In Memory of Baby Violet: Support for Emily & David

In Loving Memory of Baby Violet – Supporting Emily & David

Dear friends, family, and compassionate hearts,

It is with deep sadness that we share the heartbreaking news that Emily and David recently experienced the stillbirth of their precious daughter, Violet Wren Moore. What was meant to be a beautiful beginning has turned into a profound and unimaginable loss.

Violet was so deeply loved from the moment she was known. Though her time with us was far too short, she touched the hearts of everyone who waited eagerly for her arrival.

Emily and David are now navigating the pain of losing their baby girl while also facing the many emotional and financial challenges that come with such a tragedy.

We have created this GoFundMe to help support Emily and David as they begin to grieve and heal. Funds raised will go toward:

• Medical expenses related to Violet’s emergency birth (due to the rarity of the condition Emily and Violet required extensive emergency care to try to save Violets life - due to this they have extensive medical bills not covered by insurance)

• Memorial and burial arrangements

• Grief counseling and emotional support resources

• Everyday living expenses while they take time off work to heal

No one should have to walk this road alone. If you are able to give, your kindness will help ease the burden during this incredibly painful time. If you cannot give, please consider sharing this page with others.

Emily and David are devastated, but they are not alone. Let’s surround them with love, support, and compassion as they honor the memory of baby Violet.

With love and gratitude,

The Moore Family

A beautiful letter to Violet as shared by her loving father:

Her name was Violet Wren Moore – She is, and always will be, our daughter. She was special. She mattered. I want to take this time to tell those who love and care about her the impact she had on us and those who were lucky enough to know her. Her story, as short as it may be, will be felt for the rest of our lives.

The morning we found out we were lucky enough to be your parents was the same morning a beautiful double rainbow stretched across the sky right over our little town. The night was just starting to give way to morning—the deep black sky fading into soft blue, while the rising sun painted everything in oranges and reds. And right where the night and the dawn met, glowing across the rainbow, was the most vivid shade of purple I’d ever seen—my favorite color. At that moment, I felt it in my heart. I knew we were having a daughter. I knew we were having you. Our beautiful little Violet.

Just this past Monday, your mommy and I were so excited to see you on the ultrasound. We always looked forward to those moments—your sweet face, your little nose, and your “tiny wittle wips.” It is something we looked forward to so much. But as soon as the nurse had you up on the screen, something felt different. Both your mommy and I were quiet. Something wasn't right. It was like you were screaming at us to look closer. Mommy said you looked tired. And I saw something too—something that I had never seen. I pointed it out, but the nurse brushed over it. We thought everything was fine. When she left the room, we were nervous. The seconds turned to minutes. Minutes to hours, and slowly our annoyance had grown to anger. Anger to fear. Fear of desperation. We started to want the door not to open, afraid of what news it may bring.

From that moment on, everything changed.

Our doctor told us that there was something blocking the blood from getting to you. She didn't understand what it was, but she could see the stress it was putting on your little heart, and although it hadn't been there long, we needed to act fast. There were more questions than answers. So many unknowns. A nightmare that just a few hours earlier was something that you heard about and thought, "That could never happen to me. Not to my daughter. Not to my family." But here it was, and while we tried to steady ourselves from the earth which had just turned upside down, a team of incredible people from across the world got to work. Doctors from all over came together to help you. A professor at Columbia University who specialized in an experimental procedure was going to fly down to help in person. Specialists from all over worked side by side, trying to find answers. But no one could agree on what they were seeing. What you were facing was so rare, so unknown, that even the best minds had never seen anything like it. They needed more time.

We begged you to hold on a little longer, and you did. Sweet Violet, you were so tired.

We needed time—time for the experts to understand what was happening, time to explore an experimental procedure that might save you. We asked you to keep fighting. Sweet Violet, you were already so tired.

The next day, we finally got answers—or at least the confirmation that this is something that has never been seen. That they never had, and most likely would never see this again in their careers. They told us this condition was one in a million, or even a billion. They had a single option, but just needed one more day for the expert to fly in from New York to perform this procedure. One more day to try and save you. So I begged you to stay. And so you kept fighting.

Sweet Violet, you were so tired.

We had to put you in the MRI machine, and we know you hated that noise. We had to do it so that they had what they needed for the procedure that night. I asked you to hang on for us. We were so close. And so you kept fighting. As the time got closer and closer to the procedure, your mommy was ready to go through anything to help your little heart get a break. Your doctor came into the room, with the professor from Columbia, and told us that we would have to wait until the morning. She had reviewed your MRI, and there was a chance you wouldn't make it through the procedure. While I bombarded her with questions, and asked them why we had to wait when we knew we had to act quickly, your mommy looked at your doctor. The one who had been working on this since Monday. She had been answering calls about you all night, then working on finding a solution during the day. Mommy saw that her face was full of pain and sadness. She knew that the chance of you making it through the procedure was so astronomically low that she would have to make an impossible choice. One that no mother should ever have to make. We made a plan to try to help, and monitor your heart during the procedure to make sure you were okay, but it would have to wait until the morning. So I begged you to stay with me. And you did.

Sweet Violet, you were so tired.

You kept fighting so that we could hear your heartbeat one last time before we went to bed—so that we could fall asleep full of hope. The technicians did one more Doppler scan, just to check on you before scheduling the ultrasound in the morning. We listened to your strong, beautiful heart and held onto it like a lifeline. We prayed for a miracle—that we’d see you still with us when the sun came up.

But in the middle of the night, while I was asleep, Mommy woke up. She lay still and quiet, waiting for you to move—to feel that little flutter that would say, “I’m still here.”

She waited and waited, but Sweet Violet, you were so tired... She knew you had fought so hard for us, and that putting you through unspeakable pain for such a small chance to make it through wasn't fair to you. And so she whispered softly to you, “It’s okay Violet. You don't have to fight anymore. You’re safe, and we love you. You can rest now.”

She did something I wasn’t strong enough to do. She showed a strength and selflessness that I can only admire—letting you slip away peacefully when I couldn't let go. I know you woke her up because only your mommy could be strong enough to let you rest. Selfishly, I wanted you to keep fighting. I wanted to hold you in my arms and watch you grow up. But that’s why I’m so grateful for your mommy—for her strength, her grace, and her love that let you finally rest. I will never be able to thank her enough for that gift.

The next morning, before the ultrasound, they checked for your heartbeat one more time. Then checked again. And again. And again. I watched every movement, every shared glance between the nurses. I held my breath, clinging to every sound—hoping, praying to hear that sweet, steady rhythm of your heartbeat one more time. Mommy looked at me—and she saw it. The hope left my eyes. The world was crashing down all around me. I looked at her, and in that moment, without a word, she knew: you had gone home to heaven.

But we believe you waited. You held on until you heard Mommy’s voice—until she told you it was okay to rest. That you were safe. That you were loved. You heard her. And then you let go. Not because you gave up—but because you had given us everything you had and more.

And finally, sweet Violet, your sweet little heart could finally rest.

We wept, but found comfort that you weren't having to fight anymore.

We were ready to meet you. We felt so blessed to be able to hold you. You knew how hard this was going to be for Mommy and me, so you wanted to make sure we knew you were still with us. Being born en caul is such a rare and sacred gift, wrapped gently as if you wanted us to know you were already under the Lord’s protection. It's regarded as a sign of a special connection between this world and the next, between your spirit and those left behind. Between Heaven and Earth. This quiet message—that your spirit is still here with us, guiding us, watching over us, and that we can begin our long journey through life until we meet again—gives me peace.

After you were born, Mommy and I were able to spend some quiet time alone with you. We gave you a tiny bear to keep close, a small comfort to hold in your little hands. Mommy even took a nap with you, just holding you gently. She snored like crazy, but you didn't mind. In those moments, Mommy and I got to see just how beautiful you truly are—a beauty we will always carry in our hearts. That time was precious, a gift we wish we could have again and again, to relive and hold onto forever.

It feels so unfair — like this shouldn’t have happened to you or to us. We should be the ones changing your diapers, hearing your cries, and holding you close through every little moment. But even though we mourn those things deeply, we find solace knowing you are in a place where you are so loved and cared for—surrounded by peace, comfort, and a love greater than we can ever imagine.

Scarlett would have been your best friend—always by your side, sharing laughter and secrets, getting annoyed with me after I chased away any boys that came around. And though you can’t be together now, Scarlett gave you her favorite toy to take with you—a small piece of her heart to keep you company. Mommy and I know that even now, you are watching over your sister, guiding her with the same love and strength you’ve shown us.

You are the most selfless, special, and deeply loved little girl we could have ever dreamed of. From the very beginning, you showed us a strength and grace far beyond your tiny size. Though your time with us was far too short, the impact you have made on our hearts and lives is immeasurable. Every moment we held hope, every tear we shed, and every prayer we whispered was all for you—our precious Violet. Your courage has already inspired us, and your spirit will continue to guide us every day. You will forever be a part of our family’s story—a shining light that reminds us of love’s power, even in the hardest of times.

I will try every day to be the man that would make you proud. I will strive to be the father who honors your memory in everything he does—not just for you, but for your big sister Scarlett as well. I want to be the father she can look up to, one who carries your spirit with him and teaches her about your strength and love. We miss you more than words can say, and our hearts ache with the space you’ve left behind. But we will carry you with us always—drawing strength from your love and comfort from the hope that, in the blink of your tiny little eyes, we will be running to you in heaven, where there is no pain, only endless love and light.

You are going to save so many lives with what you went through. Your courage and fight will ripple far beyond our family, giving hope and healing to countless others. So many families will have been made whole because of the bravery you showed, even in such a short time. The doctors who tried their best to find an answer for you will have that answer because of you. And although this is a journey no parent should ever have to face, I would walk it a thousand times over if it meant I could be your daddy. Violet, you are everything I could have ever asked for and more, and I will do my best every day to live in a way that honors your beautiful spirit.

You are my fighter. My Grizzly Bear. My daughter. It’s okay to rest now. You are safely cradled in the arms of our Lord, and in the prayers of those who love you most until the day we can all be together again. Jesus holds you close, surrounding you with His everlasting love and peace. Though our hearts are broken and we will grieve your special soul every day, we hold onto the hope and comfort that one day we will see you again.

And today, everyone here is gathered to give you their love, to celebrate you as our daughter, and to show you that you mattered—deeply, truly, and forever.

Until then, your memory will live on in us eternally as a radiant light guiding us through our hardest moments. Goodnight, my bear. I'll meet you under the double rainbow.