Hello and welcome back to another blog. I’m pretty sure it’s been a year since I’ve written anything but believe me when I say so many storms have come and gone and it has definitely left us forever changed. Alas, here we are again, finally getting our bearings together.
If you know me personally or if we are FB friends, you would know that I’ve just welcomed a little girl, my daughter, our Heartley. I want to share my story; my daughter’s story, one that she’ll also learn about one day when she’s old enough. While it’s quite personal and raw, as once a skeptic, I want to share it for those who sit with the same beliefs; straddling the divine, the logical and scientific, and the miracles and much more beyond.
In the last couple of years, my husband and I started talking again about adding to our family. For a long time we were convinced that we were content with Rowyn being our only child and was certain we could make peace with that decision. Sadly, I don’t think we were ever fully sold on it.
So, in 2020, we officially started trying again. At the start of that journey, we agreed that it would be our last attempt, given our age, where we were in life and everything else in between.
Finally, in 2021 we became pregnant! We thought for sure grace fell upon us once again. And then we got the news that we were not only expecting 1, but 2 little girls! We were thrilled! Scared, but still over the moon. Given my complicated OB history, we were placed with a maternal fetal team to manage the pregnancy. They put all the appropriate precautions and interventions in place so we were beyond a doubt, HOPEFUL, that I would at the very least make it to viability.
Sadly, in September of 2021 we lost our beautiful girls, Capriy and Gracelynn at 22wks.
Once again, shaving off layers of my heart, I did what no mother should ever have to do and delivered my babies knowing they weren’t going to stay with me.
I sat there with my girls in my arms, eyes dried, watching the clock tick later and later into the evening. Perhaps it was something that lingered in the air, or maybe it was the radiant moonlight that night, but unlike all the other rodeos, I mustered up the courage to utter a decent goodbye to my girls. I apologized for our short time together and for the pain I’ve caused. I asked for forgiveness and then I asked for one more thing. I said “please don’t look back on your journey into the afterlife, don’t long and search for an unfortunate mother like me. You deserve life and so much more than I can give you, so go back, go rewrite the perfect story and ask for a mother who can give you all of that. God knows how hard I’ve tried, but unfortunately our ties end here, so give us both the closure we need and don’t come back to me.” These words pierced like a dagger. It broke me, and as a Mother, I felt like the ultimate traitor, but something told me it had to be done
I can’t begin to describe what occurred in the days following our departure. It wasn’t like I hadn’t experienced loss before. I don’t know if it was because I had so much hope in this pregnancy and that we came so far or that we decided it was going to be our last. Regardless, I plummeted to the bottoms of the earth and spiraled dangerously out of control. The more I looked into my husband’s eyes, the more guilty and defeated I felt. More anger and hatred brewed in me. If I thought I’ve ever felt death before, I had no idea what laid ahead in the days and weeks that followed.
I’ve never greived as much as I did for the girls. I’ve never lingered as hard as I did for the girls. I’ve never felt so empty; so defeated and unhuman. I’d withdrawal on the couch all day long and have my head slump over the edge to see if the tears would flow backwards and back into those sockets. I was combative with my husband. I was slipping further and further away from reality. I was a toxic bomb waiting to explode. I’d cry myself numb to sleep only to wake up and repeat. And when my son was around, I locked myself away from him so he wouldn’t see how much broken I was.
One day, 2 days, 3 days and 4. My anger and psychoses brewed into an unimaginable point. I was hanging by a thread and so was my husband. Life was on the verge of breaking, cracks were settling into every nook and cranny of this once strong support system we’ve built together.
On that 4th day, I was still very much in a blur. I woke up as I’ve done in days past. I cried just as much as I have, but I found myself having a million conversations and confrontations in my mind – and I was only talking to 1 person. I was angry. I was spiteful and I was vengeful. Among the fight and profanity that slewed in my mind I remembered the last thing I said before slipping into a sleeping spell, “When my time is done on this earth, I will find you and I have a score to settle with you”.
I walked among people I knew. Familiar faces, one of those my husband’s. The sun was beating down on us. It was mid-afternoon. The air felt warm, and the backdrop had almost an orange hue. It felt like puppy love, so new and so fresh. I knew the street we were on. I knew the neighborhood and I knew where we were headed. My husband took my hand as we walked and it felt like it did the very first time. As new as that love felt, oddly enough I remembered that we had a son together. So with that large crowd in tow, we made our way to pick up my son who was apparently with my Mom. We came to a building that reminded me of one of my childhood homes. The ground was all cemented. There was a small basket ball court in front of the building where a teenage boy was playing by himself. It looked like a school yard scene right out of the 90’s.
We made our way to the only visible entrance and walked up a steep set of enclosed stairs. At the top of the stairs was a door to enter into the home. As I opened the door, the first image I saw was a woman sitting in the living room looking off into the distance. She had a blue scarf wrapped around her head, like the women did in the old country. And then suddenly, I knew who she was. Grandma Yee. I gasped in excitement. I quickly whispered to my Mom “Is that grandma?!” She said, “of course”. I was overwhelmed with so much happiness and joy, didn’t even remember for a split second that she had passed away so long ago. I just remember being so excited to introduce her to my husband. I ran up and sat down next to her and the conversations that followed lives vividly in my memory to this day.
She looked like she did when I was a young girl. It was really her!
I said “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in so many years!”
She says, “I’ve been here, but I’ve been so lonely, sweetheart, eating alone by myself everyday. I wait for my children, but no one ever comes”
Kuv ces, niaj hnub nyob xwb os me naiv aw. Kuv niam ua tau ib pluag los niam tsis muaj leejtwg nrog kuv noj. Kuv niam niaj hnub ntsia txoj xub ke los niam tsis pom tej menyuam tuaj saib kuv li os.
“Don’t be sad Grandma, look at my mom, she’s still so young and even now she gets upset when we don’t show up for dinner”
Just then the house filled up with people. It was like they were preparing for a big feast. I remember seeing my sister helping to set the table.
I touched grandma on her shoulder and said “Come on Grandma, let’s go eat”
I glanced one more time to my left at the large dinner table and when I turned back around she had both my hands in hers
“Sweet child, why are you crying so much? You need to stop crying now”
Me naiv, cas koj pheej quaj ua luaj nas? Txhob quaj quaj lawm mas
Just then I thought to myself, “I’m not crying? If anything I’m happy!”
She let out a subtle sigh and then said, “LET ME SEE IF I CAN HELP GIVE YOU A DAUGHTER”
Cia seb pab puas tau ib tug me ntxhais rau koj os
And just like that, her face, that room, everything disappeared into thin air.
I woke up asleep next to my husband. It was late in the afternoon. The sun was still peaking through the blinds of our bedroom. It felt so real. I know it was real. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and didn’t know what to make of it but one thing was for sure, it calmed my heart. From the toxic high I’d been having, I was now slowly sinking back down to reality. Maybe it was fear or shock, but my entire demeanor changed. I’ve hit another pivotal moment.
My husband was returning back to work that night after taking a week off. Knowing he would be gone, I knew the night was going to be dreadfully long so I tried my hardest to stay sane in his absence. He tucked my son into bed, comforted me for sometime and made his way to work.
I don’t remember how long it took for me to sink into another dream. I had no idea how much time had past. I remember my eyes feeling so heavy. It was difficult to get them to open but there was so much bright light coming in from the window. I got up and sat on the edge of the bed and even raised my left arm up to block the light.
Again, the room felt warm, humid almost. And before I could even think of anything, my bedroom door flew open. From that point on, everything moved in slow motion. I was scared to see what would come through that door. The room got brighter and brighter and then in came a man. From what I could tell he was Caucasian, tall, had a grayish/whitish stubble of a beard and looked like he was maybe in his mid to late 60’s. He had a walking stick or a staff in his left hand, I couldn’t quite make out the color and he donned a bright colored robe/cloak that went down to his feet.
I stood up from where I was sitting, I was almost scared. “Who was this stranger that just broke into my house in the middle of the night? And is he even human?!”
I looked at him again and knew exactly who he was this time (or so I thought I did). Not many people can say that they’ve met him. Some people pray their entire lives to meet him and here I was, standing right in front of who I assume was THE MAN from ABOVE. It made sense. I’d only been cursing at him all day, I thought. And as I realized all of this, I began to scream out, “You son of a…”.
Right then, I saw him raise up his right hand and suddenly I couldn’t speak. My mouth was moving but no words came out. I was furious and so I continued to struggle and resist. I wanted to charge at him. He had a stern look on his face, almost nonchalant, but calm. He didn’t say a single word and yet, I could almost make out what he intended to say. I could now see him moving closer and closer to me and then just like magic, everything disappeared.
I woke up drenched in a light sweat. It was pitch dark outside and in my room, nothing but the sprinkle of light coming from the TV I had left on. The anger that had been raging in me for days had suddenly come to a sudden stall. I could feel the pressure in my veins lifting slowly. My heart that was so uptight was now floating back to reality, to a steady plateau. Was this a feeling of closure? I was uncertain, but one thing was for sure, 2 people paid me a visit that day, regardless of what I made of it.
Eventually, I shared these encounters with my husband and my Mom. Both were unsure of it’s purpose and meaning, but my Mom did feel that perhaps it really was a visitation from my Grandma. Nonetheless, days past and so did weeks and even months. I very much forgot about it and moved on.
It was an early Sunday morning, sometime in March. We started our day as we always did, early, mundane and uneventful, doing odds and end things before my husband takes his work nap. Although I can’t quite remember all the tedious things we were doing, I recall that it was interrupted by multiple, annoying trips to the bathroom. Finally my husband said, “Why don’t you just take a pregnancy test, you always get that way when you’re pregnant”.
Now I found that statement odd for 2 reasons. 1, my husband is the last person in the world to suggest a pregnancy test. Because of how many negative pee sticks we’ve seen in our life time, it’s just not something he would ever suggest, not even if we were actively trying. 2, for me to have that much of an urgency, I would be quite far along already, if my memory served me right.
Strangely enough, I had an extra test laying around so I just went for it.
MIRACLE! Two lines showed up within seconds!
As you can imagine, we didn’t celebrate. It would be a cruel joke to even jump in excitement at that point. We just looked at each other dazed and confused. Of course, that event was followed by many days of further positive testing.
Finally, after almost a week of many positive results, I put a call into the clinic. We weren’t going to believe it until a doctor confirmed it, and even THEY didn’t believe it. Alas, we confirmed I was indeed pregnant. The ultrasound suggested I was almost 10 weeks along. At that point, my OB had very little hope still, stating the chances of viability was slim given I conceived on my own.
I began to question the miracle we had at our hands. A large part of me wanted to be convinced that all of this originated from my dreams months ago. Still, I wasn’t a believer quite yet. There was one more vital piece to this puzzle, and it was weeks away to be confirmed.
As skeptic as the doctors were, my pregnancy progressed. At one point they even mentioned taking drastic precautionary measures to further ensure viability but we decided to take a leap of faith. It wasn’t like we haven’t done all we could in the past. There was a sliver of me that wanted to see what miracles were really made of and whether or not I was actually witnessing one.
At our 18week ultrasound, it was confirmed that we were indeed having a little GIRL! Those 3 very small but very distinct tell tale sign most definitely confirmed she was a GIRL.
Now if you go back to the details of my dream, this was either a miracle or a continuous streak of coincidences. By this point, I was convinced, at least 95% that this was for sure the work of my grandmother and the divine.
Early into the 2nd trimester I started having contractions. Braxton hicks. It was pretty bad, continuous, back to back, and all day long. We were told 24wks was the magic number for us, we needed to hit that mark since it was the earliest chance for viability (the safest point anyway) and I was nowhere close to that milestone yet. So once again, I put all my bets into faith. I prayed every day to my Grandmother
“Grandma, if it’s really you, if you led this child to me, please watch over her. PLEASE KEEP US SAFE. Guide her until she’s born healthy and safe and sound in my arms. When that day comes, I’ll return your deed with a proper meal”
I repeated this every single day. And every single morning I managed to still wake up pregnant. And at every single OB visit, baby girl passed with flying colors, even my cervix held up through all the contractions, which was half of the battle.
Slowly but surely, we passed all our weekly milestones, yet my prayers and asks grew and grew. It was only human of me to become greedy. Once we reached viability, I then asked my grandmother for a healthy full-term baby. Now we all know that we need to be careful what we wish for, specifically when asking our ancestors. I asked her to guide us safely to 38weeks. I knew that perhaps I was pushing my luck, given my complicated OB history, but here was my reasoning for that request. My son was born 35 weeks premature, so nothing about that delivery was “normal”. We never got to hold him when he was born. I delivered him in the OR and then the NICU team took him right away. The two weeks that we endured in the NICU was traumatizing to say the least and it was so very hard on his little body. I didn’t want another one of my child to go through the same torment again.
And that milestone, we victoriously crossed. Coincidentally, I was scheduled for induction at 38 weeks.
I was quite anxious and nervous the night before induction but managed to fall asleep at some point. In the early hours of the morning, I was woken up by the tapping of raindrops on our window and the howling of the wind. It had been raining all night. My eyes were closed but I was sure I was awake. It was cold, almost like there was a draft on my side of the bed. Then, I felt a presence in our room. Maybe it was my son? I waited, but nothing. Then, I felt a slight weight shift at the foot of the bed, just like someone swiftly sat down. Normally, I would panic and waste no time to wake up my husband, but I felt so tired, so – unbothered. And before I knew it, I dozed off again.
Our alarms went off and now the real show was about to begin. I got up, sat at the edge of the bed and whispered, “Grandma, if you’re here, please accompany your great grand-daughter and I to the hospital and stay by our side. If this miracle is your doing, please guide us through a quick and smooth delivery”
We arrived to the hospital around 7:30 am amid thunder and pouring rain. Ironic isn’t it? What kind of sign was this?
Shortly after we were settled into our room, the attending doctor made her way in; a young, short-haired blonde, who was rambunctiously talking away with the nurses. She came and sat at the foot of my bed and introduced herself and then just like the flip of a switch her demeanor changed. Her eyes began to well up with tears
“I was so happy when I saw your name come across the board. I delivered your girls last year and never stopped thinking about you – so I’m not leaving until we get this baby girl into your arms, safe and sound”
I had no idea who she was; absolutely no recollection of her but tears instantly ran down my cheeks. She came in for a hug and then proceeded to do her exam. We were all stunned, I was measuring at “5” already! She stated I would have 4 hours to progress naturally and then she would reassess at that point. The team prepped supplies and then exited the room.
My husband looked at me and goes, “You don’t remember her do you? She DID deliver the girls. I remember the tattoo on her arm”.
How everything was aligning so methodically. Still a coincidence?
By 1:00 pm, she came in to break my water and then active labor started. At 2:25 pm, our sweet baby girl came into this world and was placed so perfectly, safe and sound in my arms.
After we brought Heartley home, my parents helped us pay respects to Grandma Yee. It was very bitter sweet. It was a brutally, cold Sunday. My Mom helped me complete the ritual in our backyard. We offered, we spoke, we thanked, and we cried and cried. I felt so at ease and at peace. That miracle had come full circle. My work was finished – her work was finished.
I don’t know what kind of magic this was, but everything I asked for came to fruition and because it did, this was me fulfilling my promise. My heart cried out, and that call was received and delivered, so coincidence or not, I was going to follow through.
Here’s what I make of this miracle and why I believe it defies coincidence. I don’t pray, even in the off chance that I do or did, it is never to my grandmother specifically. Culturally, because I carry my husband’s last name, I would technically have to pray to HIS ancestors, not mine, and especially not my mother’s. Although I love my Grandma, she lived in a different state and passed away when I was ten or eleven so we never had the opportunity to develop a relationship or build a bond which is why she does not cross my mind during such catastrophic events in my life. But here’s the irony. I truly believe in visitations from our loved ones that have crossed over. I may not think of my Grandmother, but she visits me in my darkest times and that’s the key word, my darkest times. It’s not like I dream about her often or can even trigger a dream. Since she’s passed, I’ve dreamt of her 3 times, all during catastrophic moments in my life: during my divorce, during my first depression, and during my third pregnancy loss. Sadly enough, each time I see her, the encounters are the same, quick, vivid, and to the point. What never changes in our conversations is her asking me to “stop crying”. One would think that’s a sure sign to work on my spiritual health if my grandma senses it so often, right? I suppose I’ll heal someday – I keep saying.
I’ve asked my mom why she thinks I get visitations from my Grandma. She’s unsure either since she wishes to dream of her own mother but doesn’t get that luxury. For years I’ve wondered why we’ve seemed to build such a connection in her afterlife. The only thing I keep circling back to is that our bond is tied through the love I have for my Mom. My mom and I are inseparable. Our hearts beat pretty much to the same drum and that’s the same kind of bond she had with her own mom, my grandmother.
To avoid creating any more chapters to this story, I’ll end it here. I wanted to share a small glimpse of this special miracle in my life. It’s so very bittersweet and has given me the happy ending I’ve needed for so long but I hope that it can also bring a sense of faith for anyone who longs for a miracle to befall them. Every now and then there must be a crack in heaven somewhere that allows just a little bit of grace to be sprinkled upon kind souls in this world. Why not believe that hope and miracles exist and not just coincidences in this very, very, big world.
Thank you so much for reading – until next time!
Sweetrowyn 