On November 13, 2001, 18 weeks gestation, I was told that my sixth child had a diaphragmatic hernia. The doctor went on to tell me that this meant the fetus would not develop lungs properly. If brought to term, the fetus would have no lungs. I waited in shock for him to go on and explain what needed to be done to save this baby. It felt as if hours had passed. He just stared at me like he had ordered french fries.

Finally I said what can we do? He told us that there was some experimental fetal surgeries being done, but all and all he would have to say that this fetus had less than a 30% chance of survival. He recommended immediate termination. We explained that termination was not an option. I said what do we do now? He told us the only real hope would be the fetal surgery but that was only being done in California. My Mother said "Understand, it does not matter where we have to go, or how much it cost, we will do whatever possible to give this baby a chance." I'll never forget that statement, or how much I love my mother for being there to make it.

He said the next step would be to determine if the fetus had any other anomalies. If it had a trisomy or a heart defect, it would not be a candidate for surgery. He then said that he felt the baby also had a heart problem. We decided to meet with a cardiologist as soon as possible for a fetal echo. He made the arrangements for that same afternoon. He then asked if there was anything else we wanted to know. I said, yes. Is it a boy or a girl? He said it is a male.

The cardiologist confirmed the heart disease.

I call this my darkest day, though there would be others that came close. This day was the most painful. This day could only be compared to the day my precious little Hayley slipped to her rest. The empty aching that never goes away. The sheer physical ache that only a mother who has survived her child could know. Only on this day, I was not only missing my little Hayley, I was missing a little boy as well. We decided to name him Asa.

There is no way a person could possibly understand what a mother goes through when she is faced with this set of circumstances. The two people closest to me had no clue what to do for me. I had no clue.

In the daylight, I was as cheerful as could be, my children providing the sunshine. They knew things were very bad. At night, and into the morning, I spent the time searching for answers, trying to come to some sort of reality. I did not sleep. As time grew closer we bought a gravesight for Asa, not a crib.

One night as I held Orry, talking to him about his little brother, trying to explain that he was so sick, that he may not get to stay with us very long. He whispered to my tummy "Hurry and grow little Asa, I will kiss you all better, and then we can play."

Yes, this truly was the darkest day. Here I was, my precious baby moving, kicking, growing each day. Each day bringing closer the moment when he would be pushed out into a world where he would probably only know pain. I had never went into labor on my own. I wondered how I could possible choose to be induced. How could I select the day that I would push this angel to his death. As long as I kept him inside, he was safe, he was happy.