The instant I saw my baby on the ultrasound monitor, eerily still, bobbing gently as the ultrasound technician pushed into my abdomen, I prayed for God to perform a miracle. 

I prayed for Him to breathe life into my child, for my child to wiggle a leg, turn his head, for the silent form to suddenly stir, for his heart to flicker and begin beating once again.  Anything.  Just, give me one tiny sign of life.

It never happened.

My baby layed there – his form layed there, still.  He, was already gone.

I wept.  I wailed.  I panicked.  I was heartbroken, in agony, and in total shock.  Nothing could have prepared me for the realization that I would live the rest of my life knowing that one of my children had died.

You can read more about my experience here.

My husband planned the funeral.  In fact, he arranged everything.  I had no idea what we would do, or what options we had.  He called the funeral home, set appointments, negotiated pricing, and planned all of the details.  Oh, how I needed him.

The morning of the funeral, I picked out flowers and decided to buy a plain angel food cake and zero candle.  The cashier joked, “Somebody isn’t very old, are they?”  I called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photography, but had to call more than one photographer, as I was told that they generally don’t provide service for babies under 20 weeks gestation – our baby was 12 weeks.

My experience began with feeling extremely offended by the approach the doctor took, by referring to my baby as “debris that needed to be removed”,  it continued as I called the nurses and they told me things like “you probably already flushed it…you’re just having a period…” and continued as even a bereavement organization couldn’t validate my baby.

I say all of these things not to discredit the value of the doctor, the nurses, or the photographers.  Doctors do have limits to the things they can say.  The nurses weren’t here in my home with me, seeing what I was seeing.  The photographers are generous.

I say these things to show you how invalidated and alone I felt.

It was while I was even still laboring, that my husband and I looked at each other and said, “Something needs to change.  People should not feel this alone.”

We knew we were going to build a website to provide support to others, but we thought we’d have to wait to pay for a nice website and a nice design.  So, we simply waited.

My only hope – my only desire – was to help the next mother in line experiencing loss to not feel as totally overwhelmed and alone as I felt.  I figured I would put some things together, and then walk away (you can read the original Introduction I put together at the launch of stillbirthday here).

Waiting for the time to do this was aching on my heart.  There was something very undone about everything.  My healing was in limbo, and I felt that, in some ways, even the purpose of my son’s very real life had not yet been fulfilled.

One July night, I woke up to a voice that said, “What are you waiting for?”  So, I rubbed my sleepy eyes, started a pot of coffee, went to the computer, and drew up a WordPress site.  I paid the domain fee, and typed in the name of the site: stillbirthday.

And, for hours, until my other children woke up in the morning, I typed…..and typed….and typed.

The next night, I awoke again in the wee hours of the night, started a pot of coffee, sat in front of the computer, and typed….and typed….and typed.

For five days, I did this.  On the fifth day, it was finished.  Stillbirthday was ready.

Feeling very overwhelmed with a mix of nervousness, sadness, and even excitement, in the first week of August, 2011, I sent stillbirthday out into the online universe – hoping that what my son had taught me could prove useful to just one mother.  That I could reach her – that my child could help her.

The first three months, from launching until November, stillbirthday averaged a little more than 10,000 views a month.  Mothers submitted photos and stories of their precious babies.  Doulas from around the world aligned with the importance of providing support through loss and listed their names, standing with me as advocates and validators of birth.  Radio stations, online media, and newspapers shared information about stillbirthday.  And, it kept growing.

We added a mentorship program and a Love Cupboard program.  We added an online private group (see our Facebook group for details).  We added a prayer team.  We added even more comprehensive resources and support for all of the different aspects of the pregnancy loss experience: prior to (preparing), during, and after the birth.  We added emotional support for professionals involved in loss (OBs, midwives, etc.) with our Provider Care section.  We just, kept growing.

Starting in December, we began reaching double the amount of people – more than 20,000 moms, dads, families and providers a month.

And last night, March 4, 2012, we reached 100,000.

In the online blogging world, reaching this number in a little over 6 months may not seem like a big deal.

It is huge to me.

All I wanted was to help the next mother in line not feel as alone and as overwhelmed as I did.  I only wanted to reach one.  Just one.

100,000.

Together, the doulas, the mentors, the Love Cupboard coordinators, the prayer team, the generous mothers and fathers who’ve shared their very personal and special stories and photos, and all of the people who believe in stillbirthday, have made it possible that last night, a mother, or a father, or a loved one, found stillbirthday, found the love here, and realized, as the screen said

“100,000 moms have been here“

that they are not alone.

Thank you, so much, for allowing that mother to know that she is not alone.

Thank you, so very much, for allowing me to know, that I am not alone.