Two months ago today my Sebastian was born. But he never breathed. He never cried. He never saw the sun, moon, or another human being. But the world is a better place because he lived.
The Monday following Thanksigiving, I had a routine doctors appointment. I had been sick that weekend, and while sick in bed on Sunday night I realized that he was not moving. I tried everything I could and then I finally *thought* I felt a kick but was not sure, so I was concerned when going in first thing the next morning. I had heard it was normal for babies to go through a growth spirt around 29-30 weeks and have decreased movement, but I was worried. I read online that every baby is different and that it could be normal, so I prayed that this would be the case.
The midwife at my appointment heard my concerns when I went in and cheerfully told me we should listen to the heartbeat right away to put me at ease. Instead, she struggled for several minutes to try to find the heartbeat, then tried doing an ultrasound, then called in another, more experienced midwife to see if she could have any success. After yet another fail, they called the doctor (who was out), to hurry back from her errand.
The surge of shock and pain that I was experiencing is hard to put into words. I didn't drink, do drugs, or do anything to cause this to happen. My brain was swirling and I couldn't make sense out of anything. The drive back to my parents house was torture, but thankfully my mom was with me so she could drive. I had phoned my husband in the waiting room when they were having a hard time finding the heartbeat, but then called him again on our way home. One of the first things out of his mouth was, "You know it's not your fault, right?". I was in so much pain but was so comforted by the immediate support and compassion of my husband and was so thankful for him.
The next days are a blur. I was in a state of shock and there was so much to think about. We decided to have a more advanced ultrasound so that my husband could go, just for that 0.0001% chance that Sebastian was still alive, and to schedule to be induced that Thursday night. I was so scared and so asked St. Sebastian to be my patron during this difficult time, since I associate him with courage and thats what I felt I needed most (St. Sebastian was an early Roman martyr that was martyred twice: http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=103). At this time we didn't know whether we were having a boy or girl.
Though I know my pain was not the same, I likened those days of waiting as the agony in the garden. I was petrified of labor and delivery, knowing that my son was already dead. I felt like I had no strength, and I didn't know how I would go through with it. I know some people are very private when going through this kind of thing, but I felt like I needed everyone and their brother to pray for me so that I'd have the strength, so I sent out a mass email letting everyone know the situation and begging for prayers. They worked.
Thursday, December 1st, I went in at 8pm to be induced. I had already taken a pill an hour before, and the contractions were already starting. I brought a crucifix and rosary with me, and kept the rosary in my hand and my eyes on the crucifix as often as I could. I felt totally united with Him in His suffering like never before. In spite of the horrific pains of labor, I was tremendously at peace and I felt the power of everyone praying for me, and the presence of Christ and His Mother there with me.
The labor was very quick. Sebastian was born on December 2, 2011, at 2:23am.
Contrary to his older brother's birth, there were no cries, no first breath, no exhilaration when he was born. No, it was near silent in the room. Nurses and doctors are at a loss for words, family is overwhelmed with sorrow when something like this happens. For a moment it was as if I was alone with my son. My beautiful son. Sebastian.
I held him in my arms and marveled at his beauty. He had chubby cheeks, dark hair and a nose just like his older brother, Toby. He was absolutely gorgeous. But he had been dead probably a week, so his body was already starting to break down. It was difficult to see him that way, but I was so glad to have the opportunity to hold him. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at 8 weeks, and though that was hard enough, this was harder to see him and hold him and be so far along in my pregnancy (31 weeks).
I was relieved that a good friend of ours was coming to take pictures. Here we had thought we'd have a lifetime with Sebastian, and now I felt the pressure of an hour or two to be with my son. Knowing that picture would be taken and that I could come back to them was a huge comfort to me.
I don't remember how long we spent with Sebastian's body, because it seemed as if we were outside of time. I remember gazing at him, admiring his every feature. His perfect toes, fingers, cheeks, lips, chin...those legs that had kicked me so many times before, and not so long ago.
I cried and cried....and I loved. Painfully, I loved.
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I’ve been thinking of starting a blog ever since I lost Sebastian to stillbirth, but it wasn’t until today that I felt I could.
There is so much I want to say and express, but words seem to dissipate and dissolve into nothingness when I try to speak or write. But the experience of love, pain, sadness, peace (yes, even peace), is so strong that words seem like a dull representation of what is behind them.
I am realizing more and more that stillbirth is not just a tragedy that happens, is painful, and you get over it. Rather, it is a cross that you bear your whole life and it is only at the time of your great loss that this cross is given to you. It’s going to be with me forever, my whole life. I have only begun the journey.
It is painful now, but it will also be difficult to go through future pregnancies knowing it might happen again. I'm afraid of the same thing happening again and again and again. But strange as it may sound, I’d do it again and again and again. For isn't it a risk worth taking, for love? For in spite of the grief, I have incredible peace knowing that my son made a difference in this world. The world IS a better place because of him, and I'm so honored that God allowed me to have him, to be his mother, to love him. He didn’t just go into nothingness without any meaning in his life - I am a better person because of him. Though his body was lifeless when I held him; his sweet face, toes, fingers, etc., could not but have a lasting impression on my heart. I feel like a part of my heart died with him, and yet it somehow, like a seed, it fell to the bottom of my heart and took root, taking over the rest of my heart and showing me what it means to love. What it means to give, without seeking return. And what it means to let go.
Even though you and me know that he will never come back, part of my heart hopes and dreams of holding him again.
But here’s the thing: I KNOW I will.
My beautiful boy. Sebastian.
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