Anyone who knows me well and either reads here or at Facebook knows that it doesn’t take much to get me to remember and talk about my daughter. Here’s something I posted last week at Facebook after I saw a few posts from friends remembering their children:
When our daughter was born they knew by her features that all was not right. It was decided pretty soon that she needed to be taken to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. She spent the night without us there, but I was released the next day and Jack and I went to Nashville where we stayed with her for the next two days. On day 4 of her life she was released from the hospital when they had determined that it was Trisomy-18 and there was nothing to be done for her. Reading my friend’s story of her own loss and never getting to hold her daughter, I’m remembering how, after they had disconnected Grace from all the wires and machines, I walked around the hall at the hospital, holding my little girl in my arms, and introducing everyone I met to her. I felt like a little girl with her doll. I felt like I was playing at being a mom to a baby girl. I knew that my baby could die at any moment. But I was so proud to call her my own and show her to everyone that passed by. How weird that only a few days before I totally was anticipating having a daughter, and now I knew that it wasn’t to be, but I could pretend for a little while.
Virginia Grace Pelham, February 3, 2006 – February 24, 2006
