Transcending Life and the Impact of Others (Part 2)

A story about one of the hardest trials in my life.

Prerequisite read to today’s post:

Ilaiah’s life ended far too soon, however, the example she and her family set left a legacy of resilience, love, and perspective.

Grief is a powerful emotion that each of us individually have to determine how to process alongside those who matter most. We will never be able to determine with certainty what tomorrow will bring. All we can do is meet fate with the developed tools we have in our disposal. I hope both Ilaiah’s story and the following can provide you with some ideas to prepare your mind for tomorrow’s uncertainties.

What follows is the continuation of my original Transcending Life post. I wrote it at the same time; however, my wife and I decided to keep this second part close hold until it felt right.

Reflecting back on this experience and the subsequent trials that led to the recent birth of my daughter is surreal.

What I do know is writing this piece in the height of our struggle was instrumental in my ability to continue to show up for my family and self despite feeling like I could fall apart.

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Gary and I have managed to stay in touch, reaching out every few months to check in and catch up. He randomly called me late September 2023 in the evening after a BJJ competition I had just had some success in. I told him about the day and how I had even ran into one of our mutual good friends who was coaching one of the black belts I went against. Crazy coincidence. He was calling to tell me about the birth of his son while I was also able to let him know we were expecting.

Mary Kate and I had just found out earlier that week and were ecstatic. Evelyn had been praying for a 4th sibling, especially for a baby sister to help bookend her “crazy boys” as she lovingly calls them, and now those prayers became more emphatic. While the hope has always been primarily for good health, MK and I loved the idea of completing our family with a baby girl. After having three successful pregnancies in a row, the caution of letting friends and family know before the end of the first trimester had worn off. Hiding that MK is pregnant is also a challenge as she experiences morning sickness from roughly weeks 6-15 as bad as I have seen or heard. Funny how it’s called “morning” sickness when it often builds throughout the day and is worst in the evening. MK gets chronic sickness. She, however, has embraced this time with all of our children knowing the symptoms indicate her body is doing what it should be. Her acceptance and almost desire to continuously experience these trials out of love for our children is one of the many things I admire about her.

As Halloween approached which would be followed by hosting of about 20 family members for our middle son, Sam’s, 4th birthday party the first weekend in November, Mary Kate started having more energy and less nausea. This relief from the typical intensity of her symptoms felt like good luck and a well-deserved break during a busy time. Maybe this last pregnancy would be a little easier than the previous ones. The weekend was a blast and Sam’s party couldn’t have gone better. Life was good.

It’s crazy how quickly life can change from perceived bliss to extreme sadness. I woke up really early that Monday morning to Mary Kate crying and holding her belly. She had substantial bleeding and knew something was wrong. Thankfully several brother and sister-in-laws were still in town visiting for the week so we were able to rush to the ER while the children still slept. It was confirmed we lost our child.

Memories, particularly core memories that are retained around impactful events, are strange. How the brain decides to store certain aspects of a circumstance into the subconscious over others to allow for later recall is one of the countless wonders our systems are capable of. As MK and I held each other in the exam room, her cry activated the core memory from our first loss. I had only ever heard this sound one other time in my life. A cry that was coming from her soul. The familiar pain of profound loss and my inability to do anything but hug and cry with the love of my life came rushing up to my conscious processing. This was a place I thought we’d never be in again.

Because of our first loss over seven years ago, I have become much better at understanding and sharing my emotions. These losses hurt my heart and produce significant sorrow when I think of what could have been. That being said, I still feel like I experience these losses through my wife on some level. She’s not grieving of what could have been, she’s grieving what was. A mother develops such deep connection to her children in the womb and that has been so apparent in MK with every pregnancy. The way she holds her belly and reads to them, the new routines she creates with our children to include the ones in her belly, the shifts she makes in every aspect of her life to control any factor she can to promote our children’s well-being. She knows our children before they’re born.

We learned our child stopped growing shortly after the first ultrasound which explained why MK experienced a relief from her typical, chronic morning sickness. We also learned the loss happened due to a chromosomal defect that revealed the child would have been a girl. This added to the pain while simultaneously offering relief in knowing the pregnancy wouldn’t have been viable. It was fate and unpreventable.

The holidays were challenging but also comforting. MK and I have developed tools over the years to function with a given struggle as a team. We are also lucky to have excellent support systems in our family and friends along with three beautiful children to encourage presence and gratitude even in the hardest of moments. Beyond that, we knew the only other thing that would help treat the wound was time. Reflecting on our first loss and how it ultimately led to our wonderful daughter kept us encouraged that maybe God had a bigger plan.

Sure enough, we found out we were expecting in January. While exciting, we reverted back to the same sensations we felt after our first loss of gratitude mixed with caution. We knew all we could do was focus on each day and hopefully get through the first 12 weeks. We didn’t need to worry about whether or not MK’s morning sickness, particularly a lack of it, indicated a problem as she went through arguably the hardest first term yet. Every symptom she was used to experiencing was amplified. Her body clearly was working hard on creating life and doing a great job. The ultrasound around eight weeks produced the beautiful sound of a strong heart. Listening to the typical high rate of a newborn heartbeat, especially when already anxious, causes your own heart to feel like it syncs with the rhythm. The body’s internal physiologic response to anxiety or excitement is the same. The psychological tension that was relieved once that sound came through the monitor, however, shifted the experience from one of worry to joy. Things were moving in the right direction.

Four weeks later, MK’s body was still producing all of the challenging symptoms we’ve come to expect and hope for signifying internal productivity. The pivotal 12-week ultrasound revealed a healthy little baby looking like a gummy bear bouncing around on a cloud. We had made it through the first trimester. At the appointment, MK decided to do the blood panel that reveals gender and tests for common chromosomal conditions of concern. Everything was where we wanted it to be and now we just needed to stay the course.

Two weeks later on a Sunday morning, I get a call from MK just after arriving to the gym. Having the kids with me as I prepare for the class I’m about to teach, just seeing MK calling was concerning as this is typically a well-earned morning she gets to herself. I pick up the phone and hear her crying. My heart and time stopped. It couldn’t be happening again. My mind started racing about all the considerations of what I could control. How could I get home as quickly as possible while keeping the kids safe? What would I say to them? How can I keep it together? Somewhere in the foggy few seconds that felt more like minutes I could hear my wife’s voice saying, “it’s a girl.” This immediately pulled me back into the present. Her tears were tears of joy. The blood test had come back normal and it was confirmed we were expecting another rainbow baby girl.

Again, it’s crazy how quickly a circumstance can shift from elation to despair or, in this case, from panic to celebration. I started crying with her which initially concerned the kids. Once I told them the news, Evelyn started cheering and dancing while the boys followed suit.

Bliss. Core memory made.

We made it to the point where we now became comfortable sharing the great news. Evelyn’s prayer every night now thanked God for her baby sister. We named her. She became part of many new routines, my favorite being our youngest, James, requesting to listen to her heartbeat on our at-home monitor and talk to her every night before going to sleep.

Everything felt perfect.

I’ve come to have a hard time with that word. What is “perfect”? Like most things, it’s a mental state and unique to a given person. It’s a goal that can really only be achieved through subjective belief in the accomplishment or circumstance. Regardless, the experience of perfection is fleeting. Adversity is inevitable. Sustained perfection is impossible.

Two weeks later, Mary Kate had a hard time finding the heartbeat in the evening with James.

She tried again the next morning without success. While this had happened for many reasons before, something felt off and she told me so. It was a Saturday and we had our 16-week check up on Tuesday, April 2nd. She was very concerned.

“Control what you can.” This is a mantra I’ve conditioned into myself in response to the experience of stress. There were obviously reasons to be optimistic but MK’s rationale for being worried compared to previous times of not finding a heartbeat were legitimate. We decided to wait until the appointment on Tuesday rather than go to the ER. It was a long weekend.

Tuesday rolled around and rather than stay home with the kids, we decided that I’d go with her to the appointment and just wait in the car with them. Trying to maintain optimism and hold onto the hope that this was a fluke felt harder than usual. Everything about the day felt dreary. The weather was awful and the energy was low. As we quickly loaded the kids into the van to avoid getting soaked, I couldn’t get the thought of what was possibly coming out of my head.

Time is another wild phenomenon. It can either fly or crawl when you’re in the moment depending on your mental state. The 30 minutes it took for MK to call me felt like hours. I picked up the phone to hear my wife crying. The sound of this cry unfortunately activated that deeply rooted subconscious memory to know the worst had happened. “She’s gone.”

Overwhelming happiness to complete helplessness.

The worst thing that has happened to someone is the worst thing that has happened to someone. I’ve always liked this quote and have had many impactful experiences in my life where it has given me perspective. The quote allows me to empathize. Prevents the downsides of comparisons where judgment, jealousy, guilt or anger can result and rather encourages reflection, gratitude, and support in knowing everyone has had their respective worst thing occur at some point.

We learned that it was another case of extremely rare and unfortunate bad luck that is unrelated to our other recent loss. Apparently 0.2% of miscarriages occur in the second trimester following a healthy blood test. Tough stat to accept.

Through my wife’s research, we’ve also learned that trace amounts of DNA can be found in a mother’s uterus following all pregnancies regardless of successful live birth or not. There is something comforting about this. Our baby girl, like all of our previous children, will always be a part of us in memory and spirit. Knowing that she physically will always be a part of MK as well makes her presence feel close.

Mary Kate’s ability to cope, communicate, and find a way to make decisions to best prepare our family for the future has been inspirational. She, undoubtedly, is going through the hardest time in her life, just like I am, but on a deeper level. Yet, every question and choice she has made has been from the perspective of honoring our daughter while ensuring we can continue to safely and successfully try again eventually.

This experience, like many in our past, has made me love my wife more. Because of the impact of Ilaiah and Gary, I remind myself of the unknown future and that anything is possible for better or worse. Earn everyday and make it count. Remind yourself of things to be grateful for. There will never be a lesson or purpose that completely justifies this loss or removes the longing we will have to hold her, to love her, to watch her grow. We will always consider what could have been. The dichotomy of pain and attempts at optimism to derive opportunities from this loss will never be balanced.

Ilaiah was deeply loved. My daughter was deeply loved. Their lives will live on in us and we are motivated to make them proud in how we continue living in whatever time we have left. Their lives transcended purpose into our lives. I’m comforted in imagining Ilaiah is watching over my little girl until I get the chance to meet her but I’m still struggling. Each day seems like it gets a little better than the last even though some days, due to random reminders or reasons, are harder than others.

At the time of this writing, it had been three months since I had shoulder surgery. While I was back to 100% mobility, the tightness in my incision and shoulder socket can still be felt. My chest developed the same feeling following this loss. I still couldn’t get to a full lung inhale without feeling that tightness. It felt like a defense mechanism where my body is trying to develop a shield around my heart while it continues to heal. In some weird way, I almost liked feeling the tension. It’s a symptom that made it feel like she’s physically a part of me too. This sensation progressively lessened over time, however, other daily reminders of her loss remain present.

As much as I want to get back to normal, what is normal? What does it mean to be okay? If loss is inevitable and we all experience varying levels of adversity throughout our lives, is okay its absence? That’s not possible and therefore I wouldn’t want to long for elimination of uncontrollable hardships. I don’t hope for loss or extreme adversity but I’m also not going to waste my time at wishing it never happens again. Instead of perfection, maybe being okay, when it comes to responding to life’s circumstances, is a better goal. That being said, even being okay, like feeling perfect, is inevitably unpredictable, uncertain, and unsustainable. If I believe in intentional stress to build resilience when one is okay, it might make sense to believe in acceptance of not being okay in response to life’s most difficult stressors while controlling what I can to recover. Gratitude, perspective, discipline, courage, wisdom, and love are still in my control. Being there for my family on this planet and living for my family who is no longer with us can be my purpose.

I’m not okay, but I will be.

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I coincidentally had a Navy Chief I work with express his condolences shortly after I finished writing this post. As we talked, I learned he has four children but had also had a late second term loss 17 years ago. He let me know he and his wife had just been talking about that girl only a few days earlier. As he was speaking, I could see tears in his eyes, and he expressed how they still wonder what she would have been like and how her life continues to impact their decisions to this day.

Losses never leave you. Tragedy is never forgotten. The most difficult challenges can, however, cause growth, gratitude, and continued purpose.

Our daughter would have been due on September 16, 2024. That month, after a six-month rollercoaster ride of false positives and sustained heartache, we found out Mary Kate was six weeks pregnant. A month later after her first ultrasound, she walked out of the doctor’s office to see an enormous rainbow even though there hadn’t been rain in weeks.

This was the beginning of the most challenging pregnancy my wife has been through eventually leading to the birth of our little rainbow baby girl in June 2025.

Worth every second of the difficult wait.

She shares the same middle name as her sister who now watches over us providing the powerful reminder of making this life count.

The yangs of life allow for the yin.

Highs only feel good because of the possibility or experience of lows.

Honor those who are no longer with us by being the best version of yourself every day while you still can.