Her Name Was Christa
Mother's Day has always been difficult for me. Today I'm going to finally share my entire story with you about my daughter that passed away. Get some tissues. ..and stick with it - it's long, but worth it.
When I became pregnant with my first child I was 24 years old, married to my first husband and living in Nashville, Tennessee. He didn't want children and when I became pregnant it put a strain on an already rocky marriage. We were young, had different spiritual beliefs (I was Christian and he did not believe in anything), and we weren't headed in the same direction as each other.
Looking back now I can see more clearly why we were never meant to be, but I can also see why God brought us both together.
I found out I was pregnant in the fall of 1996 and we had just moved to Nashville from Orlando, Florida. It was big surprise to find out only weeks later that I was pregnant with our first child. I was scared, but excited. He was just not ready at all to be a parent and it nearly caused him to leave me. That all changed one morning. I will never forget it. I remember it as though it happened yesterday.
We were getting ready for work and I was excited because that was the day I was to have my first ultra-sound appointment. I was five months pregnant and I was so anxious to see my baby and find out the gender. My happy spirits were crushed when he told me he had no intention of going to that appointment and he had in fact had plans to leave me. He told me was going to move back to Colorado. He left the apartment in a rush and I chased his car up a hill - running while my five month belly swayed back and forth.
He later returned and we drove to work together. I cried the entire way and begged him to come to the ultra-sound appointment. Somehow, by the grace of God he changed his mind and did go with me. This is when things grew intense. We had no idea how much our lives were about to change.
The ultra-sound technician told us we were having a girl and I was over the moon happy! ...and then she kept looking and taking photographs of the baby. After several minutes she excused herself and went to get my Doctor. The Doctor looked at the baby via ultra-sound and then asked us to meet her in her office. My stomach sank.
Within minutes we were being told that our daughter had a Diaphragmatic Hernia and that she had less than a 40% chance of survival. We had to decide in a matter of days if I was going to terminate the pregnancy or try and carry to term so that could have surgery. My heart froze. How could this be happening?
Here I was in a broken marriage and pregnant with my first child that was very sick. My family lived far away, I didn't have many friends yet in Nashville. I have never felt so ALONE in my entire life.
Thankfully I had made a few friends at work and one of them was a Christian. He was able to convince my husband to attend church and have people pray for our baby. Reluctantly he agreed and thus began his journey to finding Christ. Together we prayed for our daughter, whom we named Christian but called her Christa.
I was referred to a Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctor that only handles high risk pregnancies and he was amazing! Dr. Wheeler worked at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville and I was in the best possible care available. There are so many more details I could share with you, but the journey was a very long process. I had my stomach pierced with a long needle to drain extra amniotic fluid, I had numerous ultra-sounds and tests. Let's just say, I went through a lot!
I carried Christa for four months - all the way to term - not knowing if she was going to live or die. I carried her not knowing her fate and wanted so desperately to keep her safe inside my womb. I can't even begin to tell you what a mind F--K that is to carry a child knowing they might die. That pain is STILL engraved on my heart and I will never forget it. I cried myself to sleep, I prayed dozens of times a day, and I loved her so MUCH!
What is a Diaphragmatic Hernia? Basically it is a hole in the diaphragm that allowed her stomach, intestines and spleen to slip up into her chest cavity. This prevented her lungs from growing and pushed her heart to the side. The surgery would entail pulling those organs back through the hole and sealing it up with gor-tex - which is what is used in rain coats. It would be a risky surgery, and a long recovery.
I was induced on August 13th, 1997 and was in labor for nearly 17 hours. On August 14th Christa's heart rate began to fall rapidly and I was rushed in the Operating Room for an emergency C-section. When they took her out there was no cry. She was blue-ish and limp. There was an entire team from the NICU that began to work on her immediately. I didn't get to see her until the next day.
When I entered the NICU room she was connected to tubes and monitors and I.V. drips. She was beautiful though. She looked so BEAUTIFUL to me. I saw past all of that and held her hand and talked to her. I kissed her head, I prayed over her asking God to please heal her. It was so much to take on at the young age of 24. I was completely overwhelmed.
I quickly became friends with one of Christa's NICU nurses at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. Her name was Debby. She took me under her wing as though I was her baby sister. I don't know what I would have done without her. I believe God sent her to me. She would later become my son's nurse too. After all these years we are still friends. In fact, she is one of my BEST friends. A friendship 100% created by God.
Thank God for the parents in the NICU waiting room. Each of us with a different story. All of us with heavy hearts. It was a special kind of club, but one you never want to belong to. I will never forget every single person that prayed with me, that I prayed with, took walks outside with, hugged and cried with. Being a NICU parent is much like being on a rollercoaster with no end in sight. It just keeps rolling up and down. Good days and bad days. Progress followed by set backs. ...and you thought you were having a stressful day? Ha!
Christa had her surgery and it was a success, but she later developed Pulmonary Hypertension and needed a heart and lung transplant. We were told we needed to make a decision to transfer her to St. Louis Children's Hospital where she would wait for a transplant, but might not even survive the transfer there, or to take her off life support. Yeah. How in the hell do you make a decision like THAT?
We were being told to either risk sending her to another hospital for a transplant and IF she survived she would need multiple other heart surgeries that she also may not survive OR get this - look at a calendar and pick the day my child dies? Are you out of your BLEEPING mind???? I haven't even gotten to hold my daughter yet and you want me to decide WHAT????
She was days away from being 3 weeks old. I had never held her. I had never fed her. I had never heard her cry. I had never taken her for walks outside or showed her the crib we had waiting for her. WAIT A MINUTE GOD! THIS IS NOT FAIR!
Christa's father and I prayed, talked to others that had taken their child off life support, prayed some more and finally made the decision. We would remove her off life support and pray for a miracle. ...but what DAY? WHEN? How are you suppose to decide something like that? It is the most painful decision to make. Choose the day your child dies. Could YOU do it? We had to. ...and if my ex is reading this - you need to know that we are forever BONDED from this entire experience. Period.
September 4th. That was the day. F--K you September.
The days leading up to September 4th were filled with making funeral arrangements before she died and relatives coming in to see her. My parents came from Colorado but only stayed 2 days and left a day before her funeral. I begged them to stay, but my dad refused siting that he hates funerals because they are hard on him. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? This is YOUR Granddaughter! What the hell is wrong with you? To make matters worse I later found out that he and my mom told everyone they DID attend the funeral. I honestly felt so empty and my own parents couldn't even be there for me.
My ex's parents and sister came. They stayed through the funeral. I remember the day before we took Christa off life support my ex's sister proudly shared her news of expecting another baby. Wow. Was I suppose to be happy for you? Could THAT have waited?
The day we took her off life support we were surrounded by friends that took turns coming in to see Christa. I was FINALLY able to hold her, tubes and all. Christa's father and I took turns in the rocking chair holding our daughter. The daughter that taught my ex (her father) to accept Christ. The daughter that forever altered my heart. The daughter that changed so MUCH about who her father and I were as human beings.
His parents wanted to hold Christa. I was so torn and confused about this. I was in an emotional sea of distress and my heart was hurting like it never had before. My parents left before they could hold Christa and for some reason I was not about to let his parents hold her if mine didn't. Back then it made perfect sense to me, but looking back I regret that and I'm forever sorry. A therapist later explained to me that when you are going through such deep amounts of grief you make choices that may hurt others or don't make sense. It's not an excuse. It's the reality of losing a child and the tremendous amount of grief you are enduring. I never meant to hurt them. My heart is so sorry.
When they removed her tubes I was holding her, rocking her, crying. Her blue eyes looking up at me and there was nothing that mommy could do to save her. I wanted to take her place. I would have taken her place. I was finally holding my daughter and there she lay in my arms taking her final breaths. My world flipped upside down and I will never recover from that day. Not ever.
I have survived many things in my life. Losing my daughter, losing my son by his own choice, surviving my childhood (that's another story), nearly losing my third daughter to an illness, and somehow I am still standing. My heart has taken a heavy beating and God sustains me. He loves me.
This Mother's Day and EVERY Mother's Day is difficult. More difficult now that my son is gone too. Today I am reminded of my three beautiful children. I'm reminded of the GIFT I was given to be called upon to be their mother. No, I'm not perfect. Neither are you. However, my LOVE for my children is strong, steady and will NEVER fade. My son can run from me for the rest of his life and I will still be here loving him, praying for him, and should he ever need me - he knows how to find me. A mother's LOVE NEVER dies.
You know, I left that hospital on September 4th, 1997 empty handed. Parents were leaving with their perfect, healthy newborn babies and my ex and I drove off with an empty infant car seat in the back. It just wasn't fair.
The sun was setting as we were leaving that day and the sky was the most beautiful color pink you have ever seen. Christa's father and I knew at that moment she was home in Heaven, sending us a sign that she was healthy and whole again.
God brought my ex and I together so that he could find Christ. God brought us together because He knew we were the parents that would love our children with our whole hearts. God brought us together so that we would seek HIM in all that we do. God brought us together for reasons that haven't even been revealed to us yet. Even though we are now divorced, God is STILL at work through our son, Noah.
Nine months after Christa passed away we were sitting in church on Mother's Day. The Pastor called for all the mom's to stand up to receive a flower. My friend nudged me and said, "Vanessa, that's you! Stand up! You are a mom!" That moment is frozen in my mind forever. It didn't occur to me that just because Christa had passed away I wasn't still a mom. So, I stood and cried and thus began my very long journey of painful Mother's Days. Painful and joyful.
God is good. I left the hospital with my son ON Mother's Day. I also left the hospital with my daughter, Ashlyn ON Mother's Day. What a beautiful gift that was.
Children own their mother's hearts. It never goes away. Our children can hate us, speak badly about us, ignore us, but NONE of that can take our love away. I just pray my son communicates with me before it's too late. Tomorrow is NOT a promise.
If you have experienced the loss of a child, my heart goes out to you today.
Happy Mother's Day to all the grieving moms out there. This is STILL YOUR DAY. Don't let ANYONE take that away from you. You will ALWAYS be MOM.
PS: I'm still waiting for September to end.
Me and Christa at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital - September 4, 1997