*Just the same as my previous blog post, I want to give my more vulnerable friends the opportunity to skip over this blog post if you are not in the place to receive this kind of birth story.* ***We are all responsible for our own triggers*** *and we all have the right to move past content that might not be for us in this season of life.*
*Sending love and light to anyone who might need to move past this blog post and I’ll see you on the next one. <3*

I had every intention of writing this blog post a little over a week ago on her birthday but just like I learned early on in my grief journey I leaned into honoring where I was rather than beating myself up. Naturally, it was a heavy day but also— it was filled with so much love amongst my little family. Sage (our 5 yr old son) woke up so excited to go to the cemetary and “spend time with his sister” on her 6th birthday. Raeya (our almost 2 yr old… WHAT) had no idea what was going on but was pumped to be along for the ride and play at the cemetery. Anyway… I’m here. And here’s the second half of Nona’s birth story. <3

From that point forward it was as if I was no longer inside my own body. But rather I was watching everything from a third person point of view floating above my own body. Witnessing the scene unfold before me. Tears flowed from my eyes… or hers? Mine? That was me? It was happening to me? It was. It was real. It was real. It couldn’t be though… someone would soon find out this was all a massive misunderstanding. There was no way that life could have been this cruel to me. I remember wanting so badly to be the woman who broke. To be the woman whose scream and agony could be heard through the entire building as her heart shattered and was engulfed in flames. But… I couldn’t. I allowed myself tears and as much pain as I tolerate when I asked my midwives, “What now?” I knew that there was still more that I had to do. Because it had to be me. Nobody else could birth my baby for me. And I knew that I couldn’t break. Not yet. And then it occured to me… I would have to tell him. My husband. I would have to tell him that our little girl had died. And that we still had so much work ahead of us. I remember someone suggesting that I call him and tell him to come but not to tell him why. They were worried about his safety in driving a vehicle after being delivered such life altering news. But how was I supposed to do that? Get on the phone and lie to him? Tell him we were fine? What could they possibly expect me to say to get him to drive over without telling him what had happened. So I called him, and I told him the truth. I told him that they couldn’t find her heartbeat. And to this day, that was the hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make in my entire life. Those moments following truly were all a blur. I know Alejandro rushed over to the birth center. At some point I think I called my mom? Texted her? Was it even me? I can’t recall fully. All I know is she was contacted. Then the midwives let us know our options… We could go home and take some time before going to the hospital to be induced… Or we could head straight over and start the process. They also informed me that the hospital “had better equipment” making it sound like there was a possibility that she was alive. Which hurt because we all knew she wasn’t. Anyway, I knew without giving it much thought that I HAD to go straight to the hospital because if I went home knowing what lied ahead, there was no way I could bring myself to leave my home.

And so we did. We went to the hospital to begin the induced labor to birth our stillborn daughter.

One of our midwives drove Alejandro’s car so that we could ride together and both of our vehicles would be at the hospital. My mom arrived shortly after we did. I remember her asking the doctors if there was any way it could be a mistake… if somehow she could be okay. She verbalized what I wouldn’t fully allow my heart to hope for. My mom then proceeded to call my siblings and tell them all the news. For some reason this made me so angry. There was this deeply imbedded shame that coursed through my veins like fire. I was ashamed that she died? But I couldnt understand why. I was embarrassed that she died but couldnt understand why…. It wasn’t until later that I realized that so much of that stemmed from guilt. Feeling guilty that she lived inside me and I didnt save her. I didnt keep her safe. I failed as a mom.

Over the next 42 hours I went through the motions. Brothers visiting. The medications. Sisters visiting.. The foley catheter. Cousins. The pitocin. Friends. The contractions. Thoughtless “at least” comments. The epidural. Never really in my body aside from the moments I would shatter.

Something that will stay with me forever was the night before she was born. Alejandro left to go to the house and collect the things we needed for her… for us… and took some time for himself not to be strong. To feel what he needed so that he could come back and be the support that I needed. Anyway, he came back with our things. Everyone gave us some privacy to just be. Just us. Me. Alejandro. And Nona still resting within the walls of my womb. He layed in bed with me and wrapped me in his arms as he pulled a book out of our bag of things. And he began reading us a bedtime story. The three of us in that bed. The calm before the storm.

And then at last, on July 11th around 10:45 am… I was complete. 10 cm. It was time. And I was fucking terrified. Childbirth is supposed to be driven by the love hormone. The knowing that your sweet baby was going to be in your arms. That you were bringing LIFE into this world. Only I wasn’t… I was giving birth to my daughter, yes. But on the other side of the coin, I was also giving birth to death. And the thought of having to go through childbirth knowing my daughters life wasnt inside her body terrified me. How was I going to summon the strength?

My best friend, Kaylea, was supposed to photograph the birth of Nona. That was always the plan. But when I found out it was time… shame reared it’s ugly head. I couldn’t photograph THAT. My body failing me. Failing her. And so I told my mom to tell her that I didn’t want her to photograph or be present for her birth. And to this day that is a decision I deeply regret.

I remember thinking how cruel it was that I had to do this. That I had to still birth her. But I did… I pushed for around 20 minutes. Towards the end I remember giving it everything inside of me so that it could finally be over. I could finally be done.

And then she was born. And I swept her into my arms.

And I fell so unbelievably head over hills in love with her. My little girl. Half of me, half of the person I loved most. The perfect little baby I spent the last 9 months growing inside my belly. There was this distinct shift I remember happening. My thoughts taking such a new form. From the perspective of a mother. Because I was STILL a mother. All the fear melted away. Because she was in my arms. I didn’t see death. I didn’t see loss. I saw her. And me. And Alejandro. Watching Alejandro snuggle her and look at her with such pride both made me fall even more in love with him and broke me more than I ever imagined. HIS daughter. He was robbed of HER life and what HIS fatherhood was supposed to look like.

Most of our family waited in the hospital to meet her. And at last they did. They oohed and ahhed over her. They sobbed. They held us. They grieved with us. I’ll always remember our the words of our dear friend Kelsie, when she arrived to meet our baby girl. She offered her condolences and expressed her heartbreak for us all and in the same breath she said “Congratulations”. I’ll never forget it. Because in this worst nightmare of our reality… we still became parents. We still made this beautiful human being. I still gave birth. And that was something that was never acknowledged amongst so much loss.