‘Someone is missing in our family’
When I think about my life over the past several years, I often picture a split-screen movie.
On one side, the story begins with the safe arrival of our first child — a girl we lovingly name Elise — whom we dress in a coordinating “Here Comes Trouble” layette for the trip home from the hospital.
As we excitedly make our way home, I sit in the back seat, holding our little one’s hand, proud as can be, while Daddy grins into the rearview mirror. We see our daughter’s life unfold before our eyes during that first car trip together and imagine the endless opportunities that await her.
On the other side of the screen, the story begins with a spontaneous rupture of my uterus in the 26th week of pregnancy, a catastrophic event that results in the loss of our sweet Elise and a near miss for me.
Our first car trip together, as a family, takes place in a funeral home car. As we make our way from the church to the cemetery, my husband and I sit in the back seat, holding hands over a tiny, white casket where our daughter lies lifeless. We are exhausted. We are numb. We are in utter disbelief.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to pick which side of the screen I find myself on in real life. We cannot skip backward or jump sides. After more than 5½ years, the images of “what is” overpower those of “what if.”
Birthdays are celebrated with balloon releases at the cemetery, letters sent to Heaven, and freely flowing tears. Belongings are tucked away in memory boxes. Photographs and angel statues are scattered throughout the house. And, although we’ve been blessed with two living children since the loss of Elise, it will always feel like someone is missing in our family.
Our loss has left us with a better understanding of suffering, which has resulted in more compassion and sensitivity toward others who are facing tragic circumstances and/or challenging times.
We now have an acute awareness of the uncertainties of life and have re-prioritized as a result. We no longer take things for granted, and we make it a point to let Elise’s little brother and sister know that she is still and always will be a part of our lives.
We will be forever grateful to the Edward Foundation SHARE Program for helping us navigate through the darkest days after our loss and introducing us to other families who lost their babies as well. We’ve formed some incredible friendships through this program, dissolving our feelings of isolation.
Our participation in the planning of A Walk to Remember over the past several years has helped us channel our energies in a positive light, in memory of our daughter and all of the other babies who play in Heaven alongside her.
We want to make sure that the resources that were available to us after losing Elise will be available to other families who find themselves on the same side of the movie screen.