Brooklyn (revised)

My Little Bee: Brooklyn Clarke’s Story

By her mommy, Lucy

11/29/2007 – 6/14/2008

From the moment I learned I was pregnant with my little Bee, I was filled with joy. I dreamed of who she would be, and I carried her with so much love. But as my pregnancy unfolded, so did fears I never imagined facing.

At my six-month ultrasound, the technician suddenly grew quiet and rushed from the room in tears. My heart sank. When the doctor came in, he told me there was fluid in Brooklyn’s kidneys and that she had a clubfoot. I went home that day scared but determined to learn everything I could. I told myself that at least her foot could be corrected, and I clung to hope.

As the weeks passed, her kidneys cleared, and I felt reassured. I thought maybe her little “funny foot” would be our only challenge. Little did I know, it was only the beginning.

When labor started two weeks early, I was told it was normal for a first pregnancy. But after hours of effort, my baby had other plans. Brooklyn was delivered by emergency C-section, purple from the cord around her neck. The nurses noticed things I hadn’t—her recessed chin, her unusual cry—and soon she was in the critical care nursery.

Those first days were a whirlwind. She couldn’t latch or suck, her eyelids wouldn’t close, she couldn’t blink, and she needed splints for her little wrists. After test upon test, we finally received the words that would change our lives: Moebius Syndrome. The doctor said it was so rare—“one in fifteen million”—that it was almost a chance occurrence. But Brooklyn wasn’t a statistic. She was my daughter, my Bee, my miracle.

After her first surgeries, she came home just in time for Christmas. I will never forget those days: her tiny laugh, the way she signed “mama” at three months old, and how she could make everyone around her smile even though she couldn’t show one herself. She was pure light.

But in June of 2008, I grew worried. Sometimes when I held her, her feet would turn cold. Her doctor listened—really listened—and sent us for more heart tests. The results were concerning but inconclusive. An ECHO was scheduled for the following Monday.

Brooklyn didn’t make it to Monday.

On the morning of June 14th, I woke to find my baby unresponsive in her crib. My world shattered in an instant. I performed CPR until the EMTs arrived, and for one fleeting moment—when her eyes opened—I thought she was coming back to me. At the hospital, I waited in anguish, desperate for answers. The nurses avoided my gaze, and eventually the doctor told me the words no mother should ever hear. After all the efforts, my little Bee was gone.

I held her for the last time that day. I kissed her cheeks, memorized her features, and clung to every second before I had to let go. I left the hospital with a lock of her hair, tiny hand and footprints, and a box filled with memories—yet empty arms that ached for her.

Later, I learned that the moment her eyes opened in my arms was the exact moment she left this world. And though my heart was shattered, I carry a sacred comfort in knowing that I was with her, holding her, as she earned her angel wings.

Brooklyn only lived 198 days, but in that short time she gave me a lifetime of love. She was strong, beautiful, and wise in ways only heaven could understand. I share her story not because words will ever be enough, but because her life mattered—and still matters.

To those who hear about my little Bee: thank you. Thank you for letting her light touch you too. She was my greatest gift, and she is loved forever.

💜 BKC Lived 198 Days, Loved Forever.Brooklyn Clarke