The third day of my third daughter’s life was the hardest of mine.
It started with a ringing. My dad’s phone. I heard it on the baby monitor, and I heard my dad’s strangled voice: “What?!” And my heart stopped.
I headed to the kitchen, where Nick and my mom were sipping coffee, enjoying Tess’s first morning home from the hospital. I told Mom she should go see Dad, that there might be something wrong. When they returned a few minutes later, they had aged. They held each other up as they walked toward us. “It’s the worst thing ever,” my mother choked out. And I knew.
My little brother, Ben, expecting his first baby with his wife, Lori, had made the call. The baby was full term, a healthy little girl the day before. And now she was still.
I collapsed on the kitchen floor. What. No. Not this. Anything but this. Not her. Not them. No. No. No.
The next few hours were a blur. We found out that Lori would still need to deliver their little girl. We learned she chose a vaginal delivery over a C-section because that could help her recovery and make it easier to birth future children. And we learned our niece’s name: Elliot Kathryn.
My parents rushed to South Shore Hospital to be with Ben and Lori. Nick and I tried to collect ourselves enough to greet our oldest two daughters, awake now and just glad to have us home with the family’s new baby. We made them breakfast, got them dressed, changed the baby’s diaper. Went through the motions.
Later that day, we all drove south, and Nick stayed in the car with all three girls while I visited with Ben and Lori in the hospital. It was the best we could come up with since I couldn’t be away from our breastfeeding 3-day-old for long.
As I anxiously made my way through the maternity ward, I tried not to look at the posters about skin-to-skin contact and milk production. My heart twisted inside.
We had two rooms to ourselves — the room where Lori was laboring and the room next door where our family could wait. I found them all there, keeping vigil. My older sister, my parents, and Lori’s mom and sister. All red eyes and gray faces like mine.
When I was given the OK to visit next door, I hurried to hug Ben. To hold Lori’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered to them. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
They knew what I meant. Our little girls, Tess and Elliot, were supposed to be best friends. We told each other we were pregnant the very same night, when Lori was five weeks along and I was four and a half. We all laughed and hugged. Two babies! How amazing! We called them twins.
As our bellies grew rounder, we texted each other more.
“Did you see the BabyCenter email? Our babies are kumquats this week!” “I know! What even is that??”
We held a gender reveal party, and as we both opened our boxes to reveal matching pink onesies, we screamed in delight. Two girls! They’d share secrets, inside jokes, jean jackets, and purses. They’d fight like sisters, and then make up in the same breath. Spend too much time talking on their cell phones to each other.
The weeks stretched on. Nick and I hosted a baby shower for Lori and Ben; Lori threw me a sprinkle over brunch. We high fived and belly bumped (and it was a lot of belly.) The girls were almost here.
And then one was. At 40 weeks and one day, Tess Veronica was born. Ben and Lori were our first visitors at the hospital, and as they held their tiny niece, I squeezed Ben’s shoulder and laid a hand on Lori’s belly. “She’ll be here soon,” I whispered. “I know it’s so hard to wait, but you’ll be holding her soon.”
And we were. Elliot Kathryn was born March 30, 2015, one year ago today. When it was my turn to hold her, Ben so carefully placed her in my arms. She was beautiful. Full cheeks, dark hair, a very pretty mouth. I sang my favorite lullaby to her: “You are my sunshine.” And let myself imagine — just for a moment — that she was sleeping.
As I write this now, typing through my tears, Tess is starting to wake in the next room. I’ll go to her in a minute, and she’ll be standing in her crib, grinning and rosy-cheeked from her nap. I’ll pick her up and hold her to me, crying harder. Crying for Lori and Ben’s little girl. For my parents’ granddaughter. For my niece. And for Tess’s first best friend.
Happy birthday, girls.
To read more about Elliot in Lori’s own words, visit walkingwithelliot.com and stillmothers.com.
