That’s what I heard repeatedly from family members and, in a more subtle way, from doctors. I initially agreed with them, repeated it to myself. “We are better off. Our family is better off”. You see, I didn’t choose to end the pregnancy, but when the genetic test results came back it was apparent that Andy had a serious chromosomal disorder. He had a very rare proximal duplication of chromosome 10. I think everybody let out a sigh of relief. “Ah, okay, that’s why. Now we have answers”. Of course, it’s never that simple. Doctors denied that this disorder was a major contributor to Andy’s demise. There are several individuals with this disorder in the United States; all of whom were healthy, uneventful pregnancies and births. As I researched this disorder, I got in touch with some of these families. Despite the many challenges they face, these families adore their children. These parents couldn’t imagine their life without their child and are confident that their child has a purpose in life.

Andy’s genetic anomalies weren’t a surprise to me. They were the results I had expected. From the beginning of the second trimester I knew there was something amiss. He was lethargic; not kicking as much or as forcefully as his brother did. Doctors assured me it was too early to feel kicks. I became obsessed with genetic tests and begged my doctors to conduct an early genetic test. When they refused I set up an appointment with a geneticist and tried to convince her to order a test, but she also refused. I was assured that I was low risk. The geneticist told me, “Frankly, I would be shocked if something turned out to be wrong”. But I knew. For days I researched common chromosomal disorders and read blogs about raising a child with trisomy 21. I sat my husband down and we seriously discussed how our life would change if our child turned out to have special needs. I prefaced my expectations about our second son with, “if he has special needs”. These are things I NEVER did with my first child. It wasn’t because I was ignorant the first time. I knew about all of the things that could happen during conception and prenatal development. I’m a realistic person and knew that all of those things could happen to P. But…the first time around I could feel everything was going to be okay. The second time around I could feel that he was sick, weak.

So, you see. I was already preparing for him. Not for the perfect child one dreams about having, but the child he was actually going to be. But there were moments I felt he was fading away; that he wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to be born. I would hold my belly tight and promise him a million things trying to convince him to stay. “I will be the best mother. I will take good care of you no matter what. If you stay I will show you”. I thought I was being irrational, courtesy of pregnancy hormones. I never told anybody because I thought I would be jinxing it by saying it aloud.

Three months later, I have abandoned this mantra, “we are better off”. Because nobody is ever better off having given birth to their dead baby, no matter how sick the child would have been if living. Nobody is ever better off by being robbed at a chance of giving all of their love to their child. No matter the child’s state, he/she is always in a position to receive their parent’s love. And nobody ever has the right to judge which child would have enriched a family and which child would have been a detriment to the family’s well-being. Many parents who lose their less-than-perfect child often state how grateful they are to have had the time they did with their angel. They state how much “better off” they are for that time.