My daughter turned 32 today— her birth falling on Thanksgiving Day in 1993— one month shy of her December 25 due date. Her early arrival posed no complications and doctors said we’d be home in time to enjoy the turkey leftovers the next day.
Everyone came to meet her in the hospital. My three kids, her dad, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, her cousins. Truth be told, I kinda wished they’d leave and let me rest! There would be plenty of time to see her later.
Only there wasn’t.
The doctors came in my room around midnight and told me they’d discovered a heart defect and were airlifting her to Oschner’s immediately. Dr. Bouz, the saintly ob-gyn I’d come to depend on, came and examined me so I could be released to meet her there. My mom and I took off in the midst of Black Friday madness, while Lance and my dad held down the fort at home.
For six weeks we prayed while holding out hope through setbacks and cheering the victories. Then the Lord called her home.
I wasn’t angry at God— I blamed myself. I’d been on antidepressants when I’d gotten pregnant and the what if’s ran rampant in my head. What if I’d known sooner that I was pregnant? Why couldn’t I have dealt with postpartum depression without medication? (At that point I’d been pregnant for nearly three years straight, 10-11 months between the first three kids. Was this all my fault? Did I kill my child?)
The guilt would crush me for years to come. Even after I found out there was negligence, that her doctor had been fired after her death, that several other babies died that same week…the crushing weight remained. It was exacerbated by an attorney telling me that the hospital was planning to blame me for her death, the medication causing the heart defect to begin with despite her doctors assuring me that it wasn’t the cause. I couldn’t stand trial for my own child’s death.
As the years went on, I let go of the guilt. Forgiving the hospital was harder. In fact, it was just last year that I walked into the Brent House— the hotel connected to the hospital where Mom and I had stayed— and walked around in prayer, letting go of the hurt and anger. I no longer allow roots of bitterness to reside within me.
I know where my daughter is, where she’s spent her last 31 birthdays. While that brought me little comfort in the beginning (I wanted her here with me!) it has brought tremendous joy to my soul the last few years. I know she was there to welcome my grandparents as they arrived. I know she was there as my friends’ children arrived. And I know she’ll be there to welcome me.
Happy 32nd birthday Kacey!
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4
faith unfaded 
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