Between Bruises and Blooms

October seventeenth,
a date forever carved
into the deepest corners of my heart.

A morning that began with hope,
with anticipation,
with the promise of meeting my daughter.

The world was asleep
when I woke to the rhythm of contractions,
each wave reminding me:

She is coming.

I welcomed the pain,
believing every moment would disappear
the second I held her.

And then,
at 6:23 a.m.,
I saw her.

Makenna.

The most beautiful baby girl
I had ever known.

My daughter.
My miracle.
My heart, outside of me.

I did not know
that only hours later
she would become my first angel.

Two days before,
there was excitement.

A final prenatal appointment.
A smile.
A membrane sweep.
And the words:

“Three centimeters already.
Makenna will be here any day.”

I went home dreaming
of tiny fingers and newborn snuggles,
while wondering how I would balance
a new baby and Emerson,
my fifteen-month-old little boy
who still needed his mama so much.

But that night,
everything changed.

At 2:30 in the morning,
Emerson woke after falling from his new bed,
ready to start the day.

I climbed into the bathtub,
searching for calm
in the middle of the chaos.

But then the contractions came.

At first, a whisper.

Then a storm.

A force that would not slow down.

I called labor and delivery,
hesitant to wake anyone,
but they told me:

“Call your midwife.
It’s time.”

Before dawn,
Susie arrived.

Four centimeters.

Time was moving faster
than my heart could understand.

“You’re going to have a baby by breakfast,”
she said.

A beautiful promise
before we knew
how much that morning would take from us.

Near five,
Greg arrived.

The pain consumed everything.

My body became a doorway,
a place where love was fighting
to enter the world.

Reid rushed me to the hospital,
and I held onto one thought:

Soon I will meet my daughter.

But when we arrived,
the room changed.

The urgency grew.

Eight centimeters.

And then came the words
that changed everything.

Makenna’s heart was struggling.

Fear filled the room.

I begged time to slow down.

I wanted Ally there.
I wanted her to meet her niece.
I wanted my baby to be okay.

But time was no longer ours.

They told me to push.

Before I was ready.

Before anyone was ready.

And I pushed with everything I had.

Through fear.
Through pain.
Through every ounce of strength left in me.

And at 6:23 a.m.,
Makenna entered the world.

My beautiful girl.

They placed her on my chest,
and for one perfect moment,
nothing else existed.

Just her.

Just me.

Just love.

Reid cut the cord.

I memorized every detail.

Her tiny face.
Her little body.
The feeling of finally holding
the daughter I had waited for.

Then they took her for care.

And when they told me
she needed to go to the nursery,
I asked for one more moment.

One more kiss.

One more memory.

I held my daughter close,
kissed her forehead,
and never knew
it would be the last time
I held her alive.

At 9:35 that morning,
the room went quiet.

The kind of quiet
a mother never forgets.

They told me MaKenna was getting worse.

My baby needed me.

So I went to her.

Nothing could keep me away.

Not the pain.

Not the fear.

Not anything.

And when I walked into the nursery,
I saw my little girl.

My tiny fighter.

Surrounded by tubes and wires,
fighting a battle no baby should have to fight.

That moment lives inside me forever.

The day I became a mother
was also the day I learned
how much a mother can love.

Because even though
I only had a short time with you,

you were here.

You were real.

You were mine.

And you will always be
my first angel.

Forever loved.

Forever remembered.

Forever my MaKenna.