This is the story of the lives of my sweet twins Japeth and Alain, and how, in their short time, they did amazing things in the hearts and lives of many.

On May 27th, 2017, I knew my first fears about this pregnacy. After a morning at church and serving in the nursery, I began to feel a sharp pain low in my belly as we drove home. That pain drove fear deep into my heart. When we reached home, it was to discover that the pain was accompanied by blood. Still only in the 6th week of pregnancy, we feared miscarriage.

As it was a Sunday, and I would not be able to make a doctor’s appointment until the next day. I chose to try resting until then. When Monday morning came with no change, I called the doctor, who then sent me to the hospital for threatened miscarriage.

That morning, May 28th, 2017, I was told that I was in fact expecting twins (I have always wanted twins.) My heart soared for a brief second. Then the ultrasound technician apologized, and informed me that one of the twins was no longer alive, and that the bleeding was likely due to the loss of the first twin.

I lay there, frozen, trying to find joy in the fact that the second twin seemed to be doing well, while dealing with the vast sorrow of the loss of the baby I would never know.

Later I was told to stay on bed rest, and hope that the bleeding would stop. How hard it was to keep hope while mourning loss. I remember crying over and over for that tiny baby, and for his twin that he would never know.

About a week later the bleeding had finally stopped. I had my first prenatal appointment. The ultrasound showed that the second baby was growing and doing well, and that sack that had held the tiny twin was slowly disappering.

A week later the bleeding returned, fear came hard on its heels. Back to the hospital I went, only to be told that the first miscarriage had left a hematoma beneath the placenta, which continued to hemorage. Back to bed rest for me.

The bleeding again slowed and eventually stopped. But like a recurring nightmare, it returned, again and again. I ended up in and out of the hospital way too many times, always with the same instructions and warnings of threatened miscarriage. Each time I asked for a progesterone test, each time I was told it wasn’t necessary.

The night of July 23rd, the bleeding returned, but it was slightly different this time, I no longer felt the tiny flutters that I had only recently begun to feel. I did not want to go back to the hospital again, so many reasons, so many fears. I went to bed, praying that God would protect my baby

The morning of July 24th, 2017, will forever be burned into my mind. I was 14 weeks, 6 days. I was in the second trimester, I was supposed to be safe…

I woke in pain and blood. I knew I would have to go back to the hospital, as much as I didn’t want to. As pain tore through me, I prayed “God, if this is meant to end this way, please allow it to happen quickly, without medical intervention.” Then I got up to tend to my one year old who needed to be changed. My four year old was fast on his heels, and I knew that my three older children would be expecting me to wake them up and get breakfast.

I made it to the living room before the first real contraction hit. The pain tore through my belly and spine as I groaned and panted. As it subsided, I knew that my time was limited, and that if I didn’t get that poopy diaper changed quick, I might not be able to. I knelt down on the floor in an attempt to change my son as a second contraction rippled through me. Too fast, too quick. My labors had never moved so swiftly.

Through tears I desperately tried to change that diaper. I had not expected the contractions to come so hard and fast. I managed to get a clean diaper on my son, placing the last Velcro strap just as a third contraction tore through me accompanied by an ominous pop. I felt my water break as I knelt there over my son, and my heart broke with it.

I yelled for my oldest daughter to get up and come watch the littles as I staggered to the bathroom. I texted my husband, who had gone to work early that morning. He left immediately. I knew it was only a 20 minute drive, and thought he would probably get home in time. However, within a few more contractions I delivered my tiny son into my hand, alone.

My husband arrived ten minutes later and helped me to cut the tiny umbilical cord that had once been a life source to my precious son.

I held him, barely able to see through the tears, but desperate to take in every centimeter of his tiny form. He was so perfect, so very human. Every part of him was perfectly formed. His tiny fingers even had perfect little fingernails.

I longed for those tiny hands to curl around my finger.

I wanted to hear his cry. I wanted, more than anything, for him to live.

But I knew, that if this was the way it was meant to be, I was going to show my baby to the world. I would shout my love for him to the heavens, and maybe, just maybe someone’s hearts, lives, minds would be changed by his tiny, sweet life.

After cleaning up and calling the doctor to schedule an appointment, I took my time with my tiny baby boy. We named him Japeth Peace Ira Kehar Cash which means “Our handsome, watchful tiger is at rest in God’s perfect peace.”

Later we named his lost twin Alain Peace Joseph Hennith, which means nearly the name thing.

See, our first born son’s name has a bear meaning, and our second has a lion meaning, and we knew that our next child would be a tiger, so that we could say we had lions and tigers and bears. And now we had finally been given our tigers, just not the way we had wanted.

Through all of this, the pain, the tears, the heartbreak, I wanted to prove to the world that my son was important, that his life had meaning.

Later that day, we went to the doctor’s office to have an ultrasound to ensure that everything had been completed. We were told to bring the baby and the placenta to be examined. We gently placed our tiny boy in a container and wrapped it in a soft blue blanket, and went to our appointment.

The nurses offered to “take care” of his body. We told them that we would prefer to take care of him ourselves. One nurse even came in with a plastic tube and told us that she needed to see the “product of conception” to see if it would fit in the tube for disposal.

“Product of conception.”

My son. He is my son. He was human. Not a product. Her callous words, I’m sure, were meant not to cause extra pain, but the dehumanization of my precious child hurt and angered me.

They wanted to shove his perfect, tiny body in a tube and discard him as hazardous waste.

I was terrified that they would not allow us to leave with him. My hands shook as I held him closer. This was the very reason that I had not wanted to miscarry in the hospital.

Finally they told us that they had searched and found no laws that would deny us the right to take our son’s body to be properly put to rest.

During the time we awaited this permission,  four different women, all who worked in the OBGYN office, came in and asked to see our son. The sheer curiosity was evident. None of them had ever seen a child born at this gestation, and all were amazed at his humanity.

This only solidified my desire to prove his humanity to the world. If even OB nurses and staff had not recognized the humanity of a child so young, how many others were still in the dark?

I decided to post Japeth’s Story and pictures in a public Facebook post. I had never done anything publicly on Facebook, and honestly didn’t think it would go very far.

However, it went around the entire world. Suddenly I was receiving messages from south Africa, the Philippines, Mexico, Palestine, India… For someone who had a meager Facebook friend count of 104,  this was a bit of a shock. More than a shock, it was severely overwhelming. It got to the point where I could no longer keep up with the comments, messages or friend requests that flooded into my Facebook page.

I turned to my father for help, to manage the post. It was a great relief. Some of the commenters had gotten nasty. Some said that my son’s pictures were fake, some railed at me for asking women to rethink abortion, some made cruel comments about making soup of my baby’s body. I was still reeling from the grief of his loss, from the fact that I was no longer pregnant, that I would never hold him while he slept, and to have to deal with the cruelty of the world was too much.

Within a week, Japeth’s Story had gone viral. Facebook shut down my post, and I had peace for just a moment. Live Action News contacted me to help spread his story, later CBN News asked for a short interview.

Women contacted me, those who had miscarried, those who were miscarrying, those who regretted past abortions, and those who were contemplating abortion. A young mama contacted me at 8 weeks along, she had an abortion scheduled to happen around 14 weeks. My heart broke again, thinking that anyone could possibly choose this. I talked to her, offered help, anything I could. She eventually stopped talking back.

I waited for weeks, hoping, praying. The week of her scheduled abortion came, still no contact. Another woman contacted me at 22 weeks gestation, wanting me to talk her out of abortion. I offered her the same help and hope. She changed her mind and the life of her child was spared. But my heart still ached for the other mama. Her abortion day passed, and I continued to pray.

She messaged me. She sent me sonogram video of her thriving baby. My heart soared as I watched her 14 week child moving on the screen.

My sweet babies lives had helped to save the lives of two others. And that made it all worth it.

I will forever miss my two sweet babies. I will forever wonder what they would have been like. But I know that God used their short lives to save others. Perhaps even more than I know of.

I will continue to share their story, and pray and hope that the world will be changed by their short, precious lives.

Below is the text from my Facebook post:

Our beautiful Japeth Peace, miscarried July 24th at 14 weeks 6 days. He is perfectly and wonderfully formed, right down to his amazing tiny toes and fingers. Even his fingernails are formed and visible. Tiny veins that carried his own blood to his precious body can be seen through his delicate skin, even his wonderfully formed muscles are visible. At less than half gestation he is very obviously human, not a cluster of cells, not a lump of tissue, not a blob of unformed flesh. He is a beautiful child, formed by God, and now gone to be with Him.

I am posting this in hopes of offering information to those who may not know how completely a child of only 14 weeks gestation is formed. And therefore not something to be taken lightly.

His tiny heart was beating within 16 days of conception, pumping his own blood. That is usually before anyone knows that they are pregnant. There seems to be a misconception that unless you can hear or see it, it isn’t happening, but that tiny heart is beating, even if it is too small to hear or see.

A baby’s hearing begins to develop around six weeks. Their nerve endings the “alarm buttons” begin to develop around 7 weeks. All of this information is readily available on the internet and in medical journals and pregnancy guides, however, for some reason people seem to believe that all of this happens much later in gestation. Perhaps they have been fooled by those who wish to exploit them, or perhaps they purposefully turn a blind eye and a deaf ear, because the truth is too painful, or because the truth would stop or change certain decisions or choices.

I hope that this information, and these heartbreaking pictures of my beautiful boy will help everyone to understand a little more.

As a final plea, if you are considering abortion, please take time to find the truth and reconsider. This is not an effort to shame, belittle, or condemn anyone in any way. It is the plea of a woman who just lost her child for you to at least consider other options.

There are people who are willing to help. I am willing to help. If you feel you have no one and no place to go, please reach out. Whether you keep your precious baby or choose the gift of adoption, you do have options.

Many will say that the foster homes are overflowing already or that no child should be unwanted. But that does not mean that your child should be discarded. As an adoptive mother, I want to encourage you that there are hundreds, thousands of families who would love a child that did not come from their own bodies, and there are thousands of families who do. Reach out. There is hope.

If you have made up your mind to choose abortion, no one can stop you. If you have already chosen abortion, i do not condemn you. And there are many who are willing to counsel you through your loss and grief. Again, reach out. There is hope.

To those who have experienced a similar loss, my heart goes out to you. Your love for your lost ones is not in vain. God is good, even still.