On May 30, 2001, I had a beautiful baby girl born at 37 weeks. She was 6 lbs 2 ozs. I spent the next 3 months loving on her and her big sister, Ashley. I had so many dreams for the both of them. I never expected that I would be buying her flowers for her 10th Birthday. I also never thought I’d be visiting her grave to deliver those flowers. 

Her story is not one I tend to share easily. Not because of my pain but because others seem to not like it. It’s a story I don’t know how to just share. September 2, 2001. I went to bed late that night after chatting with some friends online and BBQing with the family. Before I went to bed, I walked into the girls’ room and peaked in the crib. She had just started sleeping in her crib and seemed to be doing really well. I resisted the urge to pick her up and hold her. Instead I laid my hand on her back and whispered I loved her.

September 3, 2001. I woke up and heard her dad yelling at me to come look at her. Ashley was still asleep when I got to the room. I walked across to the crib and found my baby girl. She was blue and cold. Everything after that is a blur. I remember screaming. I remember yelling to call 911. I remember taking Ashley to a neighbor’s house. A neighbor that we just met the night before. I remember calling my mom and telling her what was going on while trying not to break down in front of Ashley. I remember getting mad that I was CPR certified but didn’t have it in me to perform it. I depended on her dad to do it. I don’t remember the cops and paramedics showing up. I remember praying that God take me instead as we drove to the hospital.

At the hospital, we were brought into a room with a door. One doctor was explaining that it had been 30 minutes since we found her without oxygen. If there was a miracle and she started breathing, she would most likely be severely brain damaged. I remember praying not to have to make this decision. At that moment, another doctor came in to pronounce her dead. I remember the heart wrenching pain. It’s a pain you can never truly understand unless you have held a healthy baby one minute and a breathless baby the next.

The next 2 weeks were even worse for my memory. I was blessed with wonderful drugs to help get me through it. I was a zombie and I don’t know how I functioned. I hated God. I hated my own life. I was filled with so much anger until her funeral. At her funeral, I had a sense of peace come over me. I know it was God picking me up and carrying me through everything. Despite my anger, He was there to keep me going.

When the autopsy report came back and confirmed that her death was due to SIDS, I felt lost. This was not an answer. It meant that I had no one to blame. No reason to explain why my healthy daughter just died. It was the expected result but it didn’t make me feel better.

It took me a year to realize that I wasn’t cursed. I was blessed. Some people don’t get the opportunity to hold their own baby. I got to carry my baby girl for 37 weeks and hold her in my arms for another 3 months. I still consider that a blessing. All the pain and heartbreak that I feel is worth every minute I got to spend with her. Now as I prepare myself for her 10th Birthday, I pray that I can stay focused on that blessing. She will forever be missed but never forgotten.