From First Breath to Last....

I Signed Lilly’s Birth Certificate. I Signed Her Death Certificate.

Two pieces of paper that mark the beginning and the end of a life that changed mine forever.

I chose Lilly’s first outfit—the tiniest onesie I could find. Soft. Yellow. Filled with dreams of the life that lay ahead. I imagined the laughter, the milestones, the endless firsts. I imagined watching her grow into everything she was meant to become.

I also chose Lilly’s last outfit. Something she would have hated. Long sleeves, high neck—definitely not her. I could almost hear her voice: “Seriously, Mom? I would never wear this.” But I picked it because I was broken, because I couldn’t think straight, because somewhere deep down I just wanted her to be warm. Even though warmth no longer mattered. Even though nothing made sense.

I saw her first breath. I found her when there was no breath left. The highest joy and the deepest devastation—both bound to her. Both mine to carry. The memory of her first breath still lights up parts of me I thought were gone forever. I remember the weight of her in my arms, her tiny fingers, the way everything else in the world fell away when I looked at her.

And I remember the moment everything shattered. The unbearable stillness. The silence where life used to be. The surreal agony of realizing that no matter how tightly I held her, I couldn’t keep her.

There’s no handbook for this. No way to prepare for choosing both a first outfit and a last. No way to brace yourself for signing the certificates for a life you thought you’d be watching unfold for decades.

I share this because I know I’m not alone. Someone else out there has faced this too—has signed both papers, has made both impossible choices. If that’s you: I see you. I stand with you.

Lilly’s life, however brief, is stitched into the fabric of who I am. Her first breath, her last breath, and everything in between.

She was, and always will be, mine.