An Open Letter to the Woman Using My Daughter's Pictures Online

Kristin Keel Of Minot;

I keep blinking to make sure this is not a nightmare. I have refused to believe that people like you and situations like this actually exist in the world. But I have to admit the truth to myself- you do. You are real. As real as my daughter is, though you have attempted to make her un-real. Shame on you.

I was lying on the couch and resting on Wednesday. I had spent all of Tuesday in an ER testing for a miscarriage and would be going back for a last test on Thursday to be sure that is what was happening. A miscarriage of pregnancy, that is. It was my first since loosing my daughter. I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Then Dawn called. I didn’t know what a CHERUBS coordinator could be calling me for, but I was eager to take the call and talk about the daughter that they had helped me prepare for and say goodbye to.

MY daughter, Eden Olivia Coker. We learned we were expecting her on October 15, 2014. We learned she was a girl in February 2015. She was diagnosed with a severe and fatal Bilateral Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia in March 2015. I carried her to induction on June 25 2015 and birth on June 26 2015 at Fort Carson, Colorado. She was born at 10:40 am and died at 11:20 am. She took a few breaths, her last one in my husband’s arms. She never cried. She never opened her eyes. She saved every bit of her energy for those breaths. She went peacefully and quietly into the arms of Jesus. She smelled so good. And she looked like her father, her real father. If you'd like to know more about her actual birth story, you can click this. My little Cherub, that raised awareness to thousands of people about CDH. Over 300 people attended her viewing and saw her body in the casket. She was buried on July 2, 2015 in Sumter South Carolina. Her real Nana goes to visit her body there every day. She resides in Heaven with Jesus, her great-nana, and her cousins. She also resides in the air I breathe and the birds that visit and the faces of every other loss mama I have met on this journey. 

You know who’s face she isn’t in? Yours. Not at all, not one bit.

Dawn said, “I have some disturbing news...” and the rest was a blur. She cried with me and we sat in amazement at this development: someone in Minot, North Dakota had apparently faked a pregnancy and a stillbirth and was using Eden’s pictures to pass the baby in them off as their fake daughter, “Parker Ann Marie Keel”.

I hung up with Dawn when I became hysterical and I called my husband, my mother, and my photographer (by the way- Kahva Photography owns ALL of the rights to all of the images you printed and many of the photographs in this blog post). They joined me in tears. I sobbed so hard- how could the world just keep heaping all this crap on me? Who would do such a thing?

Not wanting to be hasty, Ryan and I waited and let this sink in before we decided we would be taking whatever actions possible against you. So I told Dawn that I would like to know who you are. She sent me screenshots of my baby’s face in your life. Printed and put up on your wall, printed and taken to sit in a Santa’s lap at Christmas (or photoshopped?). Google images for your ultrasound picture and another bad edit job. The memory of my very real Eden Olivia defiled to be fake “Parker”. A nursery prepared and posted on your mother’s facebook. My thoughts went to your poor mother, Kristin. Has she been grieving a granddaughter that isn’t even hers, or does she help you with this façade?

I don’t know if Troy is in on your game. But what made my stomach twist in knots was the video Troy posted of you two sprinting out to a “grave” to make snow angels, smiling and laughing and jumping around. The cherub with this name “Parker” engraved onto it. The wreath made to look like a turkey.  Nothing but toothy grins plastered all over Facebook. Lies. All of the sickest types of lies.

Your smiles are wicked. And my heart breaks for every person who believed this charade.

It’s been suggested that you could have had many different motives for using my daughter’s pictures… for stealing the identity of a deceased baby. Maybe you did loose a child and could not get any pictures for whatever reason… I don’t believe you lost a child. Because if you had, you couldn’t have done such a thing. I know too many people living after they have lost their babies to believe that after going through such pain, you would be able to make a mockery of it by using another parent’s pictures of their child.

I dug, but I did not have to dig far. The people around you had been keeping tabs on your lie ever since it began.

After adding up more information and learning about you, your past plagued with fraud, theft, and many other offenses to include suspected poisoning and taking advantage of those with disabilities… I can say that I know in my heart that you were never pregnant and there was never a baby.

I’ve heard multiple versions of your story- showing up to the ER, sending your husband home for clean clothes, birthing this baby and then leaving the hospital, walking down the street before he could even return to pick you up, then telling him that a hospital employee took your baby’s body from you, dug up her own son’s grave and put your baby in with him (all while neither one of you calls the cops) is outrageous enough….  Then I’ve heard the one where you claim the baby’s body was donated to science… Then I’ve heard there is a grave with a baby in it and then I’ve heard there is a grave with a casket of toys in it, then I’ve heard there is no actual grave. None of it adds up. Nope, you are a liar and I don’t believe there ever was a baby.

Other offerings of motives came. Maybe you were never pregnant but needed Troy to marry you and locked him in with pregnancy and solidified it with loss? Maybe you were both looking for money so you told all of your town your situation and started a Caring Bridge campaign to exploit the hearts of people around you over the saddest situation on earth. All of these possible reasons sounding like plots from a Lifetime movie.

Then, when asked in a personal message from me, all Troy could say was “we immediately questioned the amount of hair”(yet you kept using the pictures?)… and “the pictures were given to us by a local nonprofit”… so when I spoke with the local NILMDTS photographer and the only photographer the hospital calls in the case of stillbirth and infant mortality and she told me she’d never taken the pictures I showed her… well. You know. But I was told by Troy “there’s no need for you to be involved anymore, as I’m sure my wife has already messaged you, we now know we were given the wrong pictures.”

No, Kristin (and I never did receive a message from you). You weren’t given the wrong pictures. You took the pictures. Not only that, but you sought out the story behind the pictures and you made that true story your tall tale. You took advantage of the CHERUBS community, of your community, of every babylost parent that ever reached out to you in solidarity, and of my sweet, precious, innocent girl.

You are a morally bankrupt woman and if your husband was aware, he is just as bad. There is all the need for me to be involved. I will stay involved.

Do you know what you’ve done to me? To my husband?

In the middle of loosing our second child, your actions have broken our hearts. And for what?

We have never done anything to you. I had to make sure I haven’t lost my own mind… that this all really happened to us and not you. I have had to check my own crazy a few times this week.

Did you ever stop to think that there was a real person behind the story you have been scheming? That a very real little girl existed for those photographs? That her true mother and father have spent all this time in agony living without her and then they have to see you playing pretend with her? I’m sure you didn’t stop to think of the people Eden belongs to- her parents, her family, our friends, and every person her little life touched.

But you have messed with the wrong mama.

I prayed so hard that the Lord would show us what to do about this. So he sent these sources- people that know you and the havoc you leave in your wake. We are so grateful for them for encouraging us to do what we feel led to do, for them telling us exactly what type of person you are.

If the only thing I can nail you on is pain and suffering, I won’t. I don’t want your money. There’s no amount of money that could make what you’ve done right. But I won’t stop.  I will read every law every concerning identity theft. I want you put away. I want you unable to reproduce. If you can kill off a fake child, what would you do with a real child?

Some might say that taking legal action is going too far, that it is tainting my daughter’s memory. I say that I must do all I can to protect it fiercely. Her memory is all I have left! I’m not sorry for pursuing those avenues.

Some might also say that exposing your name publicly is going to far, that it is ruining your reputation. I say that you did that to yourself when you decided to do this to us. I’m not sorry for putting you out there or any embarrassment this causes you. When I finish writing this, I'm going to snitch everywhere. 

There are some things I am sorry for. I am so sorry that my beautiful daughter isn’t here living and breathing and growing. I am sorry that she died. It’s not fair.

I’m sorry that any babies die. And I’m sorry that people like you exist to exploit how unbearable and unthinkable that experience is.

I’m very sorry for your family and friends and coworkers, the ones who unknowingly ate your crow and mourned your fake daughter in very real ways. They do not deserve this any more than I do.

You are a sick, despicable human being. Really. I mean that. You owe my baby girl an apology.  You owe Ryan, and I (her actual parents) an apology. You owe my family and friends an apology. You owe your family and friends an apology.

And I hope that you get some mental help. That’s what you owe yourself.

I will choose forgiveness. Not today, Lord knows it. I’m not ready.

I have accepted that I will probably never receive an apology from you, but I know that unless I forgive you, your awful actions will only eat me alive. They will consume parts of me that exist solely to honor my Eden girl. And I will not allow that.

Her life was too damn beautiful for me to allow her death to be hijacked by you. She raised so much awareness about CDH and child loss, and she even raised a little awareness about that as “Parker”, but that isn’t her name. Her name is Eden and she was not a baby doll or the play-thing you tried to make her into. She lived, she was real, and she was OURS.

   

Anyone who attempts to water down her lasting impact in the world by claiming her as his or her own will receive the full wrath of our everlasting love for her.

Eden’s Mama,

Megan Coker



**UPDATE**
THANK YOU all for sharing this post and making sure it gets out there. I will not stop until I'm sure she is kept from being able to do this to another family, and I appreciate you joining me in that quest.

Please also note that I am extending forgiveness as well as I can. This is a very hard situation that Ryan and I have prayed over and we just need time to work through these very human feelings. Thanks for the encouragement. However, we will never "forget" what she has done. And we don't believe that forgiveness requires forgetting under any definition of grace. We will remember. 

I initially turned all of Eden's album to "private", then to "friends only". But after thinking about it, I decided that I would not let one crazy stop me from sharing Eden's story with the world. I will not let fear win, because Eden still has a purpose and raises so much awareness that would be stifled if I just hid it all away. I encourage you all to be vigilant about who can see your baby's pictures, but I also urge you not to let these twisted few individuals have the last word. 
Please, please do not drag family, exes, or employers into this. It's hard enough to learn you've been duped or used, and it's even harder when all these strangers are confronting you about it. Also, I knew there would be a select few who would stand by this couple and their story, and that is fine. I don't want to believe people can be so deceptive and sick either. Let those people be.


One extra sassy thing:
In the United States, there are approximately four home burglaries per minute (that's one every 15 seconds). Does that stop you from living in a house, apartment, dorm, whatever you live in? No? Oh, because you still like shelter and a place to put your things, rest your head, and be with people you love. I see. It definitely wouldn't be your fault if someone broke into your home and took something of yours.

Then why would the remote possibility of a crazy person stealing my kid's pictures stop me from sharing her and her story with anyone that would look or listen? It wouldn't. Because she is worth sharing and I can't begin to imagine the number of people's lives she touched that wouldn't have been touched if we kept her to ourselves.

Please stop saying "what you're going through right now is exactly the reason why I don't post my kid's pictures online." It makes you sound paranoid and ridiculous, and it also places blame on me for what this woman has done.

To the Mama Expecting Bereavement

Dear Bereaved Mother-in-Waiting,

"Put one foot in front of the other."

That use to sound like something you'd say to encourage people, but now it is an order. It's a reminder.

Each of your organs are cinder blocks, making every step heavier and making it almost impossible to scoot without stumbling.

Your brain is pulling away from gravity- stretched far above treetops, "head in the clouds". Your heart is in your feet, appropriately broken to fit in the different sides. There's suddenly a mile between your vocal cords and your tongue- good luck saying what you need. 

How has your body become so rearranged? How come no one can see it from the outside?

I know where you are. You are in anticipatory grief for the child in your womb. You feel almost alone on this journey. And lost. Every moment is another that putting one foot in front of the other is an impossible request to make of you.

Waiting to lose is bad. I can't say that it is the worst. I've never truly lost before now. I've witnessed others' sudden and unexpected loss, I've witnessed others' peaceful letting-go. But I've never witnessed firsthand another getting prepared for the birth and death of someone they love until myself.

Have you? Are you no stranger to loss?

If you aren't, I'm afraid this will still be a bit different. Because every loss is different.
And my stumbling upon this new normal will look so much different from yours. We are creating together a beautiful community of different hurts that may only live until we are gone, so that there is room in the space for the next different hurts.


Call this space -baby loss- "Alaska". Imagine the dreams we'd had for our babies prior to learning about life-limiting or fatal diagnoses in another space called "Jamaica".

Some of us arrive to Alaska by taking the long way around- driving from peninsular Florida through the continental US and then through Canada. Perhaps we barely knew we were pregnant, the pee may still be wet on the stick when we learn that our babes have a different fate than we'd hoped. So starting from 8 weeks gestation, we begin to carry the burden of waiting on losing. And we carry it the whole way to birth. The climate changes every few hundred miles (some days are colder than others in anticipatory loss), and we have to stop often for gas (someone please pour encouragement into me). But when we finally arrive to Alaska, we've still got some sweet memories of the trip there.

Some of us get there by boat. We hop on our own glacier bound titanic midway through pregnancy. We had smooth sailing through the first and second trimester but waters became rough at a nerve-wrecking diagnosis appointment. We just gave our voyage a name we'd picked out dependent on its gender ultrasound... and now we must accept that the voyage will end in Alaska, when we arrive there. We still have a little time to make these next days (months) count, so immediately every sunset on the water becomes more precious.

Then some of us arrive by plane. In the home stretch of our pregnancies, we feel irregular kicking patterns and just think we have lazy babies. So we visit doctors and go to specialists and learn that something has gone terribly wrong and we are days away from loss. It only takes a few hours to fly to Alaska from where we are. We don't have time to pack, we don't have time to wait in line for a Cinnabon.. We check in and hop on for a turbulent ride, hoping for a moment to look out the window and gather that everything will change once we land, thankful for ignorance before this point.


We all get to the same Alaska, but it looks different to each of us because of the way we got there. I can't tell you exactly how Alaska is going to look to you. We can all agree on one thing though: it is cold and it isn't the place we wanted to be.


You are wishing for the days before you knew what you're carrying with your baby: before you knew all the uncertainty that you were oblivious to before this point. Certain Uncertainty? You wish you didn't have that.

You are wishing for the days where you were planning for Jamaica. When the biggest worries you had were over diaper brands, nursery themes, feeding options, parenting styles. You are watching all the other expectant mothers in Jamaica. You're glad for them, you're sad for you.


While you're on the way to and in Alaska, the mothers on the way to and in Jamaica are going to try to reach out to you. They may not be able to know what you're going through, but they can certainly empathize- easier than most can. It hits close to home when one is looking at her friends in Alaska while she's in Jamaica.
Let them, mama. Our small village waiting for you in Alaska is support, but you will never have enough. Don't push them away if they just want to love on you.

Sometimes a woman in Jamaica will assume that, being in Alaska, you can be nothing but jealous and bitter. You know better, though. Love that mother from a distance. Find comfort in praying that that mother will never TRULY know how you feel- pray she will never need to visit Alaska.

Sometimes a woman who looks like she's always been in Jamaica will surprise you, she's visited Alaska too. One day you may be in her shoes. One day you may not. Just know she's been in yours.

You're still expecting. You're still on the way to Alaska, and there will be so much struggle to enjoy the ride. If you are driving, you're carsick. If you're sailing, your boat is steadily sinking. If you're flying, its on a small plane and through thunderstorms. And on top of it all, there is no map to our Alaska. We are wandering, on a certain path.

It's going to be hard. But I urge you, mama... Rebuke the end of your trip until it comes. Speak life into your baby, speak life into your self.

Don't give up, don't have a passive trip. Tell people about your journey.

When you meet a stranger along the way, you don't have to let them think you're on your way to Jamaica just so they aren't uncomfortable.

And then, somedays, if you want to let the trip happen while you just rest, I urge you to do that too.
Stay in bed, cry, holler, and cuss.

Feel what you need to feel. Know that your feelings are OK.
If you are glad- don't let anyone make you think you should be sad.
If you are sad- don't let anyone make you think you should be glad.


You're expecting a baby. Your baby is a blessing! Your sick baby is a blessing! Your broken baby is a blessing! Your dying baby is a blessing!

You're expecting to be a bereaved mother. Grief, in its own way, is also a blessing. You do NOT have to view it that way. But waiting for it will give you a different outlook on yourself, on your baby, and on life.


When you get to Alaska, it's okay to be disappointed. It's okay to be angry. This is not the trip you planned. This is not Jamaica. And when you get here, that's when you'll realize you didn't pack a jacket.

You can't pack anything, actually. Nothing ample enough to protect yourself from the cold weather you're facing. Remember you were packing for Jamaica when this trip went the other way.
Though you are expecting it, you don't know exactly what kind of grief awaits you in Alaska.

In Alaska, you will be babylost. And I didn't know until I arrived here that the pain is a new one, different and more amplified. I want to warn you of that.

This post will not ease it, your family will not ease it, your friends will not ease it. They will love on you (yes, even more than they are right now) but they will never be able to put your baby back in your arms. And I'm sorry to know that.

I'm sorry that you are terrified. I'm sorry that you cannot turn around and just stay home. I'm sorry that we aren't going to Jamaica this time.

There will still be an element of beauty. Alaska is still a nice place to see. It is still a new place. You will still be a mother! Don't let anyone ever tell you any different. In your grief, you will be THE mother. How amazing you will be to parent a baby you can no longer see.

But I want you to know that once you arrive, you will long for the days when you were just waiting for it, just like you now long for the days when you knew you were going to certainly bring home a healthy and happy baby to protect and love.


I know you are heavy. I know that in addition to all you're carrying with your baby, your own self is becoming tough to pull. But you can do it. I believe our babies get to choose us. Your baby picked you, mama. Your baby knows you can finish the journey it was sent to you for. Your baby knows you can somehow get all the way to Alaska, no matter how far or close it seems.

Just put one foot in front of the other.

Carrying the Weight of Eden

When someone tells you their unborn child has a fatal diagnosis and will not live outside their womb for long at all, but then tells you of plans to carry the child as far as they can... you can guess some of the pain they will face.

You can guess on your own that there's something particularly hard about carrying a baby but not setting up a nursery.

You can guess that the doctor's appointments would get really old, really fast.

You can guess that all the expectant mother will do is worry every minute that it may be her last one pregnant, and then it will hit her how limited her time with her child really is.

You can guess that the expectant father begins putting away his dreams and expectations for that particular child, hopeful for another to dream for one day.

You can conclude that it must all be very difficult, and you'd be right.
On D-Day (Diagnosis Day), I knew that I would be facing those hard things.

But there are some things you just can't guess.
She was 6 lbs and 15 oz. But I carried a lot more to birth than just the little girl in my womb. I carried so many feelings, too. I wonder every day if they made the load heavier, or if allowing myself to feel them made the weight I carried a little lighter.

And it's still different case to case, so even someone who's been through the same situation could still not have guessed what I would walk through. Someone who's been through the same situation could have guessed, too, but may have not been bothered by the same trials. That's why I changed the name of this post from "Unexpected Hardships of Carrying to Birth" to be more personal.. My experience is unique because my daughter is unique.

Feelings I felt and didn't expect to feel were:

Hurt when the conversation turned to how large I was getting. I always thought that when the time came for me to receive comments on my super huge belly, I would take them so proudly. But, when I started retaining amniotic fluid since Eden couldn't swallow it well...the comments weren't received as graciously. Who even ever had the idea to comment on a pregnant girl's size anyway? I knew that the reason for such a big belly was that there was something wrong and it made me super sensitive. At 30 weeks, a clerk asked me how far along I was and I just told her 38 weeks.

Panic when a stranger asked about the due date, made comments about life after babies, etc. To begin with, I would just pretend to be normal and talk about her due date and say that pregnancy is fun. Then I started lying to these strangers when their questions turned from pregnancy to preparation. "Oh yes, her nursery is already finished and we've got the carseat ready to go." Near the end, I gave up on trying not to make people uncomfortable and just gave them the truth.

Confusion as I danced between attachment and detachment to my baby. Here's a raw truth: The first few months of my pregnancy, I went through a short "pre-partum" depression and afterwards had a very hard time attaching to my unborn baby. Of course I loved her, but I felt funny talking to her or singing to her, and with Ryan being gone for I just wasn't in the mood to celebrate what was happening in my body. I didn't want to do anything baby related until Christmas time when we decided to go ahead and register. I finally started attaching to her when he came home and we went to find out that she was a girl. She had a name I could keep saying, and her kicks were getting to be visible instead of just tangible. D-Day was just a few weeks later, and every day after that was a tug-of-war between getting to know her and stepping away from her. Why would I want to get attached to a baby I'd have to let go? Honestly, there was no stopping it even though I tried. She will always be a part of me.

Rage from seeing other women ignore healthy pregnancy guidelines. From the moment I even suspected I was pregnant I was stepping away from any alcohol. I never ate lunch meat without it being heated and I was very wary of my California rolls. I stayed away from soft cheeses, dropped caffeine altogether for the entire first trimester. I wouldn't stand around anyone smoking, and I was careful with my physical activity. I triple-checked before taking any medication, even if it was prescribed to me. None of this was hard to do, nor was it super stressful, and I don't need a pat on the back for it. Putting my unborn child first was never an inconvenience. CDH has no known cause and there is no cure yet. There is absolutely nothing I knowingly did to give my baby a birth defect- and nothing I could have done to stop it. Naturally, I continued this way for my whole pregnancy, even knowing I couldn't save her. So it made (makes) me kind of super angry to see other women not striving for the healthiest pregnancies and therefore knowingly putting babies at risk for so much more than what can happen out of the blue. I know way too many women struggling to get pregnant, struggling to stay pregnant, and struggling after losing children to be ok with it. Sorry (not really) for the rant. *If you are unsure about guidelines for a healthy pregnancy, you can click this link to WebMD.

Sadness passing infant sections in stores. Sometimes I would wander in just to touch the baby dresses. Then I'd leave without getting whatever I came for, afraid someone might see me ugly cry.

Fear when I had to be alone. Every day I'd spend hours with Jenae until it looked like Ryan would be home for the evening. I'd try to strategically have something planned to do when he wanted to go for a hike. I'd go shopping just to be around people! When my mom finally came to stay in early May, I could finally breathe. The whole time she was here, I was never alone with my thoughts... and she even enjoyed time with my friends and shopping too.

Anger as I tried to plan a funeral for a baby that was still kicking my insides. "I wrote an obituary and left spaces for the dates and times", "I really like this poem for the program", and "Let's finish squaring away the funeral homes this week" turned into "I should not be doing this", "This is so freaking backwards", and "We can just take care of it when it happens because we aren't being fair to her obvious presence or ourselves". It seemed that every time we tried to plan something or even talk about it, she knew and would commence a fit of hiccups or begin a soccer game. We eventually just had a basic outline and left everything for after her birth.

Alarm at every. single. thing. I went to L&D about seven times. I believed my water was leaking, that I had a blood clot in my lungs, that she wasn't moving enough, that her heart stopped beating. Every time I experienced a little heartburn, I thought that something was terribly wrong. I don't know if I'm glad I did this or if I wish I would have relaxed a little. I just kept saying to myself as I left the hospital feeling like an idiot, "better to go and nothing be wrong than to not go and it all be wrong."

Uncertainty when we'd have a discussion about family planning. I have a heart for adoption and Ryan's certainly not against it, but knowing that we can create life makes us want to create more. Except there's the part where the only life we've created had a horrible birth defect. What's next? Then, we'd always said three was enough (I actually always said seven was enough but three seemed to please my husband for the time being), but did we mean three altogether? Three to raise? What we ended up saying is that we'll just cross bridges as they come, we don't need a itinerary for parenthood.

Doubt when people encouraged me. I heard "you are so strong" about ten times a week, but I kept thinking that if they really knew how I felt, they wouldn't say it.

Alienation when receiving *PREP FOR BABY* emails and coupons. (Like, c'mon post carrier. I think you're delivering my share and the share for every other parent's house in the neighborhood. I heard those diapers suck anyway.) The emails are the worst- especially when it came time for the gestation to focus completely on the lungs- things were supposed to be happening that I knew were not.

Annoyance at the comments made by those who meant well. I had quite a few people tell me, "There can still be a miracle, don't just give up on your child", and that always bothered me. Was it not miraculous enough to be pregnant? Was it not miraculous enough to carry Eden just one more minute? She was and always will be the miracle of the whole situation. God didn't not show up just because she wasn't healed. And while we never lost sight of hope for her healing, we couldn't actively pray for God to change His already perfect creation. At the same time, I know that people just need something to believe in during such trying times. It's just that when you know things are going to be a certain way, its time to stop praying to change them and start praying for the peace to deal with them.

Guilt when I said "I can't breathe". Before she started to drop, she was so high in my ribcage and crowding my lungs that I never could catch a good breath. I would automatically complain, then I'd start wondering if her entire short life would feel like that. Then I'd hate myself and start having a panic attack, during which I really couldn't breathe. I tried to have a sobering perspective on whatever discomfort I felt while it was all for her.

Overwhelming LOVE with each reminder of her existence. I knew as I tried to detach from her that I loved her, but I grew to love her in ways I never could have imagined. I would bargain "Take me instead of her" over and over every day. Her kicks when I would sing or her punchy reaction to her dad's voice, my big belly as I tried to roll over out of bed, all the clothes that stopped fitting, the swelling, and the infinite number of stretch marks she placed on my stomach, hips, and thighs all gave me the warmest feeling of adoration. None of it will ever compare the the feelings I had when they placed her in my arms, though. Each day I loved her increasingly more. Every minute I got to spend with her (in and out of my body) was the best minute of my life!

The Birth of My Marriage into Loss

For some reason when Ryan and I first learned of Eden's diagnosis and prognosis, one of the first things someone felt the need to point out to me was that the divorce rate for bereaved parents in America is about 80%. That means that 80 out of 100 couples who lose a child get divorced.

There isn't any accommodating information to be found. Nowhere says whether the child's death was an accident, whether it was a birth defect, whether it was a terminable disease, whether one or the other was at fault. Was the child grown? Was the child born yet?
You don't know if she became cold and angry, or if he became abusive. You don't know if it's within a year of the death or twenty years later. You don't know if they tried therapy. All I can find is that 4/5 bereaved couples let their marriages crumble.

I can't remember the person who gave me this statistic, but if you're reading this and it was you, I want you to know you quietly lit a fire in my heart that day to strive for my marriage and fight for it to the end, no matter what. I don't know your motives but I hope that was one of them.

There in the birthing suite, as I was delivering our daughter, I saw tears streaming all the way down my husband's face. Of course, I'd seen him cry before, but I'd never seen tears make it further than his cheeks. He was holding me-one hand grabbing my foot and the other supporting my swollen arm. He and my mother were working together to help me.

Eden was born and his tears kept flowing. I heard him keep saying, "thank you, thank you." I watched him cut her cord and feel her pulse. He talked to her the whole time through her dedication, we couldn't actually hear the prayer or the blessing. He took her from my chest and she hadn't been wiped off at all, he wrapped her against his shirt in a thin blanket and just held her there. She breathed there, and reached closer for him. He was in awe of her, and I was in awe of them together. I'd never seen such a beautiful sight, the two people I love most in the world just embracing each other.

I struggled to hum her the lullaby, and then he struggled to read her our bedtime story.
We told her that it was okay to go, and so she went a few minutes later. 

The time between our baby's birth and our baby's death was the shortest length of time I've ever experienced, though they say it was 40 minutes. However, it was all the time it took for me to love Ryan in a new way, a way I'd never thought possible. 

The time between our baby's death and now has been the longest length of time I've ever experienced, though its been two weeks and two days. The days have seemed to make one big one, and sleep won't come. At the same time, I wish that it would slow down and it didn't keep moving away from that day so fast.


Our love has evolved in this time, and it's changed thanks to the daughter it created.

We spent the rest of Friday and that night in the hospital room with Eden Olivia. Neither one of us ever left, and she was never put down. We took turns rocking her and talking to her, we laid down together in my bed and napped holding her. We kept admiring her beauty and crying over the perfection that she was. I was the one who held her to sleep that night, and Ryan held her all the next morning before our family came back to tell her goodbye.
Together we put her in the gown made from my wedding dress. She was wrapped in all the love we felt on our wedding day and all the love we felt for her. The funeral home came to pick her up, and we took her downstairs. My dad helped Ryan carry the bassinet, and we got to walk our baby out of the front door just like everyone else. We took turns kissing her and saying goodbye. 
Knowing this may be the last time I saw her face, I couldn't watch her being covered so I turned away. Ryan wanted to be the one to cover her, so he went up to the car and did that for her. This is where our difference in grief began.

We left he hospital after she did. I was brought nearly to my knees when we got to the car and I realized there was no carseat, because we didn't buy one, because we knew she wouldn't be coming home with us. That's when Ryan almost had to scrape me off the asphalt to put me in the passengers seat. He drove to get food, and we took it home where we were alone for a minute as everyone had stepped out for errands. Chick-fil-A (my favorite) tasted like plastic. We finished, I took a pill for pain and went to bed clenching a stuffed bear given to us "to ease the ache of empty arms". Ryan fixed a hole in the fence and did other things around the house before he joined me. I woke up and he was the one wrapped around the bear.

The rest of the weekend is a blur to me, as I mostly stayed in bed. We got our family to the airports Monday morning, then it was us, alone. I was ready to spend another day asleep, but my husband knew there was much we had to get done. So together we parented our daughter that day by making arrangements for flying her and us back to South Carolina, by going to offices to register her birth, by packing her letters and other things to send with her in a bag. 
We were at the airport Tuesday morning, able to watch from the window as they put the most precious cargo on the plane. I cried the whole ride in physical and emotional pain, just holding on tight to that bear. There was a baby girl in front of us who was extremely upset most of the way. Her cries were no bother to me, just a reminder that my little girl was also on the plane, in the wrong seat. I could tell from Ryan's face in the times that he wasn't smiling at her that he was jealous too. I was just thankful that the check-in counter was able to put our seats together since the airline couldn't guarantee it. I was just thankful I still had Ryan and he was holding my hand. Later we heard her mother tell the people beside her that the girl's name is Olivia, and I figured God wanted us in those seats all along.

The thing about my man's heart is that he loves by "doing". Once we landed at home, I wanted to immediately go lie down and hope all the arrangements would be made on their own. But instead we went to the cemetery and picked out Eden's plot. Then we went to the funeral home and decided on the program, finalized the viewing, and planned the funeral. Ryan contacted the Reverend and did all the talking, because my mouth was cotton balls and because it's how he loves. He was sure to ask me how I wanted everything, but more times than not just had to read my mind.
They told us that it would be more than appropriate to have an open casket for the viewing, and relief washed over me. Already, I had regrets about not watching her be covered. Already, I had resented Ryan a little bit for being the last one to hold her alive, and the last one to see her dead. 

The next morning we went to pay the cemetery. Together we decided on a stone and I decided what it would say. I think he was growing weary of all the decision making by this time. We had breakfast and ordered some white roses for our daughter. We went to buy her a pearl bracelet, but it was gifted to us. We took it to the funeral home and there we were finally able to see Eden again. Holding my hand, Ryan walked me up to the casket in the visitation room. I expected to see an unrecognizable face, a cold looking body. Instead, she looked just as beautiful as when we last saw her. I was afraid, but I touched her hand. That's when he was able to touch her too. I wonder how afraid he was, because neither of us had mentioned fear and I know I felt it. I wanted to talk to him, but I just didn't know words. He noticed right away that her headband was missing, so he went to ask if they still had it. He came back with it and I placed the band on her head. I tried so hard to clasp the pearl bracelet on her wrist but I was shaking and tears were clouding my eyes. So he took the clasp and calmly fastened it, holding her tiny hand in his palm. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then I did. Then we left the funeral home, knowing we could see her again later.

The next few hours are the most vivid to me. I kept watching the man I married try on suits appropriate for receiving visitors and burying his daughter. It broke my heart every time he came out of a dressing room, looking much older than he should have. It made me relieved that I picked out and bought dresses when I was 8 months pregnant, because I could not have handled the pain of needing to try on clothes for such an occasion. He chose shades of turquoise, for CDH awareness. His face was grim when he told attendants that the suit was for "a funeral". No parents should ever need to buy clothes to bury their children in.

Then, we were dressed and ready, heading to the funeral home with my family. I remember arguing with Ryan over something very trivial at the beginning, the guilt of letting anything outside bother me on a day like this one stabbing at me as we stood in the hall whisper-yelling. I don't know if he knew I knew better, but couldn't help it. It was our first argument since she'd passed. Then, we were thrown into the room where people kept pouring in to talk to us and see our daughter. We were separated and overwhelmed. Immediately, I missed him... but I was too prideful to stop people from talking to me so I could find and stand next to him for a long time. He eventually just ended up next to me, our hands finding each other as different people hugged us.

About 400 people came to pay their respects that night. Many of them had comforting things to say, and some of them had stupid things to say. But they all cared and we were shocked at just how many lives Eden affected. The evening wound down, and people stayed about 30 minutes over time.. then we were left alone in the room with our daughter. Standing over her again, I told him I was sorry, that I needed him and that I didn't want to fight. He just said, "Who's fighting? I love you." And we kissed our girl, then each other and headed back to my mom's house.

We woke early the next morning and went to pay the funeral home. This would be the last time we'd see her. We went in, afraid again. I put her letters at her feet, her book next to her side. Ryan placed her little stuffie next to her head and we stood there together touching her and talking to her. I kissed her one last time and told her that I love her. I walked away weeping. Ryan followed a few moments later. He was the last one of us to see her anyway. I wasn't bitter this time.

We drove away quietly to go get ready for the funeral. I saw a much older, but still handsome man in the suit he'd bought, and I felt much older in the dress I was wearing. "You look beautiful." He'd taken a single white rose from the two dozen we'd bought her and gave it to me so I could place it on her casket.

The family car arrived at my mom's at 1:15. All of Eden's grandparents rode with us to the cemetery. Though it was a cloudy morning, the sun came out and it was beautiful and breezy few hours. I remember a blur for a funeral. Though it was private the only ones in attendance were family and close friends, those people were too many for just under the tent. I looked back behind me once but I didn't recognize a single face.
I remember they sang, "You are my sunshine". They sang, "Farther Along". They sang "When We All Get to Heaven". I couldn't sing. I heard voices all around me, but not Ryan's, so I didn't feel so alone.
He clenched my hand the whole time. Once he turned my face to his and wiped it, though the tears kept coming. I felt so selfish, needing him so badly. I wondered if I was stopping him from needing me.
We were each given a red rose, in addition to the one Ryan gave me. We walked up to the casket and I remember wondering "are my breasts leaking?" and I was reminded that it hadn't even been one week since I gave birth to this child and thats when my legs gave out from under me. I was using him for support, I was moaning through my cries. The cemetery was silent, and it was as though the only other person there was the one next to me. We took a single petal from the white rose to save. I handed it to Ryan and somehow found my way back to the chair between our parents. A final prayer and then it was over, all of the people coming through to hug us. 

We were leaving to go eat at my best friend's church, and I looked beside me to realize Ryan wasn't walking there. I turned around and saw him lifting a bit of the rug covering the grave, harvesting the dirt that she'd be covered in. He put it in a vial like the one we would later put the rose petal in, like the ones that hold a lock of her hair, a cut of a blanket that was around her, and the oil used for her dedication. I was watching him be intentional in fathering our child, even in his pain.

Later on that night we were making rounds to visit family before leaving, and it had begun to storm. The clouds held off and gave us a beautiful funeral, but the weather was appropriately dreary for the rest of the day. We were fighting again. After a while, I wondered if that was to be our new normal, since we never really fought before. Thats when I remembered the ugly statistic given to me in the beginning. And I was finished with fighting. All I could say was that what it was would never be as important to me as us. And when he agreed, that was it. 

When we made it back to the cemetery after dark when the storming had stopped, and we walked to her grave holding hands. My heart was in literal pain as I just sat in the damp ground at the bottom of her flowered plot. I wept, and felt his hand on my back. He was kneeling down. I whispered to him that I could have just crawled up underneath her and stayed, and he told me that he knew. I believed him.

We flew home the next day, thankfully on seats next to each other again. Then we were in our bedroom, all the "doing" over and only "feeling" left. 


It was a long weekend of us trying very hard to get out of the house. We ended up going to the grocery store and I'll always be proud of us for making it there, even though it took talking about it for two days and going on Monday. That's when we'd paid the Colorado funeral home, and then Tuesday we registered her death. How unreal it was to receive both her birth and death certificates on the same day.

Ryan went back to work on Wednesday, and organized our upcoming move. I stayed in bed all day, glad for a minute to myself but also missing him. I was happy that he had tasks to fill his day. The rest of the week I tried to be productive too, while he tried to slow down. We've both had to respect the way one another is grieving- we're each dealing with this beautiful, awful thing in different ways and at different times. He said to me the other night, "We're going to feel and act differently, just know that however we are feeling and acting is perfectly okay."

These past few days, I'm feeling a mix of things. I feel insecure, I credit the birth process for that. I feel numb, like I just don't have the energy to handle all of my emotions. I feel guilty, thinking that if Ryan hadn't married me and picked me to carry his children, maybe none of this would have happened to him. I love him so much that I'm sorry to have given him this grief.

Last night as I was trying to voice these things but struggling to find the words (people keep saying how important communicating is right now but they don't seem to have any idea how difficult communication turns out to be), this man looked at me so intently and said, "I am so grateful you are my wife and the mother of my daughter. No one else could do what you've done." And then we went to sleep with that comfort bear between us.

I've forgotten now exactly what it was that we fought about those nights, but it has not stopped bothering me that we fought. Now my fears focus on if we can keep our marriage from crumbling, if we can keep from blaming each other for our hurt, if we can be the parents we'd hoped to be without hindering one another with bitterness. My fears were calmed when he said those things to me, because I know that he does not blame me in this immediate aftermath just as I do not blame him.
You see, CDH has no known cause (yet) and that may be our saving grace... But I like to believe that even if we knew what exactly was the explanation for our daughters severe birth defect and death, we would still not fault one or the other. I know that Eden's life taught us more about our love than her death can tear us apart.

When we asked for a baby, we prayed that if there was one that would be sick or one who's life would be short, it would be ours as we knew we could love this baby better than most. I didn't realize how drastically that would change our marriage, as it would definitely change us individually. I think we forgot to pray at that same time for grace and wisdom to see each other through the kind of situation we asked for, but it is coming to us gradually. Every day I am sorry that our marriage has been born into this grief, but more grateful that this is the man God gave me to grieve with. I pray that we will make our daughter proud.

"Two are better than one,

    because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
    But how can one keep warm alone?
 Though one may be overpowered,
    two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12