Calla was a super star right up to our due date at 40 weeks - healthy and active.   She was born on Sunday, April 18th, 2010 and she had been perfect and healthy just 2 days before during our final weekly fetal assessment appointment.  The regular nurse at the fetal assessment clinic, who I knew very well by that time, was gone away on vacation that day and a new nurse who I had never met before was filling in.  I'll always wonder if she missed something on the ultrasound that Friday .... one of the many many "what ifs" that I ask myself each and every day.

My water broke at 5:30 a.m. on Sunday, April 18th, 2010 - the day before our due date and we rushed to the hospital. They immediately tried to find her heartbeat, but the only one that they could find was about 60 bpm - we'll never know if that was my heartbeat or Calla’s.  We were rushed into the OR and the doctors performed an emergency c-section under general anesthetic but it was too late - the cord was wrapped around her neck 5 times and Calla was already gone.

Because of the general anesthetic, Tim was not allowed to come in - he was left outside in the hallway pacing, wondering what was going on and if he had lost both of us.  When I finally woke up, I couldn't remember where we were or why we were there and then the moment I will relive every minute of every day for the rest of my life – Tim, tears spilling down his cheeks, saying "Amy, the baby didn't make it." .... and with those words our lives came tumbling down around us. 

We did get to hold her before they took her away and we have lots of pictures of her as well. I'll never forget how she smelled, her dark hair, her pouty lips or her tiny hands and feet. But it hurts so much to know that we never saw her eyes, we never heard her cry and that we'll never get to see her smile and laugh. I want to believe that she's in heaven and that I'll see her again someday - when I think of her in heaven, strangely, I don't think of her as a baby, I see her as a bouncy, lively 5-year-old with long dark pigtails running around skipping and playing hike-and-seek.

Because we can't put up any pictures of her around our home, I have resorted to calla lilies - I have calla lilies everywhere and we think of Calla every time we see them. You can't help but ask "why did this happen to us" and "what could we have done to save her". You relive the day you lost your baby over and over in your mind.  I am envious of new mothers and their babies, even my closest friends.  It isn't fair - that they get to hold their babies every day and all we have is a headstone.

Leaving the hospital without our baby girl was the hardest thing that we’ll ever have to do. The funeral service was difficult, but we had steeled ourselves so much just to get through the day that we felt numb during the entire service.  People cried hysterically all around us and we just sat there looking at each other - not crying, not seeing, not feeling, just waiting for the day to be over, when everyone would go back to their regular lives and leave us alone with our grief, trying to find what can only be described as a "new normal", knowing our lives would never again be the same.

It's been 3 months now and while the support of our friends and family has been overwhelming, it's hard for them to understand or to know what to say ..... time heals all wounds ..... everything happens for a reason ..... you're young, you'll be able to have another baby .... Even though such words are spoken with the best of intentions, they do absolutely nothing to ease our pain and serve only to make us all the more angry.   
 
We are already trying to conceive again and are hopeful that we'll be expecting again soon and that every thing will work out the second time around - I now think of the moment when her little brother or sister is old enough to understand and we’ll tell them all about their big sister Calla and how much we love and miss her. Until then, we keep what little memories we have of Calla close to our hearts, so we don't lose them too.