Even to this day, I want nothing more than to cling to the items that touched our baby boy; the fabric that swaddled him and the hat that covered his head. They rest in the same purple box that we walked out of the hospital with. This box that we held in our arms as we left without the baby that I carried for 8 months in my womb. Losing a child is something I never imagined that we would have to go through, especially before even getting to comfort his cries, hear his laugh, or see his first steps. Holding these items makes me feel close to him again. The closest I'll ever be to him in this lifetime on Earth. These items bring me comfort, however, I often find myself reluctant to open this box. Not because of the overwhelming emotion I feel each time that I do, but because with every moment the box is open, I fear the scent of him will continue to dissipate and fade.
Two days before Aiden was born, I had gone to one of my check-up appointments with my obstetrician. We checked Aiden's heartbeat and all was well. However, the following day, I woke up and knew instantly that something was not right. I had slept through the night for the first time in months and knew that meant Aiden hadn’t been moving around enough to keep me awake. I can still feel that exact same feeling of panic in the pit of my stomach today. The feeling of disbelief when less than an hour later we were at the hospital and the nurse was trying to locate a heartbeat but couldn't.
This day will forever be a dark day for Brad and I. As we went home to prepare for my hospital stay, I remember just laying in bed in Brad’s arms crying and praying. We returned that night where they began the process of inducing me. It was the longest 24 hours of our lives that ended in the delivery of our sweet, but still, baby boy.
Though stillbirth occurs in 1 out of every 100 pregnancies, some stillbirths are completely unexplained. I didn't exhibit any of the common risks that lead to stillbirth and my doctor chalked it up to most likely what was a cord incident. It is an experience that changed our lives forever in many ways.
Since the loss, I have gone through bouts of anxiety, depression, restlessness, and so-on. I want to make this part clear because from the surface, it may have seemed like we had placed our pain in God's hands and were moving on but nothing is that simple. The truth is we did place our pain in His hands, but sometimes placing something in God's hands doesn't mean that your pain and struggles will immediately disappear. What it does mean is that through this pain and these struggles, God is holding you and persevering in you in ways that only He can do. He taught us to lean on Him because while anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medications can help temporarily, ultimately, God is the only answer for our instability. Sometimes it takes time for us to train with God and to learn how to deal with and overcome the things that seemingly cripple us. Life isn't easy and we need to understand that often tough circumstances have even tougher solutions. But our Lord is sovereign and he has provided us with the ultimate resource - Himself.
"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent and praiseworthy - think about such things," (Philippians 4:4-8, NIV).
God bless,
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