In August of 2012 we learned that we were expecting our third child. While we were not planning to expand our family and somewhat apprehensive since our lives were already so busy, it didn’t take long for us to get used to the idea and become very excited about a new baby.   In November we found out we would be having another healthy baby girl.  It took us awhile to find the name we would both agree on and finally decided on McKinley Anne. Her middle name would be the same as both of our mother’s middle names. We picked out paint colors for her nursery, new bedding and each monthly doctor appointment went perfectly.
 After a text book pregnancy, at 37 weeks gestation I woke up on the morning of March 19th, 2013 with sharp stomach pains and contractions. Even though they felt a little different than the contractions with my previous pregnancy, they were coming pretty quickly and I decided to go get checked. By the time I arrived there was almost no rest between my contractions and the stomach pain. I was taken to the labor and delivery floor at WVU Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia.  The nurse hooked me up to the fetal monitor and then left the room. I remember being in a lot of pain but I was still very excited to get through it and hold my new precious baby girl. The nurse came back into my room with a resident doctor on the floor. She wheeled in an ultrasound machine and started scanning my belly. I assumed she was checking the presentation of the baby as my first daughter was breech. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a concerned look on both of their faces. The doctor let out a sigh and her words still haunt me to this day. She asked, “When was the last time you felt the baby move?” Instantly I knew something was wrong and I couldn’t even respond.  She told me she couldn’t find the heartbeat. She called in a senior physician and he confirmed that our precious McKinley Anne was gone.

 I was in utter disbelief. Everything had gone so smoothly. How could this have happened? I was in so much shock I almost couldn’t cry. I could barely breathe.  I started to shake and began throwing up. The pain was so intense and the contractions were coming one right after the other with no rest. The nurse called for the physician to come back into the room and he broke my water and did another ultrasound. He confirmed that I had suffered a complication termed a complete placental abruption. This is where the placenta separates from the uterus wall and in my case, because it was a complete separation, it instantly cut off all blood supply to the baby.  In many cases when a woman is experiencing an abruption she will bleed and know to get to the hospital however in my case all of the blood I was losing was being trapped between the placenta and uterus. At this point my body was going into shock from losing so much blood.  I was immediately wheeled to the operating room for an emergency C-section.
When I woke up after the surgery I remember placing my hand on my belly and she was gone. That little bum I used to feel just under my rib cage was gone. The little elbow that would poke and prod the side of my belly was no more. The sweet, precious life that had flipped and flopped in there for the last nine months was gone.  There was no newborn cry, no meeting eyes with my new beautiful baby girl but just thoughts of how I was ever going to get over this? There were thoughts of anger. Why? Why would God let me come so far with her just to rip it away right at the finish line?  What a cruel, cruel waste of happiness I thought.  The nurses and doctor told me how fortunate I was that I got to the hospital when I did because the outcome for me could have been far worse than needing the 4 units of blood I had received.  I took no comfort in what they said because I felt like a part of me had died. A part of me wanted to die too. They brought her to our room wrapped in a pink blanket. She was so perfect. Lips just like her oldest sister, a button nose and a head full of dark strawberry blonde hair. I never wanted to give her back. I could have held her forever.  She looked like a sleeping angel. Not a mark on her, no sign of a struggle, just peace. McKinley was at peace but where was mine? I should have been signing birth certificate documents, not deciding which funeral home to call.

Continued... 

Even in the face of tragedy I knew that McKinley’s life existed for a reason and that even though I would never get to know her outside of the nine months I carried her, I felt there was still a purpose for her here.  The comfort and support team that visited us at the hospital mentioned that the state of Pennsylvania, unlike West Virginia, doesn’t offer any type of financial assistance towards the funeral/burial of a child. Fortunately, we weren’t in need of any assistance but that information stuck with us and we realized that many families that have been struck with the tragedy of losing a child, whether it’s anticipated or unexpected, may not be able to bear the burden of the overwhelming costs that comes with it.  Weeks after her funeral and trying to sort through our heartbreak, we were trying to find our “new normal”.  On a Sunday afternoon, my husband and I were driving to Cabela’s and began to have a conversation about how we could carry on McKinley’s legacy. We both went back to what they had told us at the hospital about the lack of financial assistance for child loss. We both felt strongly that this was the direction we were supposed to go. When we had to explain to our 4 year old that McKinley wasn’t coming to our house to live, we told her she was born with wings and flew straight to Heaven.  Through a lot of tears and questions she asked us if they were butterfly wings.  We went along with this and told her they were.  Appropriately, she started referring to McKinley as a “butterfly angel”.  Without a doubt we knew there wasn’t a more appropriate name for this ministry.
 Sadly, infant and child loss isn’t an untold story amongst our close family and friends but I was so grateful for those that have been through similar situations that reached out to me. It’s a pain you wouldn’t want even your own worst enemy to know but when someone can relate to you on that level it’s more comforting because it’s someone who actually has a clue as to how you’re truly feeling. It’s not someone telling you that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes, many times, there is no reason at all and we have to accept that bad things happen to good people and only God knows why.  Even if someone did have the reason why McKinley died, it wouldn’t make it hurt any less or make me stop missing her.  The only thing I know for sure is that without suffering there would be no compassion.  

I approached some of the family members and friends of mine who have also lost a child and asked if they would like to be a part of a foundation to honor all of our angels that were taken from us far too soon.  We teamed up with individuals who have frontline experience in the funeral home industry, pastoral expertise and grief counseling experience.  After months of planning, researching, phone calls and meetings, Butterfly Angels: The McKinley Anne Foundation was formed.  While one of our biggest missions is to give financial support to those who need assistance with funeral/burial costs, we feel an even bigger calling to a ministry of hope, comfort and emotional support.  We welcome any individual who has lost a child from pregnancy to adulthood regardless of how long ago and the reason for the loss.  C.S Lewis wrote, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, What? You too? I thought I was the only one.” While this path to friendship one every parent prays incessantly they’ll never travel, we find comfort and strength in sharing this bond of understanding and compassion with one another.  We are excited and honored to carry on McKinley’s legacy of love through Butterfly Angels and though it is because of grief we are reaching out to others, we know that grief only exists where love first lived.