"I wanted to watch her die, because that would mean that I got to watch her live."

[Chris0nllyn]

I quoted some to give you an idea, but reading the whole thing breaks my heart.

In December, my wife Keri and I went in for the standard 19-week anatomy scan of our second child. As a parent, you think that appointment is all about finding out boy or girl, but it’s about a whole lot more. In our case, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare birth defect called anencephaly. Some three in 10,000 pregnancies rare.

The options weren’t great. There was a) inducing early, which in effect was terminating the pregnancy or b) continuing the pregnancy to full-term.

We decided to continue, and chose the name Eva for our girl, which means “giver of life.” The mission was simple: Get Eva to full-term, welcome her into this world to die, and let her give the gift of life to some other hurting family.

It was made clear to us over and over and over again how if Eva’s kidneys or liver didn’t go directly for transplant, they would go to research, and infant organ research is incredibly valuable. I got that. It made sense. But I wanted a tangible outcome. I wanted to be able to meet and hug and shake the hand of the person my daughter saved. I had dreams of going to birthday parties and high schools graduations and weddings. It was all pie in the sky stuff, but I couldn’t dream about what my daughter would grow up to be, so I fantasized about the difference she could make.

Keri rolled onto her side and put both hands over her face and let out one of those raw, visceral sobbing bursts. I stood silently shaking my head. We had tried to do everything right, tried to think of others, tried to take every possible step to make this work, and it didn’t. No organ donation. Not even for the failsafe, research. We felt cheated.

I clung to knowing her humanity would be validated to me when I saw her as a living, breathing human being. I would hold my daughter and be her daddy. I wanted to watch her die, because that would mean that I got to watch her live.

“I’m on the phone with LifeShare,” she said, a smile cracking through on her face. “They have a recipient for Eva’s eyes.”

We always wondered things about Eva, like what color her hair would be, if she’d have Harrison’s nose, if she’d have dimples like her mama, or what color those eyes would be. In the time we spent with her, one was always just a little bit open, and I fought the temptation to peek. I can’t ever hold my daughter again. I can’t ever talk to her or hear her giggle. But I can dream about looking into her eyes for the first time one day, and finding out what color they are.

https://medium.com/@royceyoung/we-s...ng-for-the-death-of-our-daughter-79f357dd254d

 

[b23hqb]

My surname is Young, and we have a beautiful daughter named Kerri. On top of that I grew up in Oklahoma until 1972, when I joined the Nav. I can't help but shed tears, and my wife is almost afraid to read the article, but she will. I say blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes.