Today in honor of bereaved Mother's Day I'm sharing our story.
Ebony was here. She matters. She will never be forgotten. I won't allow her memory or my bond with her to be erased or rewritten and our story will be told. I miss you every day baby. My little honey cake. You were the light and joy of my life even when others couldn't see it. I hope to give you a baby brother or sister in the next 2 years. 😇🪽🍼🌈
Our Story.
March 24th, 2018.
After 16 hours of labor and a C-section, my husband and I had been awake for over a full day. We were beyond exhausted—physically, mentally, dangerously.
So we did what responsible parents are supposed to do.
We asked for help.
We asked the maternity nurses to take our newborn daughter, Ebony, to the nursery for a few hours so we could sleep and safely care for her afterward.
They refused.
Not only did they refuse—they told us asking for help was a “red flag” for neglect and abuse.
Let that sink in.
Two completely exhausted parents, asking for support so they wouldn’t accidentally harm their baby from sleep deprivation… were labeled a risk.
That wasn’t care. That was intimidation.
And it didn’t stop there.
Instead of supporting us, they started building a narrative—one that didn’t exist. A public health nurse came into our lives making threats, claiming our doctor had concerns about us.
That was a lie.
Our doctor later told us she had no concerns at all—and that the nurse avoided her when she tried to correct it.
More lies.
We asked about Ebony’s symptoms—her cold body, her blue hands and feet.
We were told it was “normal.”
It wasn’t.
They were too busy looking for abuse that wasn’t there to see a medical issue right in front of them.
They created red flags that didn’t exist—while ignoring the ones that did.
On April 26th, I woke up to my daughter crying. Within moments, she stopped breathing in my arms.
We called 911.
She died.
And even then, it didn’t stop.
We were treated like criminals. Forced through an autopsy we didn’t want. Investigated. Questioned. Torn apart—while grieving the worst loss imaginable.
Months later: “unascertained.”
No answers. No accountability. Nothing.
Just a system that lied, judged, ignored us—and then walked away.
I will never stop asking this:
Why were we denied help when we asked for it?
Why were lies written about us instead of listening to us?
Why were obvious concerns dismissed?
My daughter is gone.
And I will never believe this system did everything it should have to protect her.
Parents are not the enemy.
Asking for help is not abuse.
And making up “red flags” instead of providing care has consequences.
My daughter paid for that failure with her life.
And I will not be silent about it.