Kennedi's Story, by her mama

Post by Daylee Greene

It's amazing how priorities can change, given the circumstances. Before Kurtis and I got pregnant, we spent a lot of time talking about our future babies. We just *knew* our babies were going to be the most perfect human beings to ever grace this earth. When we found out we were having a girl, all we could talk about was how amazing we hoped she would be. Kurtis wanted a little girl he could dote on and take care of (Lord knows he didn't get that when he married me), and I wanted a mini me who embodied the best of both of our characteristics and personalities. I wanted her to have his gorgeous skin and my beautiful blue eyes. I wanted her to have the signature Mott nose but the rest of Kurtis' facial features. His mouth, his ears, his eyebrows. Some crazy wild hair that was equally mine and Kurtis'. She'd get charisma and personality from both of us-she'd have EVERYONE eating out of her hand. Mostly boys. Most of all her daddy. She would be beautiful, happy, and pleasant. She'd be chubby-rolls all over and not a single health issue. She'd be perfect. 

At 20 weeks, we changed those priorities. We decided we would be happy with all of the above, except the perfect health. We hoped she would still be beautiful, happy, chubby, but she wouldn't be in perfect health. That's alright, we could fix that. Just give us our little girl, and we'll fix the stuff that doesn't work so well.

At 25 weeks, we changed our priorities again. Considerably, this time. We no longer had hope for a future with her. She wasn't going to be chubby, she wasn't going to be healthy. She wasn't even going to live. So now we hoped for a pregnancy that went to term. We hoped that her health problems didn't give me health problems. We hoped that she was happy, but now there was a time limit on it. We hoped she was happy for right now. We no longer hoped she would be happy in life, we no longer hoped she would be chubby. Thunder thighs and a Buddha belly were no longer options for us. But that was ok, we still had hope. And no matter what happened, we knew she was going to be beautiful.

At 30 weeks, we had one hope: for her to be born alive. We hoped that she would experience our love first hand. We hoped she would hear our voices, feel our touch. More than anything, we wanted to hear our precious Kennedi Rose cry. I never thought that my greatest hope in life, the only priority I would have in my pregnancy, would be to hear my daughter cry. Health, happiness, and longevity be damned. I wanted my sweet baby to cry. I wanted her to take a big breath of sterile hospital air, fill up those tiny little lungs, and cry out for mommy and daddy to take care of her. I wanted a birth certificate. I just wanted ten minutes with her. We both did.

Unfortunately, we didn't get those ten minutes. Our sweet baby girl was born sleeping at 31 weeks. There was no crying (from our baby, anyway), no birth certificates, certainly no chubby cheeks. Just our tiny, lifeless, amazingly beautiful little girl. But, thanks to our shift in priorities, it wasn't an entirely devastating experience. By the time Kennedi came, we just wanted to be able to see and hold our daughter. The entire process had made her seem almost like a figment of our imaginations. We were planning a memorial service and making arrangements for cremation, and knowing that we had no physical future with Kenni often led us to forget that there was actually a baby inside of me. So, the last thing I wanted before Kennedi came, my last hope, my last priority, was to hold my daughter. I wanted to look at her and tell her how much she was loved, how much she was wanted, and how much she'd changed our lives. I wanted to tell her "thank you." And I was blessed enough to be able to do that.

Holding my daughter's 13 inch, 1 lb 3 oz body, and looking at all of her tiny, perfect features, made the preceding 11 weeks entirely worth it. Kennedi's path had been decided long before we knew of her existence, and the fact that I'd been chosen to be a part of that journey was, and still is, extremely humbling. Words can't express how proud I am that I created such a strong, perfect, beautiful little human being. I am so thankful that God chose me to protect one of His little angels while she was here on earth. She blessed my life in ways I could have never imagined. She blessed a lot of lives. She strengthened our marriage. Helped us to see our blessings. I miss her every day and my heart aches for my loss, but I know that I only hurt as much as I do because I love her as much as I do. I had no idea how empty my life was until I had Kennedi. A little piece of my heart died with her, but she'd made sure that it'd grown for the part, and for that I will forever be indebted to my amazing, feisty, strong, beautiful first daughter.