Annie

Five years ago today, I walked down a hospital hallway, past the maternity ward, to a lab office. I was having blood drawn to confirm what we already knew: our little baby was gone. We said goodbye to the sweet baby we never knew on this day. In our grief, we chose to give the baby a name: Annie. I never knew her. I never held her. Yet not a day goes by that I don't remember that once, there were four. While the memory is still painful, Annie, in some ways more than any of my other children, has shaped me as a nurse. A piece of her is with me each time I walk through loss with a family, and in just a very small way, I know the pain they're feeling. She, more than anyone else, has taught me the beauty of grief, of loving well even in the face of loss, of holding on while we let go.

Life has come a long way in five years, but sometimes it's still good to stop and remember. Even in the pain and loss, I'm thankful that Annie was (and in many ways still is) a part of our family. I would never trade the experience of carrying her, even when it meant losing her.  It was my honor and privilege, and she changed my life.