Samuel's Story
Samuel was our second son. We became pregnant with him quickly and easily and announced gratefully to our family at Thanksgiving that we were expecting again.
I struggled with anxiety a lot during my pregnancy with Samuel. My first son had been healthy, but unexplainably almost 12 pounds at birth. I had him naturally in a birth center and needed to be rushed to the hospital for loss of a lot of blood and significant tearing. My recovery was long and I was dazed and confused by what had happened for a long time. Coupled with that, my husband and I went through some significant marital and financial difficulties in that first year of parenthood and I lost a beloved grandmother who had always been my safe place in the midst of the storm. So, even though we had waited almost 4 years to get pregnant again and I thought I was ready, the thought of having a baby again brought with it real significant fears of going into depression, isolation and losing myself again.
I worked with a counselor a lot during my pregnancy with Samuel and I’m so glad I did. I got to a point in the pregnancy where I was able to finally pin point where my fears were coming from and I was able to tell Samuel how it wasn’t about him at all, that he was welcome and Mommy loved him. He seemed to know very well that he was loved and wanted. For example, he loved the sound of his daddy’s voice. Whenever my husband, Chris, would speak to my belly, Samuel would kick like crazy, once kicking Chris square in the nose!! He kicked a lot during story time with my older son, Josiah too. I think he liked hearing his older brother’s voice. He was so very alive and ready to love and be loved until the very end.
I do not know what happened and unfortunately, I never will. I went in for my last scheduled ultrasound before my scheduled c section on June 21, 2018 and my doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. She complained at first that the machine must not be working and kept looking and looking. My heart was racing and I felt sick to my stomach. I’ll never forget that feeling. I get it every time I remember now. She called another doctor in and he confirmed it. No heartbeat. I sat up and just kept saying how it didn’t make any sense. He was just kicking last night. When she asked me if I’d felt him that day, I had to wrack my brain, “had I felt him or just thought I did?” Nothing was making sense anymore. I had to call my husband who was an hour away to tell him the news and to come. My mother too. She was the hardest to talk to. She, like me, couldn’t accept it and wanted me rushed to surgery. But they weren’t rushing because there was no heartbeat.
The rest of the day was a blur of the worst day of my life. One more confirming ultrasound once my husband and mother arrived. Going to the hospital to get prepped for surgery. My friend who was supposed to have acted as my unofficial doula, scrubbed in as my L & D nurse and held me as I got my epidural and tenderly attended me in delivery and post op. Every nurse there was so kind and gentle toward me.
I remember being so scared to see him, but so wanting to at the same time. I’d never seen what a stillborn baby looked like. When they took him out, and showed him to me, I was surprised at how pink and healthy he still looked. And how truly beautiful. “He’s so cute!” I exclaimed. I think I also said “hello”. I know I put my mouth to his mouth and tried to breathe life back into him with whatever tiny mustard seed of faith I still had. He didn’t, but still, all I wanted to do was hold him and drink him in. I’d been so excited to meet him for so long and he was finally here. They gave him to me for as long as I wanted. I memorized his hair, which looked almost curly against his head, his ears, which had a cute little crinkle in them on the top, his sweet little nose, narrower and a little more refined than his brother’s had been, his chubby cheeks and sweet eyelashes, his perfect feet and hands and tummy. He was maddeningly perfect. They never found a reason for his demise and when I got that news, I was so glad no one was home because I had to scream and hit things for a long time.
Some friends came to stand vigil in the waiting room and when we heard they were there, we invited them in. It may have seemed strange at the time, but I’m so glad we did that. Just like any mother, I was so proud of my son and wanted to show him off to the world. That would be my only chance and I’m so glad we took it. They surrounded us and we prayed. I gave him back to God and we named him Samuel Nathan because Samuel was the son Hannah gave back to the Lord and Nathan means “gift of God”. God gave my family and I a vision the next day of Samuel cared for by Jesus and playing in heaven. He then showed us how He was holding all of us and that we would be connected in His love forever. It didn’t magically fix everything, but it gave us an immense amount of peace to face what lay ahead.
Samuel will always be a part of our family. He will always be our second son, the second grandchild on both sides, Josiah’s first brother and the one who changed the way we love forever. We are four weeks away from meeting our third son and Samuel and Josiah’s second brother, Valor. We are simultaneously terrified and fixed on hope.
A friend told me after losing Samuel that, “as deep as the grief is today, that will also be the depth of the joy you will be able to feel one day too.” I hold on to that and I look forward to it deeply. I am a different Mom to Valor (and Josiah for that matter) because of Samuel. I will fight and advocate and push ahead where I might’ve retreated before. I know what courage is now. I know it is not the absence of fear, but the dogged determination to keep going, to keep showing up. I know a faith that is not grand or grandiose now. It is nitty gritty, in the mud, wrestling and fighting to hold on, speaking the truth of my heart to God no matter how messy because after all, don’t I have a Savior who understands more about crying out to God in your suffering than anyone?
I’ve been forever changed by this loss, but somehow elevated by it at the same time. I used to struggle with such a sense of shame about it. I had a post partum body, but no baby to show for it. I wasn’t bouncing back from baby and I wasn’t bouncing back from grief. I hadn’t been able to save my baby or myself from this terrible separation and I couldn’t save myself from the terrible ocean of sadness and loss I found myself in as a result. But I heard the Lord calling me “courageous” when I was at my weakest. That message was echoed by my dearest friends. I could feel His fierce love for me and His fierce anger over what had happened. I knew if my mother’s heart burned to save and protect my children, His must as well…except times that by a million. And I imagined Him as the fierce Lion he is sometimes described as in scripture, defending me, hiding me behind him and roaring that terrible fearsome roar to all my enemies; to anyone or anything that would dare try to steal from me again, and I didn’t feel abandoned anymore. I felt honored and fought for.
I wish I could make it so no one has to experience the loss of a child, but to those who do, I wish I could show you that you are not alone. You are dearly loved and fought for and you hold a place of honor as some of the most courageous warriors there are. Your pain matters to God. It really does. I pray you will become aware of Him in your pain and find more love and tenderness than you ever knew existed. I’m with you friends. Be gentle with yourself.