I’ve always loved babies. I took care of my baby dolls until I was old enough to help in the church nursery and babysit. I couldn’t wait to have a baby of my own. So, when my husband and I found out we were going to have a baby, I was over the moon.
We couldn’t contain our excitement, so we shared the news with our families and close friends. I had an early ultrasound and we saw the heartbeat. I knew the chances of miscarriage dropped significantly after seeing a heartbeat, and even more after the first trimester.
We made it to 13 weeks, the second trimester, when the bleeding started. The doctors kept telling me, “There’s a heartbeat, everything is fine. Bleeding can be normal.” But I knew everything was not fine, so I kept going in and asking for help.
After weeks of this, one of the doctors finally agreed that this wasn’t normal. He sent me to see a specialist at the hospital, and we learned that I had no amniotic fluid, which the baby needs for the lungs to develop. I was told there was no way my baby would survive. We chose to carry the baby as long as God would allow.
I went into labor at 20 weeks, but the trauma of labor was too much for her tiny body. Our baby girl did not survive the birth. She was born straight into the arms of her Savior. The hospital gave us time to hold and cherish her. I noticed that she had her daddy’s nose, and she had the same long second toe like her Auntie Jenna. We named her Faith because I knew that in the midst of the darkness, God was faithful—even if I didn’t feel it at the time.1