After a couple of years of trying on our own, my husband and I decided to meet with a local fertility specialist in hopes of starting a family. I was quickly diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), and we began outlining the next steps. After my fifth round of IUI treatment, we finally found out I was pregnant. We were overjoyed, especially when we learned it was twins! Around six weeks, however, we were told we had lost one of the twins. We were devastated, but continued on, thankful that “Baby A” was thriving. From that moment on, my pregnancy was considered normal. I had gestational diabetes, but it was well-controlled with diet.
Everything was going smoothly—until my 38-week appointment. I brought my sister along, and we met my husband there. As we joked with the doctor about old wives’ tales regarding heart rates and gender, he tried to find the heartbeat. When he couldn’t, he left to get the ultrasound machine. I still wasn’t concerned. But when he looked at the screen and said, “I am sorry,” everything stopped. He followed it with words no parent should ever hear: “There is no heartbeat.”
In that instant, my entire world shattered. I remember sobbing, saying I would never do this again, feeling hollow and numb. My husband and I held each other and cried. My sister wept with the nurse. We were told to go home, pack our bags, and head to the hospital to deliver our baby. To this day, I have no memory of walking out of that office.
Our families met us at the hospital. I remember fragments—being induced, texting friends and coworkers the news, having nurses and doctors come in and cry with us. Decisions we never imagined—burial or cremation, funeral service plans—were suddenly urgent. Two nurses, who had experienced stillbirth themselves, became an unexpected source of comfort. Our doctor cried with us. That night, I was given a sleeping pill, but I only got an hour of sleep.
The next morning, my uncle, a deacon, came to bless Finnegan. His words—“It’s okay to be angry with God. God understands”—has stayed with me. At 9:20 a.m., I felt pressure. I knew it was time. At 9:35 a.m. on May 25, our son, Finnegan Robert Kent, was born into Heaven—and into our arms. We held him, loved him, took photos, and made footprints. Our families met him. For a short while, he was physically with us, and we cherished every second.
The shock didn’t truly set in until after the memorial service. It was then that the grief became real. Our sadness will never leave us, but we are learning to live with it.
Six months later, we found we had just enough medication for one more IUI round. We decided to try once more. If it worked, wonderful. If not, we were done. To our surprise, I got pregnant again. That pregnancy was filled with anxiety, but at 35.5 weeks, our daughter Delaney was born—our beautiful rainbow baby. Three months later, another surprise: I was pregnant again, this time without fertility treatments. Our daughter Mackenzie was born the following June. Both girls brought immense joy and healing.
In 2022, we welcomed our third living child, Ryley Grace. Each of our children has a unique story and has changed our lives in their own way. None of them replace Finnegan—they each stand in their own light, and we love all of them deeply.
Losing Finnegan will always be part of our story, but so is finding hope, love, and purpose again. That’s why I joined the Star Legacy Foundation—to turn our grief into advocacy, support, and awareness. Through this work, I honor Finnegan and help ensure that other families have a voice, a community, and—one day—hope for prevention.
All Our Love – To Finnegan and Beyond,
The Kent Family – Robbie, Amy, Angel Finny, Delaney, Mackenzie, and Ryley Grace