A Dance of Grief and Joy

In life, we carry the burdens of disappointment and the gifts of joy. Sometimes, we manage to come out stronger and more resilient, even if we are a little broken. Parents Kila and Cesar Gonzalez faced a seemingly impossible—and heartbreaking—decision. But together, their family grows, and their loss brings life. This is the story of Eva and Mia.

article by LAURA W CLARK
images by DESIRAE GOODING PHOTOGRAPHY

Mia Gonzales, eight months old, often carries her beloved brown bunny with its soft, pink ears. When she hugs the bunny, she hears the recorded heartbeat from her sister’s ultrasound. The strong, rhythmic beating connects Mia to the sister she never met, but who ultimately shaped her life.

Eva means “life.” And while Eva’s ended 36 minutes after she was born to Kila and Cesar Gonzales, Kila continues to carry Eva today, in everything she does.

Eva and Mia’s story began 33 years ago in a town whose name suits their mother, Kila. Their mother was born in Strong, Arkansas, a small town without a red light. She was raised by her mother, a school principal, her dad, a game warden, and her older brother, who was born 14 years before Kila.

While Kila was a “daddy’s girl,” her older brother was also a father figure. Her dad, who was “good, spontaneous, and fun,” often took Kila hunting, fishing, and four-wheeling. However, he­­ battled alcoholism, and he died in 2012 from liver disease. His death was Kila’s first encounter with major loss, and she struggled with the feeling that he chose alcohol over her.

“That kind of experience alters your perception of yourself and your worthiness. I thought, ‘Was I not a good enough girl?’ I carried that resentment into adulthood. I forgave him after he died, but it was a slow and painful process,” she said. “I realized he did the best he could, and I just got caught up in it. The pain of losing my dad is what drew me closer to walking with Christ. Without the love of Christ, I would have never had the strength to face what would happen years later. I had no idea what was coming.”

After high school, she moved to Monroe and later graduated from the University of Louisiana at Monroe’s nursing program in 2008. She felt compelled to help people. Kila chose the cardiovascular intensive care unit at St. Francis Medical Center for one reason: she heard it was the most difficult. “I cared for patients who came straight out of open-heart surgery, still on ventilators. It was intense; I carried their lives in my hands.” Kila said her nursing career shaped her into a more confident, outspoken person. “I learned to not be afraid; to stand up for what’s right; and to advocate for my patients. I had always been meek, and nursing helped me find my voice.”

Kila found another source of strength in Cesar, a “sensitive and thoughtful man.” Kila and Cesar both grew up in small families and decided they wanted to create a large family together. They married in 2014, and Kila stopped working in 2015, the same year she and her husband, a physician, welcomed their son Maxwell. She was hospitalized several weeks before Maxwell’s birth due to placenta previa, a condition that can cause severe bleeding during pregnancy and delivery. She delivered her healthy baby via an emergency C-section at 37 weeks.

The couple began trying for a second baby about a year later. Their journey involved fertility medications, specialists, and eventually surgery in 2017 to remove scar tissue from Kila’s fallopian tubes. “I remember waking up from the surgery and asking, ‘Did it work?’” The nurses confirmed the surgery’s success, the catalyst for Kila’s renewed hope. Approximately two months later, she learned she was pregnant. “When we were trying to conceive, it was torture, month after month. When I learned I was pregnant, I felt elated. I fell in love with that baby immediately.”

Following several ultrasounds, all of which confirmed a healthy heartbeat, Kila returned for another ultrasound at approximately 10 weeks. What transpired next, Kila said, was “devastating.” Her doctor confirmed there was no heartbeat. Kila then endured complications, including severe hemorrhaging.

The couple decided to attempt in vitro fertilization (IVF), an intense medical process that involves weeks of hormone injections for the hopeful mother. Kila’s physician transferred one embryo in 2018. “For the first time in a while, I had some hope that this was it. I had been in such a dark place after my miscarriage. My body didn’t work, and I felt broken,” she said. “We live in a pregnancy-obsessed society, and yet, when you lose a baby, it’s just too scary for people to imagine. So, they don’t talk about it, which can be very isolating.”

They soon learned the IVF worked, and Kila was pregnant a third time, which evoked both happiness and fear. Kila said, “Infertility robs you of what should be a beautiful thing.” After the couple saw the baby on an ultrasound at 6 weeks, they started buying baby clothes and accessories. They announced Kila’s pregnancy at 14 weeks with a family photoshoot in their backyard, and Kila posted the pictures on social media.

During their 16-week ultrasound, they learned their baby was smaller than average. They waited for the ultrasound technician to notify their physician, who then told them that the baby suffered from severe abnormalities. Kila said she will never forget the surge of anguish that coursed through her body. “I remember crying out to God, ‘Please, not again.’”

Not knowing exactly what was wrong with the baby, Kila and Cesar were determined to do whatever was necessary to save their child. Kila said, “I was prepared and ready to take care of this child for the rest of my life.” Their hopes dissolved when a maternal-fetal medicine specialist diagnosed their baby with a rare, terminal condition, Limb Body Wall Complex. The disease was not genetic—the embryo had been tested for genetic abnormalities—but rather a random fluke. They were told nothing could be done, and the baby, a girl, would die during the pregnancy or shortly after delivery. While Kila does not judge anyone who makes a different choice, hers was instantly clear. “We immediately said, ‘We will carry her.’ And that began the hardest journey of my life.”

Kila tried to enjoy her time with her baby. However, her days—and especially her nights—were often filled with panic attacks. “I was grieving her before she was gone. All I could think about was what was going to happen—her death loomed over everything because I never knew when or how it was going to happen,” she said. “One moment, when I was 20 weeks pregnant, I remember sitting at the funeral home, making plans, and I felt her kick inside me.”

The mother prayed for her baby to be born alive so that could she could care for her, even for a moment. “One of my biggest prayers was for her to have a face that I could look at and kiss.”

Kila was given that chance at 32 weeks when she began experiencing contractions. She was rushed by ambulance to Shreveport—hemorrhaging from placenta abruption—and underwent an emergency c-section. Kila remembers the anesthesiologist vigorously working to keep Kila awake so she could meet her baby, who was born alive at 1:51 a.m. on March 4, 2019.

“We got to hold Eva for 36 minutes before she died. It was very peaceful. She didn’t suffer or cry. She just sat there, and she looked at me the entire time. I bathed her, dressed her up, swaddled her, and took hundreds of photos. We made footprints and handprints. I was able to mother her for one day.”

Typically, hospital policy mandates that after the baby passes, the mother can spend two hours with her child. Kila was given 14 hours. “I was sitting in the bed holding her, and a man from the funeral home, who had a white beard, a white suit, and a white cowboy hat, was standing in the doorway, waiting to take the baby from me. That image has stayed with me,” she said. “I was discharged after two or three nights in the hospital. And then I was rolled out of there empty-handed. It was very difficult.”

Kila’s longtime best friend, Lindsey Simmons, was with Kila the morning Eva passed. Lindsey, who described her friend as “strong, yet tender,” said the events of March 4th transformed their already-solid friendship. “It was the most heartbreaking experience I have ever witnessed or been close to. Our relationship, up until that point, had been more about Kila being my rock, helping me through various low points in my life. That night, it became my turn,” Lindsey said, “My heart was broken for baby Eva, for Kila, for Cesar, and for Max. But I was able to compartmentalize and be there for her and for them. After going through that together, our relationship was confirmed and cemented. It became more than a friendship that night.”

Cesar and Kila had begun the adoption process about a month after receiving Eva’s terminal diagnosis. With hope in her heart, Kila decided early in her pregnancy she would pump her breast milk after delivering Eva. “I thought, if I’m not able to adopt a baby, I will donate the milk. It was Eva’s milk, and it was special. I wanted it to bless other babies. After Eva was born, and I started pumping, it was really hard emotionally. I was lactating and didn’t have a baby to give it to. I kept thinking, ‘She is not here, and she should be.’ But something kept telling me to have faith.”

A week after Kila gave birth, she and Cesar received news from their adoption attorney. A birth mother had viewed Kila’s adoption profile and read about Eva. She told Kila that she chose the Gonzales family to adopt her baby girl when she learned of Kila’s decision to carry Eva. “Eva gave us Mia. When the birth mother told me she chose us, I started screaming, ‘We got the baby!’ It was an amazing moment.”

i will carry you -“We got to hold Eva for 36 minutes before she died. It was very peaceful. She didn’t suffer or cry. She just sat there, and she looked at me the entire time. I bathed her, dressed her up, swaddled her, and took hundreds of photos. We made footprints and handprints. I was able to mother her for one day.”

The day after Eva’s funeral, the Gonzales family boarded a plane and flew to Florida. Kila was still sore from her emergency C-section just 10 days prior, but she ignored her physical pain. “When I walked into the hospital, a nurse was standing there, holding Mia. I ran up to the nurse. Mia was so little—only 4 pounds. She was beautiful, and I fell in love with her. I remember crying and praising God that he put a baby in our arms.” Mia, now healthy, was born prematurely and spent two weeks in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit before meeting Kila and the rest of her new family.

A month after Kila delivered Eva, she was admitted to the hospital again for a condition called placenta accreta, which occurs when the placenta grows too deeply in the uterine wall and remains attached. Doctors told her she would most likely never carry a child again. The time following Mia’s arrival and Eva’s absence was a “dance of grief and joy,” Kila said. “It was messy and confusing. I loved Mia, but I missed Eva.”

Kila initially struggled to bond with Mia due to the trauma of losing Eva and the ramifications of postpartum anxiety and postpartum depression. She fed Mia her stored breastmilk for the first two months and then decided to try what would become a turning point in Kila’s recovery. One day, she attempted to breastfeed Mia, who latched immediately. After Kila began breastfeeding, Mia no longer accepted a bottle or even a pacifier. “We bonded very intensely during that moment,” Kila said. “I feel as much love for her as if I had birthed her myself. She is mine, and I am hers.”

The dance of grief and joy is one Kila continues to navigate. “So many people think that adopting Mia erases what happened. They congratulate me on Mia, but they don’t say anything about Eva, almost like it never happened. Our society is so grief averse. People worry about bringing her up as if that would remind me. But I’m always thinking of her. I want to talk about her because that’s the only way I have left to mother her.”

Kila wants to carry other mothers through pregnancy and infant loss, so she is training to become a certified birth and bereavement doula. She recently founded a non-profit foundation, I Will Carry You. The non-profit, founded in honor of Eva, will help families—free of charge—make burial, memorial, and funeral arrangements; talk to siblings about loss; provide postpartum support; accompany parents to doctor appointments; offer healthcare sensitivity training; and much more. Additional services appear on the organization’s web site: iwillcarryyou.net.

The new non-profit will benefit from one of Kila’s greatest strengths—her sincere love for those around her. Lindsey said, “The thing about Kila is that everyone is drawn to her. Her most captivating trait is that she listens … she’s the kind of person that connects with you on the deepest level, and you feel that.”

Mia, a happy baby with brown, curly hair, clearly feels her mother’s love. Mia often grabs Kila’s face and grins, prompting her mother to smile and say, “Mia loves her mama.” Kila speaks about Eva with tears in her eyes, but with a determined tone and articulate words.

“I don’t know if I will ever be the person I was before, but I don’t know if I was meant to be that person. I do know that Eva’s life means something. As long as I’m alive, she will be too. I will always carry her, and Mia will always know her sister.”