Told by: Jami

Babies aren’t supposed to die.  We did everything “right”.

We met, fell in love, had a big beautiful wedding, lovely home, great jobs, bright future, the perfect environment to bring a baby into. We had everything…and then we found out in 9 months we were going to have you! Our lives were full of so many good things, our hearts were full of joy and anticipation.

My husband Nick and I had planned to start our family in the summer of 2011. We got pregnant right away and were ecstatic just as quickly. As soon as I looked down at the two bright pink lines on the pregnancy test staring up at me, my heart was instantly in love with this little growing person inside of me. My pregnancy was perfect, flawless. My doctor often mentioned that I was “boring” because everything was so great. I was careful to take excellent care of myself and my little growing peanut.

40 weeks passed in the blink of an eye and I was feeling great as my due date rolled around; Friday, April 20, 2012. During a casual lunch on Friday the 20th, one of my co-workers said she was certain I’d go into labor that night. “You don’t look right”, she stated nonchalantly. I brushed her off, not wanting to get my hopes up. That was the last night I went to sleep with our hearts beating together.

My contractions started sometime in the middle of the night. I was awoken with more intense contractions about 3:30 am. Unsure of what to do, I walked. I tried a bath, I watched TV, I listened to music. Mostly I was just trying to rein in my excitement. You were coming and I was so anxious to meet you! Around 5:30 am my water broke while I tossed and turned on the couch in attempt to find a comfortable position to lie in. My immediate thought was, “I need to take a shower and get some dry clothes on.”, nevermind calling the hospital or feeling hurried. I was strangely calm and composed. Upon getting dressed my husband stirred and asked what I was doing. “My water broke about an hour ago…”, I said calmly. In a surge of panic he jumped up and rushed to me. I convinced him that there wasn’t a necessity for rushing and that he could go back to sleep while I called the hospital. With shaky hands I dialed the birth center. As expected, the nurse on the other end of the line urged me to come into the hospital immediately. We packed up the car and made the agonizing eight minute drive to the hospital, beaming with the thought that we would never step foot in our home again as just a family of two.

I was admitted to the triage area for monitoring. Poked, prodded, strapped down, and questioned, I laid there with my eyes screwed tight in attempt to control the growing contractions. Two back to back, I was helpless feeling as if I wasn’t going to get a break until this was all over. My only solace laid in the rhythmic beating of your heart on the monitor. Nick and I had plans to push through this birth without any pain medication for as long as I could bear, and I was desperately clinging to that plan. I was finally transferred to my birthing room at 10:30 am. Upon checking me, my wonderful angel of a nurse, Amalia, beamed when she discovered I was fully dilated. We agreed that I would start spontaneous pushing. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. Exhausted, I kept picturing what your face would look like, the color of your eyes, whether you were a boy or girl. You were my motivation and I pushed, pushed, heartbeat, heartbeat, push, push, push. “You’re crowning”, said Amalia, “I need to call the doctor”. Nick lit up as he looked down at our baby’s head making its way out.

The following moments were a blur. The doctor rushed in with a concerned look. Oxygen was placed on my face. Nurses rushed in, doctors, more nurses, more panicked faces.

The doctor said something but I could only hear white noise. With the help of forceps, my son was pulled from my body. No breath, no heartbeat. Silence.

I looked at Nick. “Everything will be fine”, I assured him. I knew it wasn’t. Sad faces falling quickly all around the room. “We need to name him”, Nick said calmly. “Beckett, he looks like Beckett.” I nodded silently. The pediatric doctor came to me and Nick. She stated that they had done all they could, they were going to stop trying to resuscitate him. Just like that? Stop? The numbness set in.

Babies aren’t supposed to die. We did everything “right”.

We spend the day following Beckett’s 1:41 pm birth with him. I look back at photos from that day and gaze into my empty eyes. We couldn’t stand to see our son’s body stiffen and change color over the following hours, so we said our final goodbyes just before midnight that evening. I remember being so concerned about leaving him alone in the hospital room as we left. I swaddled him tight and gave him a final kiss. A final kiss until I see him in Heaven someday.

Minutes, hours, days, weeks. They were all a blur. People, flowers, cards, calls. I could care less. Nick and I came home to a cold and empty house, still a family of two. I was broken.

Nick and I opted for having an autopsy done on Beckett following his death. Every single excruciating day of the six weeks we waited for the results was torture. Nothing. There was no reason for his death. The autopsy was ruled “inconclusive” and gave me no peace, no closure. I have forced myself to stop torturing my mind with the “whys” and the “what ifs”. I have resolved that I will never know…

I was 28 years old. I’d lost my baby, my first and only child.

Losing Beckett has changed me, tested me, shaped me, forced me to grow. My marriage has been tested and proved to be a rock in my life. Beckett’s life and death will not be in vain. I cling to the belief that everything happens for a reason and one day I will have the privilege of being used to help someone else grieving a loss.

My angel Beckett James has been looking over us ever since he left this Earth on Saturday, April 21, 2012. He sent us his baby sister only six weeks after his death. Just two and a half months into my grieving process I discovered rather unexpectedly that I was expecting again. I cried, I laughed, I panicked, I worried. My pregnancy was littered with an array of rollercoaster emotions. Finally, on February 25, 2013, Adelaide Grace was brought into this world after eighteen months of pregnancy. I held my breath until I heard her first cry. Tears flowed and flowed out of me and I grieved the loss of Beckett and the cries from him I was brutally deprived of.

In my naiveness, I thought having a new baby would take away the hole in my heart from losing Beckett. My heart has joy from the beautiful life Nick and I have, but a piece of my heart will always be with Beckett in Heaven.

Someday I will see you again, son. Someday I will kiss those chubby cheeks and smile when you call me “mommy”. Until then, I long desperately for those moments.

“Heaven blew every trumpet and played every horn

on the wonderful, marvelous night you were born.” –Nancy Tillman

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