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Justice's Story
As told by: Sheba Williams
On February 19, 2016, I sat alone in my bathroom studying a pregnancy test. My husband Cobe P. and I with our children Journey (18 months old) and Cobe S. (4 years old) had just returned home from picking up take-out dinner after a long day. On the way home, the kids had maximized their vocal abilities by way of screaming, laughing, crying, fighting, etc. I had jokingly threatened to hop out at a red light before admitting to my husband I was concerned we might be pregnant. Without hesitation, he had driven to the nearest store for a pregnancy test, and there I was sitting with it and reminiscing about the times I'd sat waiting on pregnancy test results before.
I thought of the very sad feeling of seeing negative results before we were ever parents and the breath-taking shock and excitement that came with positive results launching us into parenthood. So far, I'd had three positive results--the first for Cobe S., second for baby Williams who was miscarried at about 6 weeks, and the third for Journey. As I pondered all of this, I watched the test reveal what turned out to be our fourth positive result. I was speechless. I walked out of the bathroom like a zombie as my husband went in to view the results. He came out with a brave face. I cried the entire night.
It took several weeks to adjust to the idea of being pregnant AGAIN and accepting that I'd have three children all two years apart. I went through a season of self-doubt and insecurity. I wondered how we'd stretch ourselves and produce more love, attention, time, money...enough of everything we had...for three. Fortunately, we had an amazing support system of family and friends who all believed in us and were supportive, and I, as a self-proclaimed superwoman, knew I could not stay in such a state for long. I had to get back to being the person who could reach any goal she set her mind to. I transitioned out of that season ready to take on the world, but not before the threats came in.
I was forced out of my season of doubt and pity due to concerns for my health and a beautiful, perfectly round and growing belly. I remember checking out my belly every time I passed a mirror thinking Yes, this is really happening. The other thing that was happening was frequent heart palpitations. I had been previously diagnosed with supraventricular tachycardia (SVT) in 2014 during my pregnancy with Journey; although, symptoms had been present since after the birth of Cobe S. in 2012. The SVT grew increasingly worse, and I experienced a rapid rhythm of 230 bpm for 30 minutes to an hour on a regular basis. In April 2016, during one episode that lasted about an hour and 45 minutes, I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation (AFib) in addition to the SVT. On that night, a medical professional told me I needed to be transferred to a different hospital and explained the concern was more for me than my baby because my baby was not viable.
The pity party was officially over and the self-doubt had to be paused, because I was carrying a child inside of me that I certainly didn't want to think of as less important than myself. I wasn't concerned with viability, I was concerned with not harming my child and doing everything to give us an equal opportunity at life. I became protective. I was cautious about medications and treatment, and I asked questions of my doctors (OBGYN, electrophysiologist, and fetal specialist) to make sure that everyone working with me wanted the same thing...that they saw this inviable fetus as my child that I wanted to survive.
I made my pregnancy announcement and told the world the Williams family was growing in a post that said, "Third times a charm!" I knew in my heart my baby was a girl because shortly after I had Journey, I felt in my spirit Journey would not be the only girl. I also knew the next girl's name would be Justice, and I'd shared it with my husband when the notion came to me. I had asked him, "If we have another daughter, can we name her Justice?" He'd said, "We are not having any more children." I'd explained since he didn't believe we would have another daughter, he should agree, and he agreed. Fast forwarding to about two years later, I learned I was having a girl, and of course, I knew her name was Justice. My heart was content, and although, I frequented the emergency room with rapid and/or irregular rhythms on a monthly basis, I knew all would be well because I had practically prophesized the child. If nothing else, I knew all would be well because she had finally reached viability!
The next season was all about stretching ourselves. My husband and I worked on being better parents, time management, and money management. We were determined to make enough of everything we needed for our girl. Meanwhile, there were growing concerns about Justice's health as she had fallen behind on the growth curve. I focused on doing whatever I could to help Justice stay on track, but I had been cautioned to prepare for an early delivery if she continued to fall behind in growth. My fetal specialist stressed, "If she ever stops moving, go to the emergency room," at the close of each appointment, and appointments went from every other week, to every week, to twice a week. I always looked forward to seeing my baby girl via ultrasound, but I cried after every appointment because the concerns remained. I eventually convinced myself she was small because my husband and I were small, and my other children were small. We were just a small family, and my doctors agreed that this could be a possibility.
On August 16, 2016, at 31 weeks pregnant, I had an ultrasound with my OBGYN, and it was the best ultrasound yet. Justice appeared to be at a higher percentile in growth than she was the previous week, and I was ecstatic and looked forward to the next appointment with the specialist on August 18, 2016. Between my scheduled appointments was Cobe S.'s first day of school on August 17, 2016. That whole day was dedicated to him as I busied myself with all things that come with a first child's first day of school. On that night, I sat up in bed trying to remember if I'd felt Justice move at all. My husband had just fallen asleep, and I sat up poking and shaking my belly to get a kick count in before bed. There was no movement. I grew a little concerned, and I told my husband I was going to the emergency room. I figured Justice was fine, but I knew it was the right thing to do as the fetal specialist gave instructions regarding this numerous times.
I arrived at the hospital alone, checked in, and sat waiting to be attended to for some time. The nurse apologized when it was finally my turn and began strapping monitors onto my belly. I was nervous and afraid, but hopeful as she searched for a heartbeat. A minute or so went by and there was no sound. The nurse reassured me the silence didn't mean anything and informed me someone would be called in to complete an ultrasound. When she exited, I waited in disbelief. I felt as though I was trapped in a nightmare, and I wanted, with everything in me, to undo all that was happening. I called my husband and informed him he needed to drop the kids off to a friend and get to the hospital ASAP because the monitors didn't pick up a heartbeat. I laid in a hospital bed alone for about 45 minutes, and at one point, I could no longer breathe. I realized I was experiencing panic attacks for the first time.
My husband arrived and it was mostly quiet. In my mind, I knew Justice had slipped away. I knew it was highly unlikely that a monitor would have trouble picking up a heartbeat in the third trimester when monitors pick up heartbeats in the first trimester. Although, I believed she was gone, I could not form the words in my mouth to tell my husband. My heart didn't want to let go and didn't know what to feel. The ultrasound technician and nurse came in together and the ultrasound was performed. There was no sound and no movement. I barely wanted to look because I didn't know what I'd see. I was used to seeing her face, her mouth opening, and her body moving. I didn't want to see her lifeless so I looked and immediately looked away. The technician indicated to the nurse there was nothing, and the nurse looked at us and said, "I'm sorry." We were then left alone, and I threw my arms around my husband and cried for our baby. I couldn't understand how she could have slipped away and why this happened to us.
Eventually, we spoke to a doctor and prepared for delivery. It was all too much to process, and I just wanted Justice in my arms. On August 18, 2016, the date that I should have been having an appointment with my specialist, I gave birth to a 2lb 1.6 oz silent beauty we named Justice Anais Williams. Once she was born, I thought we'd have answers especially with all the concern regarding her growth, but there was no explanation. She was perfect, and the umbilical cord and placenta gave no indication as to why Justice died. I studied her from head to toe, and I laid her on my chest.
We had a handful of family and friends visit including her brother and sister. Pictures were taken and we passed her around just as we would have done if she was alive. Then, when everyone was gone, and it was just my husband and I with our baby, I gave her my heart. I cleaned her with wipes, changed her diapers, changed her clothes, kissed her all over, cradled her, laid her on my chest, laid her across my lap, scratched dry skin from her scalp...I parented her in every way that I could. We kept her for about 30-36 hours before deciding it was time to turn her over to a nurse. I swaddled her in a blanket one last time, and my husband and I kissed her and said goodbye. That goodbye was followed by the deepest and purest anger I've ever felt in life.
I was angry because I had not considered a viable baby could die. I was angry because every hope and dream I had for her future died with her. I was angry because I never thought a child of mine would be associated with the term "stillborn". This anger lasted for some time, and when I wasn't angry, I was depressed. I mourned the loss of our child with everything in me, and I tried to stay afloat the best way I knew how. As a social worker, I had a ton of coping skills, and I used them all, but in the end, I was still very deep in grief. We buried our daughter on August 23, 2016.
We had a simple graveside service free of charge and made possible by Maddie's Footprints, Syrie Funeral Home and St. John's cemetery. All three providers were God sent and just what we needed to bury our daughter without the burden of financial stress and confusion regarding what to do as we had never buried anyone before. With at least some of the burden lifted, my husband carried Justice's tiny coffin and laid it at her grave at the close of the small service. She was buried with a drawing from her brother, her sister's first bracelet, and a piece of her parents' hearts.
I walked away with arms so empty the ones I loved in my household could not fill them. I mostly wrapped my arms around myself and cried hysterically day in and day out. It was a terrible amount of grief that threatened to swallow me whole. I wrote letters to Justice on a daily basis for some time to express my love to her. As I constantly expressed my love for her I begged her to let me hold her in my dreams. At times, I felt as if I was in the middle of an ocean drowning as the whole world watched. I felt the onlookers felt sorry for me, but I felt no one was reaching into the ocean to pull me to safety. It was a very lonely and vulnerable place, but by the grace of God, I did not drown. Through writing letters to Justice, participating in Footprints of Hope support group, praying, sharing my journey with my friends, and crying my heart out to one of my very best friends (who stood in the ocean with me) when the pain was unbearable, I SURVIVED.
I miss my daughter every day, and I am forever grateful for the beauty, experience, and love she deposited into my life. Justice has inspired me to shine a light in the darkness that follows death and give hope to families on this journey by way of children's' books. I am working to complete my first project within the next six months. I believe is directly connected to Justice's purpose and God's will for her and our family. Therefore, this is the start of Justice's story and the end is not yet in sight. TO BE CONTINUED...
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