My Child Was Unique. My Child Was Worthy.

My pregnancy was an experience I would never wish upon another human being. It was joyous, heart-wrenching, devastating and riddled with mix waves of emotion across the spectrum.

Though many may have faced similar feelings throughout their pregnancy experiences, my outcome led to the starkest contrast of emotions one can possibly feel at delivery.

I was entrusted to carry chaos in the most sacred of forms; I held life and death within my womb simultaneously and forever will embrace the scar that leaves upon the soul.

You see, I carried twins.

My children are as different as night and day; moonlight and sunshine. As a high-risk pregnancy from the start, fear of what could come always danced alongside the joy of the growth and victories, regardless of how minor they may have appeared.

One of my twins was textbook healthy, and the other was diagnosed with a likely fatal mix of complications. Both were adored for every moment of their existence; for every heartbeat, every kick, every oddity that unfolded.

Together they ushered me towards motherhood, my calm in the storm and my delicate warrior.

As complications began to mount, an onset of powerlessness falls upon the experiences and a clinging to the promises my faith held. I prayed daily for my children, to remain healthy and for miracles to occur.

Instead of my hopes of miraculous healing, my child’s heart stopped and weeks would pass before I could deliver him and his brother.

One Of Our Twins Has Died. Now What?

I began grieving the dreams I held the moment complex complications were found, while still holding hope. I was broken when this hope was stripped from me as his beating stopped and stillness fell upon half of my womb.

I was shredded in the moment of holding them both for the first time… one pinkened and warm while the other lay peeling, broken and limp, as weeks of breakdown robbed me from seeing his features in their truest form.

It’s taken years to find and come to peace with my truth. I never asked for complications or for death to befall my family; I begged for my child to be healed.

I can’t hate the creator for healing him in a way different than my vision. I asked for this.

Yet, even with this new found peace and acceptance of the path I had been placed upon, I wasn’t prepared for the sting of learning there was no filed record of my child’s death with the state, though there should have been.

I avoided this possibility for years sensing it had additional risk based on comments rumored in the walls of the hospital… only finding the motivation to go and ask as a third anniversary neared.

Being faced with the insult to our forever injury.

Don’t Tell Me Times Heals All Wounds

Through this painful knowledge, I found my mind trying to sort through the information presented while my emotions dragged me back in time; eager to scream from within.

After nearly an hour of cycling through these thoughts that couldn’t be ceased, I pressed record and let the tears fall as my inner voice was given room to speak… shaky voiced and desperately in need to be heard.

“My child was not what they expected.
My child was not normal per their standards and statistics.

My child was not what they saw society should have within its bounds.
My child was seen as a burden in waiting.

My child was unique and wonderfully made.
My child was worthy of the hope and the love that we gave.
My child was worthy of your respect in that choice.

My child did not take a breath as you and I did.
My child’s heart ceased just as you said it would.
My child was worthy through his differences to be honored.

My child was unique and deserved to be documented.
My child was unique and worthy of a death certificate.

My child was worthy of being called my child,
and not merely referred to as medical waste.

I understand your statistics may have told you this would have only brought harm.
But a mother’s intuition deserved to be honored, and the life within deserved to be cherished.

If your child was formed uniquely, wouldn’t you wish for them to be honored,
respected, and viewed as worthy if you choose hope against the odds?

My child was unique. My child was worthy. “

In loving remembrance of Quinn Ezekiel.
March 8th, 2016, embraced April 6th, 2016

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About the Author: Jessica is a mother of twins, one on earth and one above: journeying through joy of another day and the sorrow that came with her dandy’s passing. Aiming to embrace daily bittersweet living.