She took care of me. I know it sounds odd that my still in utero baby took care of me but she did. She kicked whenever I was hungry. She let me know I had missed lunch if I got busy at work and she kicked if she decided I needed a snack in the afternoon. I always said she took care of both me and Norah by making sure mommy got enough to eat and drink.
She moved in that gentle way of hers every time I cried about her. It was so strange, I could cry about a silly commercial or cry about some work stress or just cry because I was full of pregnancy hormones and she would let me. But if I cried about her and how hard the thought of losing her was or how unfair it was that we had to let one of our girls go or cried about how I was so afraid, she would move. She let me cry for a bit, kind of letting it out, but after several minutes she would move as if to calm me down. It was like she was saying, "It's okay, Mommy. I'm still here now." It would never fail to make me smile and remind me that she was right, we still had time to celebrate her. The mourning could wait, now was the time for joy.
She took better ultrasound pictures than her sister did. It was like she was showing off her pretty face for the "camera". She turned for profile shots and moved her hands so we could see her suck her fingers. She also, somehow in those last few ultrasounds, managed to position herself so that the ultrasound picture showed not just her bone structure but her actual nose and lips and chin. How they were shaped and how pretty they were. She held still for the heartbeat images to calm Mommy down. Don't get me wrong, Norah took good US pics, too, since she's so pretty, she was just more stubborn and would not turn for the US tech to get good pictures. Aislynn knew we needed as many pictures of her as we could get. She knew how were were trying so hard to just be happy we had her with us and so she posed for pictures to help us.
My only thought on "that Monday" when I woke up and went into preterm labor was that I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I was scared for Norah, too, of course and I suppose a better mother would have been equally worried for the daughter who had the chance to live a long life, but I could mostly only think of Aislynn. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my girl; it was too soon, we were supposed to have more time. We were supposed to get her arrangements done and already have her dress picked out. There was supposed to be more time. But she and God must have known something we didn't. All day, laying in a hospital bed having contractions, listened to Norah's heartbeat they had on the monitor but I thought of Aislynn. And I prayed. I prayed that we would have time with her, that she could hang on and keep her and her sister inside for a bit longer to give time for the steroids to work on Norah's lungs.
Aislynn gave us all the time she could and my labor progressed and Dr. Meyer said it was time. He gave her a big loud "Happy Birthday" just the same as Norah and just the same as he probably gives every other baby he delivers. You may be thinking its odd or cynical of me to be pleasantly surprised by that but I am well aware that many other doctors consider Aislynn as less than a whole baby because of her defect. That all she would have been to them was a "non-viable fetus" and would have encouraged us to selectively abort her. We had one high-risk OB doctor who kind of made me think he felt that way. Luckily he was not our primary, Dr. Meyer was. Dr. Meyer saw her as we did, as a beautiful strong little girl and just as much our beloved daughter as Norah.
We had talked at length with Dr. Meyer about the kind of intervention we were willing to do with Aislynn. By intervention I mean what we were medically willing to do if she were not born breathing. We decided not to subject her to anything to invasive like intubation or chest compression It would be cruel to hold her soul here if it was time for her to go Home. But some babies, even regular, full-term, healthy babies need a few breaths with a bag mask just to get started. So that is what we agreed to, breaths with a bag mask for less than five or so minutes.
Our strong girl only needed a few breaths to get going. She just needed a tiny bit of help so she could see her mom and dad. I saw the nurse standing over her with Jay. I watched her place our baby girl in her Daddy's arms so he could show her to me. Jay said she was the first little baby he has ever held and I must say it didn't show. He was just a Daddy proudly holding his first born.
We talked to her. We said hello and told her how much we love her. We told her how beautiful she was and marveled to each other how pretty she was. Her little lips were so perfectly formed and her nose was the cutest little button. She had long beautiful fingers on her little hands. She had shapely little feet. She was a perfectly, lovingly made little baby girl. I sang a little to her as best I could from my position on the operating table. We told her over and over and over again how much we love her and how proud we were of her and how strong she was. We touched her hands and feet and stroked her little cheeks and lips and nose. We thanked her for being ours and for protecting Norah. Eventually, there was some slight change that I don't even think I could describe and we told her that if it was hard, if she was tired, that she could go Home. That she should go with Jesus and run and play in Heaven. That it would just seem like moments to her in Paradise till Mommy and Daddy were with her again. A wonderful nurse had been checking her heartbeat every several minutes checked her one last time and then shook her head. She was gone. Jesus had gathered her up gently into his arms and carried her to Heaven so she can rest and play. Our Aislynn, our beautiful, beloved baby girl, could dance and run and laugh and play because I know that the instant Jesus held her, she was made whole. Nothing was hard or hurt. She gave us the most perfect and beautiful 25 minutes I will ever experience in my entire life.
Jay was holding her the whole time. I thought later at the beautiful symmetry of Aislynn going from one father's arms, her earthly father, to her Heavenly Father's arms.
After surgery in the recovery room, I got to hold the little body where my baby's soul lived. A nurse lovingly washed her and put her in a pretty little dress and hat and gave her a stuffed bunny to hold. A giving photographer with an organization called Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep donated her time and took so, so many pictures of her and us. Nurses found a way to wheel my hospital bed all the way into the heart of the NICU right after surgery so that we could take pictures of our girls together. We took pictures of their hands and feet together so that someday we will be able to show Norah that she really did have a sister. I held her all the way back to my hospital room so we could show her to our families. Her grandparents held her and her aunt and uncle (my sister and brother) got to see her. Eventually it was time to let her go. I knew that the pretty little body was just the vessel my Aislynn had occupied for a time but the reality of letting her go and never holding her again was so terrible. Jay and I laid in the bed and held her and looked at her. Then he got up and went out to tell a nurse that we were ready. Were we ready? No. But I don't think you can be ready for that. I knew I wouldn't have the strength to hand her to a stranger; thankfully my husband, her Daddy, was strong enough for both of us. I handed her one last time to her Daddy and he kissed her and handed her to the nurse. Then I sobbed.
I had cried hard in the operating room when she died and the tears had never completely dried up. But after we let her go I really sobbed. I sobbed for the months of pain and fear we felt as we carried her not knowing what would happen. I sobbed for the shock of realizing that we were going to have to say goodbye to our daughter. I sobbed for the loss of our first born child. I sobbed for the loss of this dream, this vision of twins that I had when we first found out about them. But mostly I sobbed for my girl. I sobbed for the loss of my daughter and the holidays we wouldn't celebrate with her and the birthdays we would miss with her and the arguments we would never have and the late nights cuddling we would never have.
I miss her. I miss her so much. That may seem impossible given the short time we had and her defect but I do. Just because she was cognitively lacking changes nothing. Her soul was here and a part of our family. Jay and I and Norah and Aislynn were a family and I firmly believe our souls knew each other. And now we miss her here with us.
I know she watches over us and is the reason that Norah did so well and got out of the NICU so fast. I know she felt the love we have for her. I know she knew her Daddy was the one holding her and that her Mommy was singing to her. And I know she loves us, too.
People may think that because this is so painful, that not mentioning her and not bringing up the topic is more gentle because they don't want to upset us. But for me that seems to hurt worse. I need to talk about her. I need for people to know she was real and here and that we will celebrate her as we mourn her. We are really mourning for ourselves, for how we will miss her. She is dancing in paradise.
Thank you for reading this story of our daughter. Thank you for sharing in her life. Thank you for supporting us through our joy and grief.
To Aislynn - Your Mommy and Daddy think of you every moment of every day. You will be talked about and remembered always. Norah will know how much you love her and how you protected her. You are so loved, baby girl. We will see you some day soon. You can show us the best spots in Heaven to play and take us to see all the people you've met. Fly with us, angel. Mommy and Daddy love you.
"How very softly you tiptoed into my world.
Almost silently; only a moment you stayed.
But what an imprint your footprints have left
on our hearts."
Thank you so much for sharing your sweet girl with us. She is definitely loved and remembered here too!
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