She still remembers the evening she discovered she was expecting. Her heart overflowed with joy. She and her partner held each other close. Softly expressed their dreams for a daughter, their first child, the tiny being they imagined cherishing and safeguarding. The ultrasound had shown a heartbeat, healthy development, and every indication that all was well. They felt incredibly lucky and hopeful. As the due date approached, she grew more and more ready. They prepared a space for the infant, adorned the walls with soft hues, arranged tiny clothes and blankets, and discussed baby names once everyone else had fallen asleep. She decided to have a delivery at the hospital.
She strongly believed in staying calm, trusting her body and being present when the baby arrives, taking its breath, crying, alive. Every doctor’s visit felt like an optimistic moment. The contractions arrived at last. At first, they appeared merely discomfort and pressured. She took a stroll, practiced breathing, and maintained her calm as much as possible. Her husband held her hand, offering his strength and encouragement, and softly told me they were almost finished. After labor, they reached the hospital. The midwife examined her. She was dilating as expected. The optimism, in her words, was unmistakable: “You are close. Everything seemed perfect.
She experienced every contraction fully, imagining the moment she would hold her in her arms. With one effort at 1:47 a.m., our perfect baby girl came into the world. The initial announcement they received was: “It’s a girl.” She couldn’t believe it; her heart. Tears streamed down her face. For an instant, everything in life felt exactly right. She glanced at the monitor. Noticed the heartbeat was steady. Two minutes before, the room echoed with signs of life. Then chaos erupted. The atmosphere shifted. The expressions transformed. What had brought relief and happiness vanished. The nurses began to act urgently. “She was born without a heartbeat.” Those words struck me as though a blow had struck her chest.
Everything she had relied on, every prayer she made, all her hopes came to a halt. They fought. They wrestled. Five doses of medicine, twenty-one minutes of effort to revive her. The machines emitted their beeps. Her husband gripped her hand so firmly she feared it might snap. She was praying. She was pleading: “Let her survive. She vowed she’d improve. She’ll be the mom. She would never consider life as something to be taken lightly.” She never even pondered whether there would be delays or difficulties. All she desired was for her to breathe, to shed tears, to be alive. After those torturous, lengthy moments, there was no response.
Silence fell. The life they had expected with her cry, her first inhale did not occur. Our beloved girl, our daughter, had died. She isn’t confiding in you to bring you to tears. She is sharing it because from that evening, something beautiful emerged. Because, despite the grief, she discovered the strength of love, hope, and faith. She realized this together with her husband. She understood that it doesn’t imply all hope is gone when life doesn’t follow the path you anticipated. In those moments of sorrow, I was grasping my husband’s hand, and he told me through his tears, “We’ll endure this. She was our daughter. She won’t be our only child.”
His words, soft and steady, turned into a pillar of strength for me. The loss of our baby transformed us. It broke us in ways I never imagined could happen. The nights felt the hardest, particularly when the house was quiet, and the memories weighed heavily. I continuously wondered how I would ever be okay again. We never ceased believing. We never shut down our emotions. Eventually, we sensed we were ready to try more. However, this time we chose adoption. We made the initial move, relied on the procedure, and awaited the outcome. In the end, we met our daughter with a lovely life that we were lucky to bring home. She fixed the parts of our hearts that were broken. She showed us gratitude and resilience. She made us remember that love can still grow even after the deepest sorrow.
