I can get her here alive then the rest will fall into place. If only I can collect unemployment then at least being laid off would not be as terrible. Do you see what all of this is doing? If this, then this. Truth is, life does not work the way we have always planned it. We will constantly be looking for happiness in all the wrong places if we do not come to terms with all the things we are already fortunate enough to have.

Release. When I let out my deep breath I felt pressure coming away from my chest and back. I felt a sense of peace and relief. That same feeling is true when we practice letting go and letting God. I have struggled with this time and time again, but it is in prayer that I find myself the most at ease.

“Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will hold onto you with my righteous right hand.” -Isaiah 41:10.

God does not ask us to hold our breath, walk on eggshells, and try to control everything in our life by ourselves. He invites us to come to Him. Seek Him. Trust Him. I read a quote the other day that said, “Don’t try harder, trust harder.” I felt that. The beautiful thing about our God is that He does not expect us to be strong enough. He is.

Deep breath in. Hold. Now release.

Two weeks ago I ordered a new pair of glasses from EyeBuyDirect. It had been five years since I purchased new glasses and I figured with an anticipated maternity leave approaching I would benefit from seeing out of new lenses. I received them in the mail just last week and I absolutely loved them. I loved them even more for the cheap price of $60 for both lenses and frames! With that being said, I have been wearing them the last few days while in quarantine and realized they don’t really seem too new anymore. They are slipping from my face and the lenses that were once spotless are now dirty and smudged. Isn’t that how life goes? Possessions are just that – things. And all that is new must become old. There is one thing that never does get old and that is God’s love for us. God’s love is constant, through all the trials and tribulations. Through all the years of change and growth. Through every pitfall and every mountain top, it is His love that never wavers. I thought that was something I needed to hear today. I thought that was something we could all use reminding of during such difficult times in this world right now.

This blog is titled – The Gift of Grief. I chose that title amidst the darkest times of my entire life. It was in losing my daughter unexpectedly and planning a funeral for my baby girl that I realized how desperately I needed the Lord. Sure, there were days I was angry. There were days I never wanted to get out of bed. There were days that showering was a struggle and I thought I would never be able to live again. In those same days, I found a bright light. It was from the people that supported me. It was in my husband who loved me through every ounce of tears and sleepless nights. It was in the meals that were delivered and the prayers that were prayed across the globe for us. That light I realized was the gift in it all. That and being able to give back in my daughter’s name ultimately making me a much better person than I was in the days before her existence. Right now I am feeling bogged down by the same stressors, fears, anxieties, and lack of control that I suffered from in those dark January days. If you would have told me that in my subsequent pregnancy, nearing the gestation in which I lost my first daughter, that we would be fighting against the world’s largest pandemic of my lifetime I would have never believed you. Pregnancy after loss is not all rainbows and butterflies by itself. It is accompanied by the unpleasant “what ifs” almost daily. When your doctor calls and advises you to stay away from work for a while when you know a maternity leave is vastly approaching also doesn’t sit comfortably. What if we don’t have enough money? How will I provide for my family? How can I save for a baby on the way if I cannot make any income? What if I lose all my beloved clients? What if my husband gets laid off because his company is family owned? What if my parents stocks crash so much they can’t help us even if worse came to worse? All of those questions along with the normal ones that every mom who faces pregnancy after loss goes through. What if this baby dies too? Why did God choose my first daughter and not my second? Who is to say He won’t take her too? Do I feel any flutters today? Is she growing appropriately? Is this stress I feel weighing on her? Is she going to come home to us? God, I hope she comes home to us. As I sit here rambling, do you see what all these questions have in common? Fear of the unknown. Lack of control. All of this now, reminds me so much of then. What it all boils down to is this – God’s love is constant. And God’s love is all we really have.

This pandemic is forcing so many to slow down. It is forcing people to “be still.” God has always said in the Bible, “Be still, and know that I am God.” -Psalm 46:10. The same stillness I experienced last winter is a similar stillness the world is feeling today. I cannot help but be caught up in grief while being hopeful all at the same time. What if God is reminding us all to be present with those that we do have? Make the phone call to your loved ones that you may not have made in the days prior. Dust off your old Bible and read a chapter or two. Reevaluate the “things” in your life and prioritize what it is that is important to you. Is it that car you drive, or your child who so desperately needs your love and attention? Maybe take the time to appreciate being able to have those things because some never do. If we are forced to live with less “things” less “busyness” somehow we realize we can. My husband reminded me the other day – we made it through the impossible once we can do it again. It feels impossible, but the Bible says, “For nothing is impossible with God” – Luke 1:37. Yes, the days have been dark. For my family and I it has felt dark for over a year and two months now. The waves ebb and flow and sometimes they crash. We wouldn’t know what calmness feels like if we never felt the waves.

This too shall pass. All new things eventually do.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions to say the least. Since losing my daughter death has become so real in my world – to the point that I fear the inevitable. I tend to jump to worst case scenarios because worst case is all you know when your child dies before you.

My dad went into the emergency department for chest pains on Monday afternoon. My mom was a rock and did not want any of us worrying until she herself knew what was going on. When I kept calling, I finally got it out of her that she in fact was at the hospital with my dad. Most rationale, God fearing individuals would start to ask questions, rationalize the situation before jumping to conclusions. I, on the other hand, immediately wanted to throw myself into my pillow and sob. My dad can’t die. We need him here. Then I thought of so many who have lost their parents and I don’t know how they did it. “I can’t do this. This cannot be happening.” I thought. My mom assured me he was stable. They were running tests and reminded me to take care of myself and to try to stay calm since I am fortunate enough to be growing another little life in me. I pleaded and pleaded with God to allow us another day with my dad, to protect my mom from stressors causing any heart issues in her, and to watch over our small, perfectly imperfect family. My sister called me when she heard the news, and decided to come home from her conference hours away because she could not stand to be anywhere but here. Togetherness is what this scare brought us. Once again, when your world starts to crack open you remember who is always there, no matter what obstacles have landed along the way.

The next morning we took off for the hospital. The doctors were going to perform a stress test and if anything was noticeably found an immediate heart surgery was a real possibility. On our way, my husband reminded me what faith is all about. Here I am preaching about it, yet fall short time and time again. He’s quiet and humble, rarely speaks of his faith, yet was the one to remind me of what it really means. Our conversation went something like this:

“Kelsey, I know you want answers for your dad today. I know you still want answers as to what happened to our daughter. What you don’t realize is that sometimes not having answers is the real blessing. Faith is all about not having answers, but believing in something we cannot tangibly see. Have a little faith in your dad. Have a little faith in our growing daughter. And have a little faith in the Lord.”

His words floored me. I let out one giant cry and just prayed. He’s right. This entire journey we call life is really just one giant leap of faith. We cannot see the future because the future is not ours. It belongs to God. All we are promised is today and the rest isn’t meant for us to see just yet.

My dad was released 24 hours later with a pretty clean bill of health. For that I am so incredibly thankful. Waking up realizing yet again our entire world can change in an instant instilled just another reminder in me. Tell those you love just how much you love them each and every day. Our days are all numbered and our time on this earth is so limited. Make it count.

God knew what He was doing when He took our sweet Emmie to Heaven. He knew we would need her more than she would ever need us. I just pray the rest of my family gets to stick around for awhile.

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God – I cannot do this on my own. Help me to trust in you even during the trials of life. Thank you for another day with my growing baby, my husband, my parents, sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, in laws, and friends. And thank you for even those times that bring hardship because it is in those days that we grow. Amen.

It has been a while since I have opened this page to write. Life has been a whirlwind to say the least and once again God has had bigger plans than us. We found out some big news at the end of 2019, and I wrote to my daughter to tell her about all my feelings at the time. Instead of starting from here I thought I would start from the beginning by sharing the letter I wrote Emmie back on October 31, 2019.

Emmie,

                Today is Halloween.  I cannot help but feel overwhelmed with emotions.  You should be here.  Last year I dressed up as Prego Sauce courtesy of your Grandma Sue.  Everyone loved my costume and highly anticipated your arrival.  Here we are, just shy of ten months after you have come and gone from this earth and I am not spending the evening trick-or-treating with you.  Instead, I am sitting on my couch, in the same sweater I always wore with you in me, feeling scared.  Empty.  Confused.  Grateful.  Joyful.  So many emotions all combined into one.  The thing is Emmie, we found out some big news over the weekend.

                Your daddy and I celebrated our second anniversary on Sunday.  We went to St. Charles, Missouri and Grafton, Illinois because we needed to get away.  The craziest thing happened.  Saturday before we got ready to go, I noticed I felt kind of funny.  I was dizzy and I had noticed my bleeding had stopped cold turkey.  I decided to do something completely out of the norm and take a pregnancy test.  You see, we didn’t think we could have another baby.  At least anytime soon due to some health issues I have been having since I had you baby.  Turns out, it was positive.  I could not believe it then.  I still cannot believe it now.  Your daddy was excited.  Your mommy was so very scared.  That is primarily why I don’t know how to feel.  Before, I was sad.  Sad because you aren’t here.  Sad because any baby I do have isn’t going to be you.  Sad because I don’t know what it is like to have a blissfully ignorant pregnancy ever again.  I don’t know how to keep a baby alive, Emmie.  I tried all I could do to save you and I still couldn’t.  Mommy is struggling badly.  Yet, I am so in awe of you.  I feel you with me every single step of the way.  It is like you wanted your mommy and daddy to have a sibling for you and you gave us the best gift for our anniversary.  I wonder if you and God worked that one out.  I hope so badly to have a living brother or sister for you sweet girl.  I told myself I will enjoy and appreciate and thank God for every single day I do have with them.  Whether that may end tomorrow, at 29 weeks, or for forever I will love your baby sibling just as much as I love you.  I hope that is okay.  Is that okay?  I am not sure how I will do that because I love you so incredibly much my heart could burst just imagining you here in my arms.  So many things don’t make sense.  But so many things do now.  Before, I never had a saint to pray to.  I didn’t have my own sweet baby girl in Jesus’s hands to look down on her mommy and daddy and the rest of her family to intercede in so many hardships and good times.   I am incredibly lucky to be your mommy Emmie.  And I am so incredibly lucky to be carrying another baby right now.  It’s just that terrified is an understatement. 

                I hope you can forgive me for all of it.  I hope I can forgive myself.  I hope you can feel me and my love just as much as I can feel you and yours.  God blessed me the day we found out we were going to have you.  Now, although I am so undeserving I am being blessed a second time.  My life changed when you entered it.  My life is going to change some more.  I pray that your sister or brother live.  I pray that you are with us every single day because baby I am going to need you.  Your mommy needs you more than you need me right now.  You have the best heavenly mommy and daddy to be with you until I get there.  I hope that you are proud of me.  I strive every day to make you proud.  I love you Emmie.  I hope you get to go trick-or-treating in Heaven.  You sure are one busy girl.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  You made me a mommy.  I am forever grateful for you.

                Love you to the moon and back.  XOXO, Mommy

Does anybody remember the classic game, Jenga? You build up wooden blocks and then take them away one at a time. The goal is to make sure the tower does not fall on your turn. If it does, you lose.

Life after loss seems somewhat like the Jenga game. Only you are trying your hardest to build up real strength without letting yourself fall again and again.

To me it goes like this –

June 2018 – We found out we were expecting! We celebrated all year long between the vomiting. We planned all of the things any parents do when they are expecting their first baby. We built a strong tower. A pretty tall one too, filled with joy, anticipation, and a whole lot of love.

January 3rd, 2019 – We received the news that our perfectly healthy baby’s heart decided to stop beating. I would be induced for labor that evening, just like that, only to never take my daughter home with me. What? This cannot be happening. Things like this DON’T happen to me. God take the pain away. Tell me it isn’t real. Take away block #1.

January 5th, 2019 – Emmie Renee was born. I am still not sure how we got to this day. Between the pain medication and induction drugs, we ended up here. The most beautiful baby girl in the entire world was in my arms. You really do have mommy vision when it comes to your own. I understand that completely now. I was in awe of her beauty and in utter disbelief that she had come and gone from this world. I kissed her a million times and held her while smelling in the scent of her skin. I loved her a lifetime in the matter of twenty-four short hours. While I would never consider this a bad day, it became all too real too soon. This was the beginning of the end…on this earth anyway. Block #2, gone.

January 6th, 2019 – Emmie was whisked away in the tiniest suitcase I had ever seen. She left before I could really say hello and definitely before I could ever say goodbye. She left her bassinet next to my hospital bed without her mommy and daddy. I cannot explain these feeling just yet, but I wished people understood that kind of pain without having to experience it. I think it would make the world a much kinder place. There goes block #3.

Every day since those days a wooden block is being removed from the tower, or so it feels that way. Planning a funeral took more than a few from that tower. Then came the medical bills, the wasps, pregnant friends, pregnant everyone, more death and funerals, back to work while the world had been spinning all the while, a flood, miscommunication and misunderstandings, medical diagnosis, her due date, and every single day without her since that January day. At this point even the strongest, tallest tower has seemed to fall. A building can only take so many troubles without being fixed to keep standing tall. That is where I am now. Right here in the middle of the rubble wondering how in the world I am going to build this tower back up. I feel like I have lost the game. Game over.

Here is the thing I remind myself of – that the tower that fell can always be rebuilt. It may not look the same. It may not contain the exact same colors, shapes, framing, foundation, height etc., but it can still be built into a tower nonetheless. I have a feeling a tower rebuilt after the first collapsed can be made stronger than the one before. Lessons are learned. Restructuring is done. Growth is had. So while I feel like I have lost the game in the current state in which I am in, who says I haven’t really won?

They say when it rains it pours. It sure has been pouring over here. This weekend it literally flooded our basement leaving nothing to discriminate. While close friends and family helped by trying to salvage anything and everything we could, it hit me. This entire year I have felt like I have just been treading water, and watching my most meaningful things simply float away in the eight inches of standing water seemed to hold so much depth into how I have been feeling. Frantically trying to save cards and photos felt like I was frantically trying to save my life. How could everything you work for, save for, and treasure be gone in a matter of forty-five minutes? How could my entire future be gone in the matter of approximately two minutes when the sonogram tech and doctor said to us – “We are sorry, your daughter has no heartbeat?” Standing in rubber boots with water up to my knees I just began to cry. Feeling sorry for myself. Feeling sorry for my daughter. Feeling sorry for my entire family and the kind of year we have had.

Later that night I asked God to please stop the rain. Figuratively and literally. Then I saw the verse, “He will come to us like rain.” – Hosea 6:3. I dove deeper. As tears swelled my eyes I realized I’m questioning God. I’m questioning why He is doing all of this to me. I don’t know better than God, although at times I feel like I can do it better. Then I prayed. And I prayed. And I prayed. I asked God to help me grow and it started to rain. I asked God every single night during pregnancy to make me a good Mom, and then He took her away. While I cannot see the bigger picture right now, and while it may seem like drowning during the storm, He sees something that I cannot. Trusting the process is only the start to something so much bigger than I am. I can tell you right now if I am ever blessed with a living child someday, I will be the best mommy that I can possibly be. When life seems to be so quickly taken from you, you learn to appreciate it when it’s here all the more.

Knee deep in water is how this year feels. Immersed in God’s love is equally how it feels. I think we find God in the suffering because we realize we cannot do it on our own. Now I will be the first to admit I don’t understand it all, but maybe it is not meant to be understood. Maybe the reason is solely to find Him and love Him and believe in Him. Sunshine comes to all those who feel rain. While tomorrow the sun will rise, she still won’t be here. And my health will still be frustrating. And my basement will probably still be wet. And my job will still be overwhelmingly busy at times. Here is the beautiful part – it cannot rain forever. This is just a season. While my daughter is in every season of every aspect of my life now, I will see her again someday. For one day, it won’t be storming anymore.

“He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” – Revelation 21:5

Dear The Old You,

            Hey there.  It is nice to meet you here.  I know it is never where you thought you would be, but it is exactly where you need to be.  I know things changed and ended up in a way that you never would have dared to imagine.  You climbed a different mountain and your views from the top are different over here.  Here’s what I want to remind you of:  You are stronger than you ever knew you could be.  You have a new title now.  That title is – “Mom.”  No, that title may never be whispered from the daughter you wished you had here, but it’s there.  It whispers in the sound of the wind, the chirping of the birds, and the pounding of the rain on your window.  It means you are a mother to a child who belongs to God.  She is in the most beautiful place.  As heart- wrenching and soul-crushing as that may be – remember the God that brought you here.  The good, loving, and all-knowing God.  He has carried you to this point thus far in your journey.  He was there before you lost her too, you know?  You just did not see Him like this.  Your eyes are opened and your heart is made new.  NEVER forget to be thankful for that.

            That girl last year at this time was announcing her pregnancy.  Remember the cards you sent out with your cat’s little paws?  I know you remember.  You think about it all of the time because it seems as though just yesterday she was still a part of you.  You know, she still is a part of you.  She lives in you, in your thoughts, and in how you choose to live your life.  That girl in the waiting room excited to hear a heartbeat may have faded away, but the girl who appreciates every detail of this life is here today.  Sure you may not be planning nursery colors or a baby shower ever again, but you are longing for a living child and you will be the absolute best mommy to another child someday.  God willing.  You see, faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.  You got that tattooed on your right arm years ago, only to now grasp the magnitude of that verse.  You were always meant to be right here – in this very moment in time.  You have an amazing family and husband that you were brought to in order to go through life together.  Emmie was a part of that plan all along.  Her destiny was so beyond your control.  Be gentle with yourself.  Forgive yourself.  You are not better than God.  I know you want to control and rewind, but trust the process.  You are blossoming into a beautiful soul.  Be proud of the person you have become and the person you will continue becoming because of your daughter.  She matters.  You matter.  Do not ever forget that.

            I know you dreamed of the picture you thought life would be.  It was to be painted pink.  You were going to live in a yellow house with green shutters and a white picket fence.  You would be married and have two living children by the age of 30.  God laughs at your plans.  While your house may be red brick, your shutters white, and married much later in life than you ever thought – you are with who you need to be with, in the house you created together to become a home. The home of you, Anthony, and Emmie. The choices you have made up to this point were given to you freely, but where you are now is no coincidence.  Sure, you’ve made mistakes.  But don’t we all?  The person you are today will make mistakes too.  She will struggle with anxiety and depression.  She will fear another loss and be terrified to have another child go from this earth.  The difference between the old you and the new – you now know to give it to God.  Where you fall, He will carry you.  Do you not ask yourself all of the time how you got from January to today?  I can assure you that was not done alone.  Believe in yourself.  Believe in the process.  And believe in all of those that have proven to be there for you along the way.  Forget the ones who do not climb the mountain alongside you, and love the ones that do.  Those people are your tribe.  Never let them go.  And remember the one who is waiting for you at the top.  He, after all, is the end goal.  He holds your daughter in His hands.  Never stop doing what it takes to get there.  Share your story.  Share Emmie’s name.  And share God with the world. 

            “At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’  He called a little child to him and placed the child among them.  And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like the little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’“ – Matthew 18: 1-5. 

Be like your daughter.  Be like you.  And never stop talking to God, your Father.  After all, you are forever and always His child. 

                                                                                                            Love Always,

                                                                                                           “The New Me.”

Ten little fingers and ten little toes.  Those are just a few of the many features that awed me when it came to my daughter.  Months keep passing by and I still stare at her long, little fingers and her short, stubby toes.  Only, I memorize them through photos instead of watching them grow and change with her in my arms.  I am still amazed by the fact that someone can be perfectly made for you, yet taken away far too soon.  She was designed and created wonderfully for my husband and me.  We dreamed about the sports she would play and the cheerleading camps.  We talked about how we would teach her to ride a bike and write her name.   We often joked about how Daddy would have to fight off the boys because if she was anything like her mama she was destined to be boy crazy.  All of those dreams shattered the day we found out that her little heart stopped beating.  It was one minute in time that changed the entire course for our lives.

It is nearing eight months since we have lost our daughter.  Eight months and I still ask God why.   Why God did you take our sweet daughter away when we would have been such good parents?  Why God are you allowing us to hurt and suffer when so many others get to bring their babies home?  Why God did you choose to take her when you did, how you did, and where you did?  Why me?  Why Emmie?  Why us?  These questions ring in my mind almost daily as I watch other children call out, “Mommy” to their own mom’s.  They ring in my mind when there is another pregnancy announcement being made almost daily on social media.   They ring in my mind every time I open her nursery door and she still isn’t in it. They ring in my mind when people who have done drugs or drank alcohol their entire pregnancies still get to bring their babies home alive.  It was not until a class I had to attend recently that God revealed my answer.  I was in a domestic abuse class for continuing education for Cosmetology.  A class that we are mandated to take, and to be frank I was not looking forward to attending on my only day off in the work week.  Suddenly, I knew why I was there that day in that particular class.  The woman speaking was talking about her aging mother and how she developed a critical condition that would essentially lead to her death.  She said there was a moment in time where she was questioning why.  Why me?  Why my mom?  Her mom looked at her and responded, “Why not me?  There are moms dying all of the time and it is my time to go.”  I could have started sobbing right there in the midst of strangers, but instead I held back tears and I started praying.  I heard God reveal the answer to me and it could not have been more obvious.  Louder and louder my ears rang.  “Why not you, Kelsey?  Why not your daughter?” 

I came home on Tuesday evening and I started realizing that not only is it okay to ask God why, it is also okay to struggle with the reality of the answer.  A dear client sent me a song this week called, “Why God?”  It is based on the idea that children ask questions to their parents all of the time.  They are curious, wondering, and growing kids that just want to know why things work the way that they do.  Are we not all God’s children?  He is our father and as his children it is only normal and understandable that we ask him why.  Sometimes we may never get the answer.  But most of the time we do.  We may just choose to ignore it because it is not the answer we were looking for.  I made a decision – a decision to be the absolute best version of myself that I possibly can be.  God handpicked Anthony and me to be Emmie’s parents.  Whether that was for 29 weeks or 29 years, I choose to thank Him.  I do not like the outcome of what happened to our sweet baby girl, but I see great potential in the future.  I see my heart changing.  There are a lot of things I despise about this year.  It has been a hard year for myself and so many that I love.  However, the one regret I do not have is finding the heart of God.  Through Emmie, I see beauty in a way I never saw before.  I appreciate moments that in the past I may have wished away.  I soak up the details of a friend’s smile, a family member’s kind word, and the sound of laughter.  I see the same sunset that I always have, and yet I see the entirety of it all now.  The essence of being able to start over again is a blessing.  Each day is not promised, but each day that we are alive is a gift to never take for granted.  You never know when that last day will be – for you or for someone else that you love.  I have come to realize that those ten little fingers and ten little toes taught me more about this life than I ever would have learned without them.  I have found if you embrace the beauty of all the little things in this world, you will eventually become it.

I waited my entire life to become a mommy.  Emmie made me that.  And Emmie made me so much more than that too.  She made life all that more beautiful.