Shattered

On June 23, 2023 our world shattered. We heard the words that no expecting parent ever wants to hear: "I'm sorry, but there's no heart activity." The ultrasound screen on which we had grown accustomed to seeing a flurry of activity was now still and silent.

At 31 weeks and 5 days gestation, our precious son passed away. Silently & peacefully.

Stunned. Shocked. Even though we knew the worst was a possibility when we went to the ER that morning, we couldn't quite grasp what we had just been told.

Our son, Carver Nessiem, was gone.

I could barely speak. I felt numb. Tears began to sting the corners of my eyes. But after a few moments, the pragmatic part of my brain took over and I found myself asking the nurse "what happens next?" She told us that I would be admitted and induced and we could either start that process immediately, or go home for a bit and come back. We chose to go home for a few hours to process, get ready and come back that evening.

After being discharged, we walked silently out of the hospital and to our car.

Still operating pragmatically, we began to make the dreaded phone calls.

The first call I made was to my best friend. She knew we had gone to the ER and was waiting to hear what the doctor said. She later told me that even before she answered the phone, she knew he was gone. After breaking the news, I also had to ask her to inform all the guests who were supposed to be at our house the very next day for our baby shower.

Somehow I managed to make eight phone calls, and in a calm, collected, almost robotic voice, break the news to each person on the other end of the line.

We spent a few hours at home by ourselves. We talked, cried, rested, packed and prepared ourselves for the emotional hell that awaited us. And then we headed to the hospital to be admitted. At 6 o'clock that evening, I was induced and the waiting began.

While we waited, friends and family started showing up. My best friends and my husband's family dropped everything to be there with us for the long haul.

The next day (Saturday) was filled with visits from family and friends. There was always someone in my room. And the hospital let us have the room next door so all the visitors could be close by, but not crowd my room.

With the various people who filtered in and out we talked, prayed, laughed and cried.

I'll never forget how strange it felt to be laughing and having casual conversations with people while waiting to deliver my deceased son. But I realize now that I drew strength from those moments. It's because of those moments and those people that I didn't fall apart every few minutes. I was able to stay out of my head, because if I was left alone with my thoughts all defenses came crashing down.

After over 40 hours of labor, the doctor broke my water at 10 o'clock Sunday morning. And with a carefully curated playlist of worship music playing in the background, Carver Nessiem was born sleeping 42 minutes later on June 25, 2023.

After cleaning him up a little, the nurse lowered the front of my gown and placed his little 5lb lifeless body on my chest. He was simply adorable and perfect. I just stared at him and held him close, wondering what his eyes looked like...what his little voice would have sounded like.

I remember so distinctly not being able to cry and thinking "what's wrong with me?" It wasn't until the song "Even If" by MercyMe began to play that the dam broke and tears flowed freely down my face.

Through the tears and anguish, I held my son and told him "I'm so sorry." I felt like my body had failed him. That I had failed him as a mother. That it was my fault he was gone.

We spent an hour or so alone with him. Holding him. Holding each other. Crying. Then my best friend and our doula took over, dressed him, took precious pictures and got his hand and footprints for us to have as a keepsake. Once we were ready to receive visitors, Carver was placed back into my arms, swaddled and perfect.

Worship music continued to play softly in the background as the long line of family and friends began to filter through in pairs to see him. They cried with us and loved on us as they admired our beautiful sleeping boy. It was a perfect and beautiful tribute. A little memorial service right there in the hospital room. I will treasure those moments forever.

Thankfully, the hospital had what is called a "cold cot" that they brought into my room. This way we could keep Carver in the room with us and preserved at the same time. We only had 24 more hours with him before we would have to say goodbye, so every minute with him was precious.

I had not eaten in almost two days, so I was incredibly grateful when some friends brought us lunch. Things had calmed down. Most visitors had left us to rest. The stillness that settled in our room into the evening was almost eerie. Nothing felt real.

We napped, had a few more visitors and eventually turned in for the night.

Morning came before I was ready. This day was going to be the hardest.

This was the day we had to say goodbye.

We had made arrangements for the funeral home to pick him up at 3pm. We decided to have him cremated so we could take his ashes home with us where he belonged.

The hospital let us stay until they came to get him, which we were grateful for.

Then the moment I had been dreading since being induced arrived. With my best friend and our doula by our side, we began to say goodbye. We held our beautiful baby boy for one final time on this earth. And I didn't want to let go. Labor and delivery had been hard, but letting him go was almost impossible. But I did it. I had no choice. I let the nurse take him and place him back in the cot. I kept his little hat. She covered him with a swaddle blanket and wheeled him out of the room to the funeral home staff member who was waiting in the hall.

It was over. We left the hospital with empty arms and headed home.

Coming home from the hospital was so much harder than I had expected. It felt wrong. It didn't feel real. Nothing felt real. I could not comprehend that I just gave birth but there was no baby in the house.

It wasn't fair. For months I had prayed over my little boy, asking God to keep him healthy and safe. He was supposed to be our rainbow baby. Our redemption story. But God had a different plan. He took him from me and left me feeling confused, hurt, betrayed, and abandoned. My heart had been shattered and the only thing I could utter in prayer was the cry of "why God, why?".

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I share this story with all the raw emotion because someone out there needs to know that it's ok to feel those things when something tragic happens. It's ok to be mad at God. I'm still mad at Him. But it doesn't mean I've stopped serving Him.

I know God has a plan. I know that the sun will shine again eventually. But right now everything is gray and I feel I'm supposed to share my journey through the gray and back into the light. Maybe it'll encourage someone, maybe it won't. All I know is this is what God's telling me to do.