Teddy was only with us for 17 days. He created quite a community during that time. His mom, Maya, sits across from me at the milk bank. She is beautiful, and sad, and brimming with a profound commitment to being a force for good. She lost her Teddy. And yet that loss only heightened her desire to give back.
Nissim means miracle . . .
Teddy was conceived during Maya and her husband Michael’s fourth IVF transfer. She and Michael were out to dinner when Maya said she was going to take a pregnancy test in the restaurant bathroom. She couldn’t wait one more minute to find out if she was pregnant.
When those two double lines appeared, Maya phoned Michael from the bathroom. “Can you come in here?” she asked. They were over the moon. Right then and there, Teddy received his Hebrew name, Nissim, which means miracle.
A sudden turn . . .
At seven weeks pregnant, complications began. Maya was bleeding, and doctors couldn’t determine the cause. She lost amniotic fluid. Early scans suggested troubling anomalies in Teddy’s heart and brain. Further testing eventually ruled them out — a relief, but the unease lingered. Something still didn’t feel right.
At 20 weeks, they discovered that Maya was already 5 cm dilated. Doctors managed to delay delivery until 22 weeks and 2 days. Then Teddy came into the world, all 520 grams of him (roughly 1.1 lbs.). He was a fighter. He made it through the first week well, but then he took a sudden and drastic turn for the worse.
Maya and Michael received a call from the hospital telling them to come right away. Michael tried to reassure her, but Maya knew. “Drive like you’re heading to the biggest emergency ever,” Maya told her police officer husband. “We’ll either get there fast on our own or with a police escort.”
Not enough time . . .
They arrived just in time to hold him once more. Just in time to say goodbye. They took Teddy outside for the first and last time. They sat together in the sun. Maya’s parents came. Their rabbi came. They sang, they cried, and they said prayers. But it wasn’t enough time.
Teddy was gently laid to rest in the local cemetery behind Maya’s parents’ house. From the window of her childhood bedroom, you can see the quiet place where he rests. She and her husband stayed there for a while, wanting to watch over him and keep him close.
Nurses and doctors from Teddy’s care team all came to his funeral. They knew him—and they knew his parents, who had welcomed them into their lives. “Teddy’s care team was unbelievable,” Maya told me. “They held my life in their hands, literally. They are like family now.”
During Teddy’s NICU stay, Maya’s dad would regularly show up with food to share with everyone on the floor. One Friday night, he made homemade Challah for all. Maya still hears from her care team regularly. She talks with one nurse every day. They are forever imprinted on her life.
Milk, memories, and the things that matter . . .
When a lactation consultant mentioned the option of donating her breastmilk after Teddy passed, Maya didn’t hesitate. “How could I NOT donate it? I created this with Teddy. It’s so special. And there were people literally next to us in the NICU who needed donor milk for their baby. I had to donate it. There really was no choice.”
Donating became one of the ways Maya found healing through generosity. “I needed people to know that somewhere, somebody cares for them. In this way, I could do good in the world. After losing Teddy, I can‘t imagine spending time on the mundane or the frivolous. I want to do things that matter. And this matters.”
Team Teddy . . .
Speaking of things that matter, Maya has poured her grief, love, and fierce determination into honoring Teddy’s memory in ways that uplift others. In partnership with Brigham and Women’s Hospital, she launched the Team Teddy fundraiser to support the Small Baby Program—the first of its kind in Massachusetts, offering expert, round-the-clock care to infants born as early as 22 weeks or weighing under 1,000 grams. It’s the very place that fought so hard for her son’s life.
Team Teddy aims to raise funds for critical equipment, innovative research, and family support—including during the transition to home. For Maya, it’s a way to give back to the community that held her so closely in those seventeen days. It’s also a way to extend that love to other families walking a similar path. Through grief, she’s building something lasting and deeply human. She wants Teddy’s incredible spirit to live on in good things—and it does.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss (PAIL) Awareness Month.
Maya and Michael share Teddy’s story not only to honor his legacy, but to remind other grieving parents that they are not alone. Support, community, and healing are available. If you or someone you know is navigating pregnancy or infant loss, you can find a list of trusted resources here.
