Megan’s Story

“I remember leaving work that Thursday afternoon feeling a little off and thinking to myself all the way home that it’s not possible for me to be pregnant. My husband and I had been reeling from back-to-back miscarriages that year, the last one only six weeks removed. I stared in disbelief as I saw the two lines appear. This wasn’t supposed to be happening; we still had more testing to go through and we weren’t ready to try again.

After several weeks of the typical pregnancy symptoms and initial blood work, I had begun to pray earnestly for this little baby and so had my sweet friends and family. I remember someone telling me that this would be my “miracle baby,” and after we saw the heartbeat, I had allowed myself to think the same. I knew that God had given us this life and I began praying that this time He would allow us to keep this baby.

The following Wednesday I will never forget. I was at home with the kids, curled up on the couch, when my OB called. My stomach sank as the nurse told me the doctor wanted to speak with me. She quietly explained that our little boy (gasp, “it’s” a BOY!) tested positive for Trisomy 18. I can’t remember the rest of the conversation, except that she would be in touch once she set up an appointment with a specialist. I felt myself free-falling with nothing to hold on to. How could God be doing this to us? We had already suffered the loss of three babies; I felt like we had paid our dues and didn’t deserve this.

The next five months were filled with so many appointments and so many doctors. Each appointment provided further confirmation of our little boy’s condition. I continued to pray for miraculous healing because I knew God was big enough and that He was in control of this situation, but I heard God whispering to me that miraculous healing for Thatcher was not His plan. He began gently preparing me for what was ahead and Jesus began to manifest himself through others in a big way. We were overwhelmed with the outpouring of love as others took care of our family with meals, encouragement, phone calls, visits, and prayers. Our little son had already begun to touch lives before he even took his first breath and I prayed that he would have a mighty impact, no matter how short his time on earth was.

My husband and I began the awful task of making arrangements for our son. We wrote up a palliative care plan, visited with our doctors to discuss the details and bought him a burial plot. I remember walking through that section of the cemetery and being astonished at the number of babies that had been laid to rest. I felt heartbroken for all the families that lost their children too soon. I knew as I left that day, my son kicking my belly, that we would be returning soon to this sad place.

A couple of days later, Hunter, my four-year-old son, asked when Thatcher was going to come out of my belly. He then asked when Thatcher would be four years old, like him. My heart broke at the thought of missed birthdays and missed milestones. I told Hunter that his brother might not get to be four. His series of “why” questions were answered with uncertainty. These answers didn’t satisfy my inquisitive, smart, sensitive son. To be honest, I didn’t know how I would ever answer either of my children’s questions to their satisfaction when my own heart seemed unsatisfied.

I visited my OB for my weekly visit and ultrasound on April 15th. My husband decided he wanted to be there for this appointment. He hadn’t skipped work the last few months to accompany me. I think it was so hard for him to continue going just to receive more bad news. This day was different. My doctor told me we needed to have a heart-to-heart and I knew the time had come. She told us that Thatcher was beginning to show signs of heart failure as fluid was beginning to build up around his lungs. When I left her office, I felt like I was in a fog. All through my pregnancy, I had wanted time to stand still so that I could have Thatcher forever. Now, time was speeding out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  

The next afternoon, after spending the day doing what we could to prepare for a future that was unclear, we went back to my doctor’s office to begin induction. We dropped the kids off with their grandparents later that evening and labor really kicked in. By the time we got checked in and settled in a room, my contractions were coming every minute and I was really far along. I remember the moment my water broke, I was caught between relief from the pain and fear. My mind raced with what the next few hours would bring, but I was grateful for the relief from the intensity.

After three short pushes, Thatcher Yates Kelley made his entrance into the world at 2:17AM. He was a terrible gray color, and he wasn’t breathing. His cord had been wrapped around his neck and I felt my world crashing down as they wrapped him in a blanket. Our family’s pediatrician was present for the birth and gently handed me my lifeless son. My husband and I wept. We had been praying to meet our son and that God would allow us a few moments with him before calling him home, but it seemed that God hadn’t even given us this small request. After what seemed like an eternity, Thatcher gasped for air and opened his eyes. God had answered our prayers in a mighty way and my heart was full. I cannot even begin to describe the emotion in that hospital room.

Thatcher was with us for four beautiful hours. There was an undeniable peace in that room. We had just finished with the Easter season. I had read and re-read the story of Lazarus over the last few weeks and I felt like I was right there with Mary and Martha. I had uttered those same words so many times: “Even now, Lord…” Even now I knew that Thatcher could be made well, if that had been God’s will. But never had John 11:4 been so real: “But when Jesus heard about it he said, ‘Lazarus’s sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this.‘” There it was: God was going to use this ugly circumstance to bring His Son glory. As we sat there in the quiet morning hours of April 17th, I held my son and prayed for God to take him while his little heart stopped beating. I know Jesus was in that room with us, and I know he wept with us, just as he wept with Martha and Mary. We were allowed to see a glimpse of His holiness, grace, and peace, and for that, I will forever be grateful. 

The loss of Thatcher is still so painful, but through it, I have experienced a joy and nearness to God that I never thought possible. The pain has forced me to dig deep into His Word and find the promises of hope, peace and restoration. He has remained faithful to me, upholding me with his right hand, and sustaining me on the hard days. I will continue to lean into God as He is shown that He is trustworthy. Thatcher’s life may have been short, but he was indeed my miracle baby.”

-Megan K
Hope Mom to Thatcher

Megan Kelley is married to Jake and the mother to six babies. Her first child she lost to miscarriage in September of 2009. She then had two children, Hunter who is five years old and Preston who will be three very soon. After Preston, she lost her next two to miscarriage in March and August of 2014. A month later, she found out she was pregnant with her son, Thatcher, who was diagnosed with Edwards Syndrome. He went to his heavenly home shortly after he was born on April 17, 2015. She loves painting, gardening, cooking, reading, and playing with her kids at the park.

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