Our Shalom

             Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.                                                                             

-Jeremiah 1:5

Shalom is our only daughter, and youngest child. She was born on October 20, 2025 and passed away after 23 hours of living. Our ministry is in her honor, as we seek to love, comfort, and support fellow bereaved families who have lost their children through miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal death. Before my first prenatal appointment, there were signs of miscarriage. Having lost two babies through miscarriage, I was devastated.

Initially I tried to cancel my appointment because I saw no point in going to hear what I believed was the inevitable. After eventually agreeing to come in, I received the most wonderful surprise: there was my baby. The cause of my issues was a subchorionic hematoma, an accumulation of blood that collects specifically inside the uterus, between the uterine wall and the chorionic membrane. I was assured that most of these clots disappear by the end of the first trimester. Mine would not. Mine was bigger than what was typical. Nonetheless, for the most part it was just “there”, and not affecting our baby. Because of my complicated history with pregnancy (two miscarriages, placenta previa and cord prolapse with one of my other children), I was deeply concerned. But everything was progressing despite this complication.

When I went for my appointment at 17 weeks, I expected to see my baby on the ultrasound as I had during prior appointments and to receive continued good news. But immediately I knew there was a problem- as soon as the scan started my baby could not be seen. To me it looked like a foggy or cloudy mess. The doctor was called in, and nothing could have prepared me for her words. 80% of my placenta had detached. I was told that my baby was fighting to live, and with so little placenta left, my baby would eventually get tired and stop fighting. In short, I could expect the pregnancy to end in the next day or two. 

What do you do with this? How do you take another breath? In that moment my heart was shattered. I felt completely helpless. I was going to lose my baby, and I didn’t know when. I went home, finding it nearly impossible to do anything. My two boys needed me, but my heart was full of immense brokenness and pain. I struggled to prepare myself for the loss of my baby at any moment. We knew that we would have to be ready to leave for the hospital immediately when things started to happen. I was told to even prepare for possible hemorrhaging. The fear was debilitating.  We were devastated.

But one day passed. Then another. And another. Then a week. What was going on? I was scheduled to come in two weeks after that horrific appointment, but of course no one was expecting to see me then. But there I was. My doctor could not believe it. She was in shock. And I would continue to have appointments. Despite the miracle we were witnessing, my doctors continued to express grave concern over our baby and me. One encouraged termination, to which we utterly and completely refused. When asked if our stance would change if my life were at risk, it was still a hard no. We would not end the life of our child. 

With countless friends and family interceding for our baby, we could see the power of prayer at work in our lives. When the doctors’ words filled us with despair, we worked hard to ground ourselves in the L-RD. As Messianic Jews, our life revolves around our faith, and this was hands down the greatest challenge we had ever faced. Eventually we came to a place where we would experience His shalom, no matter what we were told in our appointments. The Sar Shalom (Prince of Peace) was with us. It was truly His shalom, surpassing all understanding. And we were in agreement that if we had a girl, her name would be Shalom. 

On September 11 my water broke. Before heading to the hospital that night, I kissed my sleeping boys good bye, knowing that I might not come back for some time. My younger son came early, and I had a hospital stay before he was born, so I was prepared. I would end up staying in the hospital for six weeks before complications moved doctors to decide on a c-section delivery. I will never forget my nurse, Amanda who stayed by my side because my husband wouldn’t make it until after the delivery. Then she came. “It’s a girl.” I’ll never forget her loving words: “You got your girl, Sofia.” I was so happy. How sweet it would be to watch my two boys and their little sister together. How much fun it would be to buy her dresses and to do her hair. 

It wasn’t long before they brought her to the NICU.  Initially she was ok. Then a nurse came to my room to update me on her condition. I was recovering, but of course I went to see her. I was told that she was critical. There was so much back and forth- one moment she was alright, then not so much, then ok again. A nurse later told me that she looked ok and that it was alright to go rest. But not long after another nurse came to my room and told me I should call my husband. I knew this was not good. When I returned to my daughter’s room and my husband met me there, the next few hours are a time that will forever be etched in my mind. Our little girl was struggling immensely. Shalom’s severely underdeveloped lungs made it difficult for oxygen to be transferred throughout her little body. It was the most traumatic and painful experience of our lives. Our child was in pain, and there was nothing we could do. I remember just cupping her little head and telling her, “Mommy’s here.” And, “If He calls you home, I will walk you home.” 

There wasn’t anything Shalom’s nurses didn’t do for her. They fought for her until her final breath. Chest compressions were the final attempt they made to save her life, and then that was it. She was called Home. The hour of her death was called after she was placed in my arms. There was a heavy moment of silence in that NICU room. At least ten nurses remained standing, and in silence. They honored our daughter. In Shalom’s short life, all she knew was love- people who loved her, cared for her, and fought for her. What more could I ask for as a mother? My Labor & Delivery Nurses and Shalom’s NICU nurses are absolute walking angels. I am forever grateful for the love, care, and support they extended towards our family.  

We were given a beautiful time to honor our daughter after her death. We bathed her. We put a beautiful white dress with lace and beads on her. We took her fingerprints and footprints. Pictures were taken of us together. Then Scott and I had private time with our daughter. And then we said good bye. I will never forget the tears that fell down the faces of two nurses who said good bye to me. One assured me, “I will never forget Shalom.” Four days later we buried our daughter. We had the honor of eulogizing our precious Shalom. Where she is buried is so peaceful, and we could truly sense His shalom in that place. Even as she was lowered into the ground, one of the groundskeepers who was placing her casket gently patted it. Another act of love for our daughter. 

Our hearts will never ever fully heal. The loss of our Shalom has left an indescribable void in our lives. But we make her a part of our lives. Our boys know they have a sister, and we talk about her all the time. Shalom’s brothers kiss her picture when they wake up and before they go to sleep. What truly gives us hope and comfort is knowing where she is, and with Whom she is. Shalom is also with her two siblings, Lael and Liel. We know that our daughter is happy, healthy, and whole. We try to imagine what she is doing each day in Heaven, and the fact that we will see her again one day brings so much comfort. Without this assurance we would not survive. And how beautiful that reunion will be. How we yearn for the day we step foot in Heaven and hear them call our names while running to us. Until that day, our desire is to bring purpose out of pain. Knowing firsthand the devastating pain of losing a child, we pray that we can be used to help bring love, hope, and comfort to families suffering the same pain.  

May our daughter, Shalom’s memory and our other two children, Lael’s and Liel’s memories, and the memory of every other child in Heaven be a blessing.