The Little Girl I Never Knew

Like my sister, Kendra, I doodled baby names on blank sheets of paper, imagining a tiny person that would love me completely. A baby that I could love completely. The women in my family loved our children fiercely. And a baby accepts you just as the person you truly are. That unconditional, untainted, all-consuming devotion to each other. Unlike my sister, I didn’t wait until my world was established. I discovered that I would have this child that I longed for at an early age. Sweet sixteen and embarking on a new journey. Was I scared? Hell, yes!! Was I worried that I would be unable to provide for all of a baby’s needs and wants? Again, Hell, Yes!! Did I know that I would love this tiny life that grew inside of me? Undoubtedly, Hell, Yes!!

For nine long months I wondered if I would be blessed with a beautiful little girl or a handsome baby boy. I imagined every feature of this miracle inside of me. I dreamed of the future we would share. I hoped for a world filled with happiness and tiny peels of laughter. I envisioned the baby’s smile, the baby’s cry and the baby’s personality. I secretly wished that this child would be the solution for the emptiness that, late at night, would sometimes consume me. This wondrous child would complete me.

On a balmy May day, accompanied by my mom and boyfriend I went to the hospital to finally lay eyes on my baby. The excitement filled the car as I utilized my Lamaze breathing. We giggled and laughed and shouted out the window, “We’re having a baby today!” Childbirth did not instill fear in me. Any fleeting amount of pain would not deter from the miracle that was about to happen. Little did I know that I was destined to experience a lifetime of pain beginning that fateful day.

The fear began when I saw the nurse’s eyes as she informed us that there was a problem with the baby’s heartbeat. Time agonizingly ticked by as if someone had the moment viewed in slow motion. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the doctor to arrive. He rushed into the room and announced that the baby was in distress and that he had to perform a Cesarean section. I reassured my mother that the baby and I would be fine. No one would take my baby away from me now, not after all of my dreams and plans of the future.

Ashley Marie was born that day while I dreamed of her. I was only permitted to see her briefly as my family delivered the dire news. She had been deprived of oxygen during labor and had to be whisked away to another hospital. I watched in terror as she was wheeled away. I only touched her briefly but I could still feel her on my fingertips.

For an entire month we hoped, prayed, wished, demanded that she survive. After all, we were a family filled with female survivors. After all, I wanted this precious little girl more than I wanted for anything before.

Looking around the hospital ward she shared with tiny, premature babies, we were encouraged that she would be healed. Considering she was twice or three times larger than her roommates, she had to have a better chance at healing and living. Her features were so perfectly formed. She was breathtakingly beautiful lying in her incubator so serenely. Unlike the baby girls born into our family, she had a more than modest amount of golden brown hair. Her face was not pinched, her skin was not red from the trauma of her birth. It was unfathomable that this perfect little creature could have left this world without ever knowing it. She passed from this earth only a month after fighting her way into it.

My last memory of Ashley was her lying in her tiny coffin. There should never be a need of a coffin so tiny. She laid so peacefully inside wearing her pink and white bonnet. Tragically Ashley never had the opportunity to live, laugh love. Even more tragic is the fact that I will never know of the joy of sharing her life, her love and her laughter.