I’ll never forget seeing the positive pregnancy test, just two weeks after COVID-19 lockdown start. Josh and I had been trying for another baby for a year. We prayed always for Jude to have a sibling, and finally, it fulfilled. Telling our 3-year-old son that he was going to be a big brother was priceless. He yelled and clapped with joy when he found out we were having a girl. I felt like our family was finally whole.
In November, Marren Rose was born. We spent the winter mostly indoors, keeping her safe from the world outside. I felt a natural strength over her, even if I responsible it on postnatal worry. We spent our days embracing, playing, and enjoying her presence. When spring arrived, it was time to return to work. Marren went to her sitter, and Jude went off to daycare.
Life was busy and messy, but full of love and joy.
In March, Josh had to leave for a three-month Air National Guard assignment. I was suddenly alone with two young children, anxious but firm. I remember driving Marren to her sitter one morning, watching her smile in her car seat, and feeling a moment of peace. Then the phone rang. The sitter shouted, “The baby isn’t breathing!” Panic washed over me as I raced to the sitter’s house. I later learned she had started CPR immediately, her quick action saved Marren’s life.
The drive to the hospital felt endless. When we arrived, the ER screen read “CARDIAC ARREST.” It was surreal seeing my smiling, rosy-cheeked baby connected to monitors and tubes. My sister met me at the hospital. They told us Marren had no pulse. I rushed into the room despite cautions, and just as I stepped in, a nurse shouted, “I found her pulse!” I grasped her tiny hand, desperately pleading for her to wake up.
Josh drove hours to join us. Once he arrived, we were together as Marren was life-flighted to a hospital with a PICU. The next twelve hours were a blur of doctors, nurses, medications, and family support. Finally, we were told that Marren had no brain activity and that her organs were not working.
We thought that she had passed away, Josh’s hand on her chest. In that moment, she looked at peace, her tiny face breaking into a faint, serene smile. It was terrifying yet strangely beautiful.
The days that followed were among the most difficult of our lives.
Jude needed us, but we were shattered. I would lie on the couch with our dog Jocko, seeking releif. Josh and I grieved differently, he bottled his feelings, while I cried constantly. We rested on each other and on family and friends, who supported us in ways words cannot describe. I continued pumping breastmilk, eventually saving 2,500 ounces that went to five babies in need.
After a while, we decided to try for another baby, not to replace Marren but to heal our hearts. IVF was our only option. We discovered both Josh and I had infertility challenges, making this the only path forward. We wanted another girl, but initially, only male embryos were viable. Then, we found one mosaic female basis. After research and reassurance from our clinic, we transferred it alongside a boy embryo.
Weeks later, a faint positive test confirmed my pregnancy. We waited nervously, fearing another loss, until the ultrasound revealed two tiny heartbeats. We were having twins. After a challenging nine months, Sunny Grace, our miracle girl, arrived first, followed by Barron Henry nine minutes later. Both were healthy and blooming, and we felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief. We like to think Marren is smiling down on them, proud of her little siblings.
Grief is still part of our daily life. Certain moments start gloom, but we find ways to honor Marren’s memory while caring for our twins. We talk about her, include her in celebrations, and imagine her angel wings watching over us. Losing her left a part of our family empty, but it also taught us not to fear the unknown. Life continues, even in darkness, and we’ve learned to cherish every bit of joy that comes our way.
Even in the hardest times, we’ve learned to keep going, to love deeply, and to find expectations in the smallest moments. Marren may not be physically with us, but she will always be a part of our hearts and our story.
