Twenty-Six Thousand

Morris,

Since you've been gone, I've read a lot about stillbirth. I don't really know what I'm looking to find. We already have the how answers, and I'll never be able to find the why I'm looking for in some article.

I read that stillbirth occurs in about 1 out of every 160 pregnancies. When you do the math, the chances of it happening to you seem non-existent. And yet, here we are. In the US, there are 26,000 babies stillborn each year. If I had read that number before you, I probably would have felt sad, but I would have thought that it was a small number compared to all the babies that are born healthy. Now when I see that number, all I can think about is 26,000 babies that look like you, 26,000 mommies and daddies who had to say goodbye before getting a chance to say hello, and 26,000 families who will forever have someone missing from their family photos. I guess your perspective changes when you are the statistic.

Over the last few weeks, I have heard so many sad stories from others who have had to say goodbye to a child. My heart aches for each one. Some of these stories have made me realize just how lucky I am to have had the chance to see your beautiful face, to hold you in my arms, and to grieve you in my own way. There are mothers before me who weren't so lucky. They gave birth in a different time, a time when stillborn babies were whisked away the moment they were born, when there were no keepsakes like footprints and handprints given to them to treasure, when it was considered best not to talk about your baby but to "get on with your life".

I am grateful that some things have changed since then, but there is still work that needs to be done to support families struggling with loss and to educate people about grief. Last night I went to a support group meeting hosed by the Sadie Rose Foundation for parents who have had to say goodbye to a child.  There were more sad stories, but there was also hope. Hope, because while saying goodbye is a sad part of every one of our stories, it isn't our whole story.

There was a wall in the meeting room covered with little butterflies holding the names of babies and children, who like you, live in heaven now. As I read over each of the names, I was struck by the magnitude of just how many friends you have up there. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at the same time.

Love,

Mommy