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| Adelaide's Blanket, Hat, and Flower |
12/1/11 22:37
Today marks the day that I lost my daughter Adelaide Felicty Kim. During a routine visit to the birth center, we were unable to find her heartbeat. We were sent to the hospital - where we currently reside - and had it confirmed at 17:30. She had been gone for a while it looked like, and now Heidi needs to deliver the body.
Words alone cannot describe the intense difference in emotion between when I first saw Adelaide's tiny heartbeat for the first time and then witnessing the ultrasound's silence and the lifeless body where my daughter's heart used to be. I screamed with my eyes. My mind screamed and screamed. I sat silently. My wife reacted instantaneously, hours after I screamed my mind out. I could only cover her with my body and hold her as we sobbed. We knew, as we got up and talked to the midwives. We knew, as started heading to the hospital. We knew, the moment we saw the ultrasound's lifeless body.
We cried.
Uncontrollable. Unstoppable. The tears did not give me a choice. We had no say in the matter, utterly powerless. And now, as I wait next to my wife with increasingly bad, artificially induced contractions,completely powerless.
-Break-
12/4/11 8:30a
My daughter was born almost exactly two days ago on December 2nd, 2011 at 8:18. She weighed 1 lb and was 10 inches long. She was beautiful.
It is the most horrifying thing imaginable to hold the lifeless body of your child. To hold your broken and battered future, shattered before even given a chance. I've been around, I've seen some pretty horrible images/videos/experiences. But nothing compares. Not by far.
A sorrow deeper than I could have comprehended washed over me as I held her for the first time. It was unbearable, and nothing could have prepared me. I am a parent. Not was almost. I am. No one that has lost a child they truly cared about would say otherwise I know. She was my daughter, and I was her father. I'll never dance with her at her wedding. I'll never cheer her on during times of trial or get to help her with her homework or hear her call out for me when she's scared. I'll never know the joy of watching my daughter Adelaide grow up. But she is, and always will be, my daughter.
A wound deeper than I could have imagined has been inflicted. I have no chance to say, "Hello." I have no chance to say, "Good-bye." I have only the time that we shared together indirectly. Her face in the ultrasound, her kicks in Heidi's stomach. I miss her so much already. I didn't realize how much I wanted to meet her. The daughter I won't meet until perhaps I meet her in heaven with God's mercy. I hope that I can dance with her with her standing on my toes.
For now though, I will wait and know that she's waiting for me somewhere. For now, I'll move forward. For now, I will do my best to make her proud of me as her father. For now, I will look forward to one day hearing the words,
"Hi Daddy."
-Ken





