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She was perfect in every way. But, oh, perfectly still. There was no first cry or the stretching of her arms and legs when she left my womb. There was no little bird mouth looking for her first suckling at my breast. Instead, as I held this precious little gift, it was a hello and good-bye at the same time. She was my 8th child, my fourth daughter. She had a sister just sixteen months older than her. They should have shared a bedroom, played dress-up together and giggled under covers. Instead, she gave me a new glimpse of heaven and a reason to fight for life. She was a wanted baby, but 25 years earlier a law was passed to allow babies to be killed in their mother's wombs. Our precious little

Angela Hope was born on the anniversary date of Roe vs Wade.

Just weeks earlier we spent 10 weeks in the hospital with our daughter born before her, who had two open heart surgeries. On this day I took her for a post-op check-up and while in the doctor's office, I felt a gush. Thinking my water broke I ran for the bathroom, to only find I was hemorrhaging. I was rushed next door to the hospital where it was found out very quickly that our little girl died because of a placenta abruption, and my life was in danger. My husband was at home with our sick children, fixing a much needed clogged toilet. He did not know the baby had died, but he knew something serious had happened and made the 30 minute drive. Upon arriving in my hospital room, they were preparing me for an emergency c-section. I was whisked away, leaving my husband standing, wordlessly, unable to comprehend the quickness of life passing by. The high risk obstetrician that did the surgery was able to save my life, and my uterus. My first words after coming out of surgery, was asking if she was really gone. I was told she was, but I would be able to have more children. Little did I realize what a gift that was. I was later told, had any other doctor done my surgery, I would have had a hysterectomy, no questions asked. I remain thankful to this doctor that he preserved life, before it began.

Being I was in critical condition for several days, my time with our baby was minimum. I wished I had bathed her and inspected each baby body part. Part of it was my shock - I did not know what to do with a dead baby. I am thankful for a wonderful funeral director who helped us make a few more memories and we got beautiful pictures of her at the funeral home. But there were dreams that died with her that day. Though I've been blessed with three more precious daughters, I think of how those five girls should have all played, danced and played dress-up together. Instead, I dream of her in heaven, dancing for Jesus and welcoming her big brother seven years later. I imagine her pulling his hand, talking walks along the still waters, and sitting at Jesus' feet. I imagine her running to heaven's gate every so often, wondering if today will be the day I greet her. Dreams died on earth, but they will begin again, someday, when our family reunites in heaven. Until that day, tears still come. I know someday, they will all be wiped away.

Learn more about this author, Loni Stel.
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