Creative Works

“The Empty Womb”

 
The empty womb—
slowly becoming your tomb.
No water. No air.
Tiny lungs half-formed,
grasping for breath that will not come.

I lost the plug—
or maybe not.
But the pains, familiar,
rhythmic stretching—
nature being nature.
Far too soon.
Way too soon.

My backseat hospital bed.
Denial, my constant companion,
twinning with crippling fear.
Don’t face what’s coming.
Can’t face what’s coming.
But it’s already here.

The scent of antiseptic.
The squeak of rubber soles.
The relentless beep of monitors—
a metronome of dread.
Dizziness, chaos, confusion—
all swirl in sync.
My vision blurs—
from tears, from eclampsia?
I keep trying
not to think.

Two sets of heartbeats:
one too fast,
one too slow.
Two sets of heartbeats—
nothing under control.

Control.
On the whiteboard,
a list of goals.
From the nurse: “Stay pregnant.”
If I could,
I would.

The burn of shots in my thighs
to coax her lungs.
The chill of fluid in my veins
to soothe my womb.
Denial whispering:
“It’s okay,
she won’t come this soon.”

But denial only carries you so far—
reality always circles back around.
I failed the goal.
Didn’t keep
my baby girl
safe and sound.

Failure. Shame.
Guilt. Grief.
Will she be okay—
because of me?
There’s no time to stop,
barely time to pray.
Eleven weeks early,
she is on her way.

A crowded room of strangers,
only one familiar face.
He says I have no choice
but to do this—
and to do it this way.

No pain relief.
No help.
No tender labor story to recall.
Only trauma, panic, fear, agony—
shock.
Time slows to a crawl.
Sweat.
The metallic taste of blood.
My own screams echo
off sterile walls.

They take her away.
No sweet newborn cry.
Only commotion—
a blur of blue gloves,
flashing lights,
and my world
fading to white.

October thirteen.
Twelve eleven A.M.
Savannah Victoria’s fight begins.

And I am left alone—
in an empty room,
with an empty womb.
The hum of machines fills the air.
Outside, the world keeps turning.
Inside me—
everything stands still.




"Constellations in Her Cells"


They told me your stars were rearranged,
that some had doubled,
others wandered to foreign skies.
A mosaic, they called it-
but I saw a galaxy,
each chromosome a lantern
mapping its own orbit. 

Doctors spoke in decimals and diagnoses,
their syllables sterile as flourescent light,
but I heard only music-
constellations humming inside you,
not broken, not wrong,
just charted differently
than the maps they handed to me.

I learned their language anyway:
mosaic, translocation, trisomy-
clinical constellations,
but none of their words
could name the wonder
of watching you breathe.

Your cells are a night sky
no telescope can contain:
rare patterns, rare light,
a story written in clusters
that astronomers
have never seen before.

You are Orion remade,
a new Cassiopeia,
lines redrawn across the dark-
proof that even when stars scatter
they still burn, 
they still guide us home.

And still,
you shine.

“Unbreakable Glass”

“You’re talking to the wrong person,” Grace said sternly before turning around as they stood in the sign-up line for the “Buddies for Life” program. But the girl continued, “Well, I just don’t know if I’d have the patience to deal with one of them, you know?” With cool, composed confidence and an icy glare in her slate-blue eyes, she repeated her warning with much more intensity. “I SAID you are talking to the wrong person; my little sister has Down syndrome!” Of course, the new girl at my daughter’s high school didn’t know this, but Grace makes no qualms about her passion for special needs. The passion that began with her baby sister, Savannah.

In 2016, our blended family included my husband and me, my fourteen-year-old stepdaughter, Dailey, my thirteen-year-old son, Hunter, and my eight-year-old daughter, Grace. Grace had always been the baby of our family, but she wanted a baby sister, and that’s precisely what her birthday wish was for that year. When I found out I was pregnant four months later, Grace was among the first to know. Ecstatic doesn’t do justice to her reaction. “You’re having a baby?! That was my wish, that was my wish!!” she exclaimed as she hopped around giggling. The older children weren’t as thrilled, but Grace’s joy was contagious. As the weeks passed, we found out the baby I was carrying was a girl, and as fate would have it, she was due on none other than December 23, Grace’s birthday. She was the happiest I had ever seen her in her entire life. She was already in love with her baby sister, Savannah.

Life rarely goes as expected or planned, and things were no different with Savannah. She made her grand entrance into this world eleven weeks early, weighing a mere two pounds, eleven ounces, facing a mountain of severe, life-threatening complications and an extremely rare diagnosis of mosaic translocation Down syndrome. She had to stay in the NICU, an hour and a half away from our home, for an agonizing sixty-eight days. Our entire world flipped upside down, and we all began to assume new roles. At just eight years old, Grace stepped into a nurturing role, becoming a “mini mom” to her baby sister and wanting to be involved in every aspect of caring for Savannah, as difficult and complex as it was.

As a mother, I feared how the children would feel during this time. Would they feel neglected or left out? How would they react to and feel about finding out their baby sister has Down syndrome? Would they be sad, embarrassed? Would they be socially ridiculed? It turns out I underestimated them, especially the youngest, who has been there most, Grace.

The term “glass child” sometimes describes children like Grace, who may feel invisible when their parents heavily focus on a sibling with special needs. The effect is named so because these children can feel as if they are transparent, unnoticed amidst the demands of family life. Siblings like Grace often have their perspectives overlooked. While parenting a child with special needs comes with its own set of challenges, it’s crucial to consider the emotional landscape of neurotypical siblings who might feel as though they are fading into the background. With her unique insights, Grace is keenly aware of the “glass-child” effect, and her worldview is as rich and nuanced as her sister’s genetic makeup.

Grace is now sixteen, and when talking with her about Savannah, you see her demeanor instantly change. She softens, her posture relaxes, and if her thousand-watt smile doesn’t light up her face, you can see it glowing in her beautiful blue eyes. But if anything bad is said about Savannah or directed her way, you can feel the anger radiate from her and see the switch in her face; her normally quiet, laid-back demeanor turns passionately defensive, ready to argue down anyone who dares with facts backed up by personal experience. And she’s been like that since she was eight years old.

Grace describes finding out that Savannah has Down syndrome as evoking a curiosity within her, not as a traumatic or saddening event in her life. “My first impression of Savannah having Down syndrome was just wondering how that would affect me and our family. With me being so young then, I wasn’t sure what to think. Savannah COMPLETELY opened my eyes about disabilities and Down syndrome. I have learned SO much from Savannah. Her having Down syndrome did impact our family, but it was for nothing but the BEST. She made us more humble and appreciative of the life we have.” The way she emphasizes her words and sometimes speaks with her hands makes her sincerity evident.

Grace became an advocate for her sister and others with disabilities when she was a child herself. As our family began educating ourselves about Down syndrome and immersing ourselves in the special needs and disabilities community, Grace started spreading awareness on her own at her elementary school. When she began fifth grade, she had a homework assignment asking her to write what she wanted to tell the teacher about herself, and the answers would only be shared with classmates if they wanted her to. Grace’s exact response, at ten years old, was:

           “I want you to know that I have a baby sister that is 21 months old and is beautifully blessed with down syndrome. But, we are just like any other family and down syndrome is not a scary thing and our family try’s to get people to understand that. I want to be a special needs teacher.”

This made an impact on her teacher, who had minored in Special Education in college. The following spring, for World Down Syndrome Day (March 21), Grace wanted to do a presentation for her class about Down syndrome; she designed worksheets with pictures explaining how three copies of chromosome 21 cause Down syndrome in a language her classmates could understand. She still reflects fondly on this as a favorite memory. “My whole class was singing and dancing to Baby Shark with my sister before it was over.” This is one example of the many more like it that line the walls of my heart and memory with inexpressible joy.  

Grace’s strength has been undeniable. We’ve faced so many hard and uncertain times on this journey. When Savannah first came home from the NICU, Grace would get up and down during the night when Savannah’s heart or oxygen machines would beep. She helped when Savannah would fuss at and pull off her tiny nasal cannula. She read to, rocked, and sang to Savannah during the countless hours I spent pumping. When asked what one of the scariest times has been for her since Savannah was born, she solemnly recounts Savannah’s first surgery, when she begged, pleaded, and INSISTED that she was coming with us on the trip to Children’s Hospital. “Savannah didn’t want anyone but me, and I was so worried about her and scared.” Her surgeries went well, textbook, but the worry and fear are still palpable when recalled. And dealing with inaccurate stereotypes, rude comments, and negativity is never easy to face. “Being in high school is, of course, going to come with rude comments and all, but NOBODY should have to listen to their seven-year-old sister being talked about at a HIGH SCHOOL! I’m very sensitive about Savannah, and if anything out of hand is said, I do get so mad that I can’t control it sometimes. One day, Savannah will figure out she’s a little bit different than everyone else. Why do people feel the need to say such hurtful things about a CHILD?” Grace remarks, with unspoken pain bubbling just beneath the surface.

Speaking with Grace about her sister showcases her passion, sincerity, and love. But is it a polished version of what she thinks I want to hear, is it her truth? In a TEDx talk in 2011, Meneses Maples described her experience of having two younger brothers, one severely autistic and another who died at age four from an immune-system disorder, bringing light to the struggles she and other “glass children” face. “We’re very sensitive to the needs of our parents and our siblings. And we love our mothers and fathers and our brothers and sisters. And we know that the problems that we have, the things that we face, are insignificant compared to what our parents are dealing with and our siblings are dealing with,” Maplestold the San Antonio TEDx audience. “So, we’re very quiet. Glass children are conditioned not to have any problems. We are supposed to be perfect. When someone asked us how we were doing, the answer was always: I’m doing fine,” she said.

Studies have shown that children who have siblings with disabilities are more vulnerable to internalizing issues rather than seeking help from their parents, as well as ignoring their own needs. “Glass children” are shown to have an increased rate of challenges in areas such as interpersonal relationships, functioning at school, use of leisure time, and overall functioning. There are, however, also positive impacts from being a “glass child.” These siblings may develop more cognitive empathy- the ability to understand others’ emotions- than those without a sibling with a disability or chronic health condition. They tend to be more flexible, independent, and compassionate due to their childhoods.

Grace has faced and met more challenges with stride than many of her sixteen-year-old peers. A Junior in high school, she’s played softball, basketball, volleyball, and cheer. She’s a hard worker and enjoys her job at an award-winning, local favorite deli. She has good grades in school and plans to dual-enroll in her senior year. And she has visions for the future of her relationship with Savannah. “I definitely see me and Savannah being just as much besties as we are now, but of course, she’ll relate to me and talk to me about all her girl problems in the future, and we’ll be even closer.” Watching Savannah and Grace growing up together is inspiring. Savannah is a headstrong, stubborn, fiery, feisty little redhead, and Grace is her fiercely protective, won’t back down from anything big sister. Every day, Savannah’s little voice can be heard saying, “You the best sissy in the WORLD!!” with her dramatic flair added to her affection for Grace. Just like our family unit, their sisterly bond is unbreakable. And Grace, like other “glass” siblings, is made of unbreakable glass.

Works Cited:

duRivage-Jacobs, Sarah. “Glass Child Syndrome.” Charlie Health, 26 July 2024, http://www.charliehealth.com/post/what-is-glass-child-syndrome.

Nicioli, Taylor. “What It’s like to Be a ‘Glass Child.’” CNN, Cable News Network, 23 Apr. 2024, http://www.cnn.com/2024/04/23/health/glass-children-invisible-sibling-wellness/index.html.