‘Guess how much I love you’
Holly Coe, 32, writes a letter to the daughter she was blessed with for four precious days…
Dear Jasmine,
In your short four days of life, we didn’t have much time to make memories. I never got to see you go to school, grow up, or marry your soul mate. So the few recollections I do have are extra special.
Even as a child, I was maternal, convinced I’d be married at 16 and have six kids! I longed for a daughter but, with three older brothers, boys ran in our family.
I met your dad, Jason, now 33, in 2010, and we fell in love. We moved in together within a year. When I realised I was expecting your older brother, Jaxon, soon after, we were thrilled.
Pregnancy suited me – my hair became thicker, my skin clearer. And when Jaxon was born in March 2012, he was a content baby who slept and fed easily.
So when we went to New York for my 30th birthday in January 2015, we started trying for a second baby – and fell pregnant straight away.
I felt just as good, but a few little changes – no cravings for chocolate and going off caffeine – allowed me to hope I was carrying a daughter.
The sonographer at my scans confirmed my suspicions, so we started discussing names. Jason suggested Jasmine, which I loved. And because we’d seen Aladdin while we were in New York, it felt right.
But, on 7 October 2015, at nearly 37 weeks, I realised you weren’t moving. I tried eating, lying on my side, but nothing.
I called the hospital to be on the safe side.
‘Come in and we’ll check you over,’ the staff advised.
When they put the monitor on my stomach, I heard your heartbeat and smiled. Yet, the medics didn’t look convinced. ‘The rhythm isn’t as it should be,’ they said with concern.
So they decided to induce me. Then, when nothing happened after seven hours, I had a Caesarean. As they lifted you out, there was a horrible silence.
‘ Why isn’t she crying?’ I asked anxiously.
They assured me you were fine and, after giving you oxygen, handed you over. You looked perfect and, at 6lb 2oz, you were a healthy weight.
But something wasn’t right… you seemed woozy and, when I fed you, you appeared to faint. The same thing happened when Jason changed your nappy.
But although something was clearly wrong, the doctors had no answers for us.
Finally, after 10 hours, they decided to transfer you to a specialist hospital in Oxford. ‘ We suspect she has severe brain damage,’ they told us. ‘She might die.’
Their blunt words sent me spiralling into shock and, as I travelled in the ambulance behind yours, I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to us, not to my baby.
In Oxford, they had answers – tragic ones. Every time you’d ‘fainted’, you were actually having a mini stroke, each one killing more of your brain.
‘ We don’t know if she has days or weeks,’ the consultant said gently. ‘But it won’t be long.’
As his words settled on me, my whole body went numb. Unable to feel, we started to go through the motions.
At two days old, we had you christened. As the priest prayed, your little arms flung upwards. Although it was probably just a nerve, it comforted us.
Two days later, after speaking to the consultants, we moved to Helen & Douglas House Hospice, with enough oxygen to last for a couple of hours. With colourful gardens and peaceful rooms, it was beautiful.
The doctors gave us a memory box, filled with things to help us make the most of the rest of our time with you. In the ambulance, I wrapped your tiny hand around my finger, and you squeezed it tightly. It was the smallest movement, but it filled my heart.
At the hospice, we took turns cuddling you, and took your hand and footprints.
Then, as the oxygen began to run out, the staff suggested we read you a story and, in the memory box, we found Guess How Much I Love You. Within minutes, you started gasping for air, then went still. I knew I’d never be the same again. For the next five days, we stayed at the hospice with you. I couldn’t sleep until Jaxon crawled into my bed beside me. Without him, I’m not sure how I would have survived.
A post-mortem revealed you’d had a massive stroke inside me. There was no reason, just one of those terrible, tragic things.
At home, I packed all your clothes away into the attic, unable to look at them. But, determined you wouldn’t be forgotten, we put the copy of Guess How Much I Love You into a cabinet, with your hand and footprints, and I recorded A Whole New World for when we carried your tiny coffin into your cremation on 10 November 2015.
I also joined my local Stillbirth And Neonatal Death Services (Sands) group, and there, with other grieving mums, I could express my loss openly and honestly.
Immediately, I wanted another baby. Not to replace you, but my arms ached to hold you.
Jason was hesitant but could see this was the only thing that would make me happy. Within three months, I was pregnant again.
Physically, things went smoothly but, emotionally, it was the hardest nine months of my life. When I discovered I was having a boy, I was devastated, but gradually realised it was for the best. I didn’t want to look at another little girl and see you. I gave birth to your little brother, Ashton, at 38 weeks. At first, I watched over him fearfully, but now that he’s a year old, I’m more confident.
But no matter how many children your daddy and I have, you’ll always be part of our family. I wear a necklace with your picture in, and whenever Jaxon sees a white feather, he’ll tell me, ‘It’s part of Jasmine’s wings.’
You don’t have to guess how much we love you – we tell you every day.
‘We took turns cuddling you, and took your hand and footprints’