I will never forget the sentence that shattered my life on October 20th, 2026:

“I’m so sorry, Bri… there’s no heartbeat.”

Not me.Not us. She’s moving now. I felt good. There were no signs.

How did I not know? As her mother? As a nurse ?

As those thoughts flooded my mind, all the air left my lungs — as if it too needed to escape this new reality.

That one sentence divided my life into before October 20th and after October 20th.

I longed for a time I could never return to. A permanent homesickness. A soul-level longing for the before — the before life where it felt safe, before I understood that sometimes parents bury their children. With one sentence, something in me died. I begged God to take me instead if it meant bringing her back.

That day, I joined a club no one ever expects to join — bereaved parents. Angel parents. Parents who must keep living despite feeling like they, too, died.

As a l&d nurse, I understood what was happening medically. I knew the process. I knew time was against us. I chose induction that very night so we could have the greatest chance of spending the longest amount of time with our baby while she still looked like a baby.

Looking back, I know the Lord prepared me in the most merciful way possible through my calling as a nurse. Because I was not a stranger to the medical reality of infant loss, I was able to enter Ruthie’s birth with intention — soaking in moments with gratitude and love rather than being consumed by shock or disassociation. Our time with her was holy, peaceful, deeply supported, and spiritually held.

Many mothers are not afforded that kind of bonding and grieving space because trauma overtakes the moment or simply not all hospitals have bereavement cribs. We were profoundly blessed with a birth experience filled with love and I will happily share how we saw God throughout the whole time. Just ask me sometime.

Our daughter, Ruthie Danielle, was born sleeping at 18 weeks and 3 days.

Our hospital provided us with a Cuddle Cot, which allowed us to hold her, take photos, paint her nails, bathe her, rock her, sing to her, memorize every detail, pray over her, and spend the only time we will ever have with her on this side of heaven. The device gently slows the natural physical changes that can be difficult and heartbreaking for families to witness, preserving dignity and allowing uninterrupted bonding time.

Not long into our postpartum hours, I recognized a sound no mother forgets — another mother’s heart breaking. Another family had just learned they too were now members of the world’s most unwanted club. Delivering where I worked, I knew we only had one cuddle cot.

I want to be very clear: at no point did the hospital or staff make us feel rushed or pressured to give it up. Our nurses were extraordinary — compassionate, protective, and deeply committed to our time with Ruthie. They never asked us to leave or sacrifice a single moment.

This decision came entirely from our hearts.

The l&d nurse in me, the nurse who has cared for grieving parents and now stood in their exact place knew that every mother deserves time with her baby. They say nurses make the worst patients, and maybe we do, but I’d like to believe it’s because we love harder than most. Once a nurse, always a nurse — caring for others first.

We immediately offered the cot for the other family. Our nurse, so loving and protective, refused to take it. But knowing another family might have less time, or face the added trauma of their baby being placed on ice packs to slow the natural process, broke my heart.

So we chose to discharge at just 20 hours postpartum so the cot could be available to them. No amount of time would ever have been enough for us, or for any family experiencing loss.

Had there not been a second need, I honestly would have stayed days, not hours.

We were blessed with the time that we had loving Ruthie and for that I praise God. I know in my heart she would have chosen the same — ensuring another family received the ultimate gift when time is stolen.

Why We Are Starting This Fundraiser in March

March should have been Ruthie’s birth month.Instead of celebrating her arrival in our arms, we are choosing to celebrate her life with purpose.

Our goal is to raise enough funds to purchase and donate a Mini Caring Cradle to the unit by Ruthie’s 1st Heavenly Birthday on October 21, 2026.

A Mini Caring Cradle is specifically designed for smaller gestational age losses. While it serves a similar purpose as a Cuddle Cot, it offers:

• A more beautiful, peaceful, and less clinical presence (MUCH nicer for photos)

• Gentle dignity for tiny babies

•Less interruptions from nurses as the device requires no maintence once in use. • The ability for parents to spend as much uninterrupted time as they need

No parent should ever feel limited in saying goodbye.

This time, the hours spent holding, loving, memorizing, is the only time families will ever have with their child. And I promise you, this means everything to us.

As parents, our love never dies. Even if Ruthie did and we now get to live life for her. She lives on through how we choose to love others in her name. If her life can provide even one family more time, more peace, and a more dignified goodbye, then her legacy continues to touch the world.

Thank you for honoring our daughter, for helping us keep her alive and helping us give grieving families the one thing that can never be replaced:

Time.

With love,

Ruthie’s family