08/04/2024
TRIGGER WARNING
[Child loss/Home-birthing, depicted in words & photos. ]
For the past year, my photography has been silent on social media. Many have asked why and were met with shameful silence. I use to fear that I could never do anything BUT photography, that I could not never find another fulfilling job. But for a long while, I have resentfully rejected photography all together. I have struggled to lift my camera and find joy in what I once loved. Since walking a narrow path of grief and healing, I have contemplated on how to share it. Nothing ever felt right, until now. So I guess I’ll just start at the beginning and do my best. I wish I knew the perfect things to say to honor my friends as much as they deserve. With my friend, Ashley’s permission, I am ready to try. This is my experience of how my friend Ashley and her daughter Nyeli changed me.
I’ve known my friend Ashley for a decade. She and I have always clicked, she is just such an easy person to be around. Kind, warm, creative, empathic, giving, funny—everything you look for in a friend. We laugh at how we share so many quirks and even our birthday. We find comfort that we have had similar experiences with heartache and generational trauma. I have photographed her pregnancies and all her children’s newborn photos. I have watched her build a beautiful family with a deeply-good man who has loved her oldest daughter as his own. Ashley is a loyal friend who makes you feel appreciated and seen, yet holds us accountable to breaking problematic patterns and to better yourself for the greater good. She is the type of woman who inspires you to be a better mom and a better person. I didn’t think I could admire her more. Until now.
Last spring, Ashley was pregnant with her third daughter. I was asked to photograph her home-birth. I was so nervously excited and honored. Births were not my niche and I had sessions already scheduled but she trusted me and that in itself was enough for me to take upon the task and try my best. When she went into labor it was Easter weekend. I was already all the way in another state photographing another family so I told her I was not going to be able to make it. She was gracious and through her labor pains she told me not to worry about it at all, we’d schedule a newborn session like we had for her older 2 daughters.
When I finally was leaving my session I was so tired and ready to go to my in-laws for their Easter dinner. But something told me to "go" and "try" and “NOW”. So I pulled over on the side of the highway and rerouted my GPS to Ashley’s house. And when I arrived I met with smiling faces but I quickly started to feel something was not right. We all trusted the midwife who portrayed herself as a medical professional. I am just a photographer, what do I know? So I sat patiently, I documented, I silently prayed. The whole ordeal began to feel unbelievably, yet unintentionally, violent. I watched my friend battle more than I have ever seen a woman endure and I watched her husband through his worry make himself a pillar of strength and comfort for her. Nyeli was breech and struggling to descend.
Soon I found myself not being able to stand on the sidelines anymore. I dialed 911. Within minutes I could hear the sirens coming around the bend but it felt like they couldn’t come fast enough even if they had manifested out of thin air. I have never prayed so hard in my life. I begged for God to come quick. I demanded that he show himself. That I accepted him denying me miracles in the past but give us one now.
My prayers were met with deafening silence.
Nyeli was able to be freed, but my heart worried it was too late. Cody went with Nyeli in one ambulance, Ashley (who was experiencing shock and exhaustion) was rushed in another. The hospital staff told me only family was allowed to stay with Ashley. Without hesitation, I told them I WAS her family and I would not leave her alone. The midwife we trusted had misled my friend and had abandoned her without any sign of remorse. I refused to do the same. When they led me to her room, I saw her sweet face was still gently smiling even though behind her eyes I could see all the fear and shock. Soon after, we heard knock at the door. Cody and a large army of kind doctors finally walked in and without a word we knew. Their arms were empty and their shattered hearts were worn on their faces. They took heroic efforts to save Nyeli but she passed on. We all left the room so Ashley and Cody could privately and rawly feel. As I listened to my friend bare her soul, I slid to the floor in devastation. This couldn’t be happening. What the f**k is happening?
I stayed for a while. Made sure they had decent food to eat. Took as many photos of Nyeli as I possibly could. She looked like a sleeping angel. Late into the night, my husband came to pick me up. I walked out the doors feeling like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. We were silent the whole way home. When we arrived, my two daughters were fast asleep together in the same bed. I laid with them, staring at their beautiful little faces as tears silently streamed from my eyes. When I managed to find my own bed, I just stared at the ceiling and wept until I passed out from exhaustion. The next day I picked Ashley’s oldest daughter up and took her with us to my sister’s Easter egg hunt. I watched her run around smiling and laughing but I knew this child, not too much older than my own daughter, would be forever changed. And on Easter of all days, I was more angry with God than I have ever been.
In the coming weeks, I continued to show up even when Ashley wasn't up to seeing anyone. That was perfectly ok, she owed no one anything. I didn't ask her what she needed, I just moved on instinct. I would quietly leave poem books at her house that I read during my own darkest times. I would take her toddler on a walk so they could experience stillness for just a few moments. I would clean a few dishes and put toys away. I left aromatherapy oils for "joy" and "forgiveness" and "peace" because I thought if she can't muster up the strength for these sentiments herself, I'll desperately try to lend her mine. I did these small things while furious with myself that I was doing what felt like the minimal. I felt such a longing to do more. I just so badly wanted to help carry this for them.
I went on struggling with what to do with the constant empathic pain I had for my friend's broken heart. And I refused to share with others with the details of what I witnessed because it didn't feel like my trauma to claim. My young faith couldn't reconcile what happened so I stopped going to church. I stopped looking people in the eye in fear that my own would well up. If you know me personally, you probably are aware that I have had my share of trauma. But this? This was different. And it amplified what I have always asked, “why does Dread follow me”? I even asked my husband this the night Nyeli passed. My fear of being stalked by dread made me feel, in a way, responsible for this. Does my cursed existence put others in misfortune’s path? You may say “that sounds unreasonable” but that’s what can happen when C-PTSD creeps in and replaces reason with guilt/shame/fear/anger. I told my therapist that I was finding myself dissociating and staring off into space with the sound of a woman lamenting in agony echoing in the back of my mind. For a while, I naturally thought I was reliving my friend's earth shattering cries of a mourning mother, a sound that cannot be explained. But after some time and reflection I realized the woman crying out in agony inside my heart was not just her anymore—it was also me. I didn’t not know how to express this pain gracefully/appropriately/willingly so I bottled it up. This had knocked the wind out of me and I have struggled to catch my breath since.
And if this was my narrow path of grief, Ashley’s was totally unfathomable.
Through all of her own trauma, even a year later, Ashley continued to unnecessarily apologize for me being there. That is the selflessness of my friend, Ashley. She goes through the worst day of her life and she is still worried about someone else. I told her I would never want her to feel guilt for fate bringing me there, I just wished I could have done more. As we sat there on my couch finally talking about what happened after almost a full trip around the sun, both being so delicate and trying not to amplify the trauma for the other, she paused and humbly confessed that for a while she was secretly resentful of me for continuing to show up and not leave her to dissipate in her grief. And that this experience uncovered for her the scars of not knowing how to ask or receive help. In my opinion, scars from people who should have loved her the way I know she deserved. She said intrusive thoughts told her I only stayed out of obligation—any decent human being would have done the same, right? But eventually they would go back to their own life. Because after trauma, the world will start turning again even if you're not ready for it to.
And then she said something that felt like God speaking through her directly to my heart. She told me that the compassion and love that I offered was what she had needed. Not just because of the wounds of losing Nyeli were so fresh. But because I kept coming back when the world started to spin without my friend able to move with it. Her old wounds of undeserved abandonment and neglect, and the lies that tell her she is an inconvenience/burden started to take notice. Over time and with a bomb-ass therapist, she is realizing that she is deserving of compassion and lovingkindness. She no longer has to worry solely about others, especially on her darkest days. She can start to allow herself to hold out her hand for tenderness and believe that the love she receives is not out of obligation, but because she is truly loved, valued and adored. She is fully worthy of love and attention.
In that moment, Ashley, Nyeli and God had given me a bittersweet gift—a purpose for my pain. Could it truly be that through my own accumulative experience of surviving the dark, vast waters of lonely grief, I was called to dive back down and reach for my friend at unfathomable depths; to pull her up to the surface, even if just for a little while? Even if the lies that taunted her resented me for it? If I could hold her at the surface for even just a moment, it gave my journey through grief meaning. I am in awe of this gift that I cannot even begin to imagine reciprocating. I will live the rest of my life trying.
How many times in my own life have I sat lonely in grief because of my fear of inflicting it on others and causing them discomfort? How many times did I tell myself that I am not loved nor do I deserve it, I am just pitied like a sad story? How many times did I confuse people’s concern for me as obligation? How long have I been silently crying out in agony? And to then be told that I have somehow, even if only a little, helped someone else tread water in the ocean of grief? I never thought I would be thankful and grateful for my wounds. But now I am. No one should tread those waters alone, even if they want to.
I thank God for my birthday-twin, soul-sister Ashley; for her lovingkindness and the privilege of being her friend. For the voice inside me who told me to "go", "try", "now". And for the honor of knowing her angel, Nyeli. I don’t think I can ever explain to Ashley how her words born from pain have unknowingly shown mercy on me, but I will continue to try and show her with my actions. It doesn’t feel fair for me to be given such a profound gift as they experience such profound loss. I am soulfully indebted. The Lewis family embodies immeasurable love. And while this chapter of their story is drenched in tears, it deserves to be seen and to be known. I am here to share it.
When I look upon Nyeli’s face, I see Light.
Grace.
Courage.
Empathy.
Mercy.
Hope.
Beauty in a broken world.
When I look upon her face, I see God.
I share her photo—today, on her birthday—praying you, too, will see.
The fact that today is the solar eclipse feels so incredibly profound and contrived. I read that the eclipse is "a moment for reflection and renewed reverence for life" and spiritually it's meant to “inspire transformation and healing”. It's like the world will be taking a moment of silence just for her.
And I hope that today, when you see your world plunge into darkness, you will take a moment and think of Nyeli.
And find peace in knowing that Light is on its way.
Nyeli’s life was not saved. But she helped save mine. She has given me new sight. A replenished well. She has revived the fire I have for capturing love and life through my camera's lens. And she has graced me with a place to rest my own weathered burdens so I may help carry someone else’s; for someone I deeply love.
And I hope she inspires you to do the same.
Happy Birthday, Nyeli. You are cherished.
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