On October 25, 2018, I was scheduled to be induced at 10 PM to deliver my daughter, Azalia. I was living in a hotel at the time, with no home and no job, after struggling with pre-labor complications throughout my pregnancy. That morning, something felt terribly wrong. I woke up sick — violently sick — something I hadn’t experienced since my first trimester. My mom took me to Burger King where I managed to eat a double cheeseburger meal with onion rings and a pink lemonade. But my heart was heavy. I spent most of that day in tears, overwhelmed with a sense of dread I couldn’t explain.

I called my OB’s office, desperate for reassurance. They told me it was just “first-time mommy jitters.” I tried to believe them. I rested, bathed, and did my best to relax, but even soaking in the tub, I found myself getting sick again. Deep inside, my gut told me something was wrong. I wanted to rush to the hospital, but fear and doubt held me back. I kept telling myself it was nerves.

When I finally arrived at the hospital for my scheduled induction, my worst fears became reality. I wasn't given the care I needed. An emergency C-section was denied. Because of that, I lost my sweet Azalia.

The hours that followed were a blur. My delivery room was flooded with people — family, friends, faces I couldn’t even process — but one presence stood out: Shawna, Azalia’s Godmother. Her support, then and now, is a blessing I will always treasure. Sadly, I also remember the harshness of one nurse and the cold, uncaring attitude of the doctor who delivered my daughter.

Yet even in that unimaginable darkness, there was a glimmer of light. A nurse named Jen treated me with such tenderness and compassion. I’ll never forget her. And though my trusted OB, and my high-risk doctor, weren’t there that night, I know in my heart they would have fought for Azalia if they had been.

Amidst the chaos, someone came into my room who changed my grief journey forever. Her name was Heidi, and she introduced herself quietly, gently. She said she was there with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, and she had come to take professional photographs of Azalia and me. Hearing that made everything feel so heartbreakingly real.

Through tears and a pain I can barely describe, Heidi captured the only tangible memories I would ever have with my daughter. Each photo tells a story of love that death couldn’t erase. My sweet, chunky, beautiful Azalia — forever preserved in those images. Even now, I look at them every single day. They are the proof that she was here. They are my comfort when the world feels unbearable.

The first 48 hours after Azalia’s passing were a blur of shock and numbness. My mind couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of my grief. In the weeks and months that followed, I learned just how isolating loss can be. Depression and trauma became daily battles, but those photographs were lifelines — visual anchors tying me to the precious reality that Azalia existed, and that she was loved deeply.

Before this experience, I didn’t even know what remembrance photography was. Now, I can’t imagine my life without it. Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep gave me a gift beyond value. They gave me memories when I thought there would be none. They honored Azalia’s life with dignity and grace when everything else felt broken.

Remembrance photography isn’t just about pictures. It’s about freezing time for families whose dreams were shattered in a moment. It’s about giving parents a way to say, “My child was here. My child mattered.” It’s about healing, about surviving the unimaginable with something beautiful to hold onto.

Azalia may not be here physically, but she is everywhere in my life. Her urn sits safely in a special keepsake box in my room. I celebrate her birthday every year with cake and a balloon release. I hang her ornaments on the Christmas tree. I speak her name with love. And every day, I mother her the only way I can now — by honoring her memory and sharing her story.

If there’s one thing I can leave you with, it’s this: cherish every moment. Listen to your instincts. And support organizations like Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, who stand with grieving families in their most fragile, heart-wrenching moments. They gave me something no one else could — they gave me forever with Azalia.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, a dedicated 501(c)(3) non-profit, offers families experiencing pregnancy and infant loss with complimentary remembrance portraits, capturing precious moments with their babies. Your generous donation can help us extend this heartfelt service to more families in need. Please consider supporting us here.