I am a still mom. I had a relatively normal pregnancy. I strictly followed the recommended diet, took my prescription prenatal vitamins, walked daily, limited stress, and got regular prenatal care.  Everything was under control. My regular ultrasounds looked great. Except for a few high risk issues including gestational diabetes, everything was well controlled. But at 36 weeks my son Julian died and my world collapsed.

 

I had just finished mailing out the thank you notes for the shower gifts. The nursery was all set up and clean. Julian's adorable little newborn clothes were laundered in organic baby detergent, folded, and anxiously waiting to be worn. They still are. There is a stack of storybooks next to the recliner in the nursery that do not get read. There is an adorable stuffed mouse wearing blue overalls that I knew was going to be Julian’s favorite stuffed animal, sitting patiently next to his crib.   The crib is made up with soft baby sheets printed with pastel colored baby animals.  The highchair, baby gates, and car seats that my husband excitedly assembled right after our shower have now been moved back into the silent nursery.

 

I am not writing this for sympathy.  I do not really want sympathy.  A bit of understanding as to why I have difficulty attending baby showers or gushing over newborns would be greatly appreciated, but not pity.  We were fortunate to be surrounded by many loving arms in the beginning. But people have to return to their own lives.  My reality is now of still motherhood. It is a very silent existence. I avoid social media for long bouts of time to avoid the endless photos of the happy growing families of my peers.  I have to minimize time around newborns, especially newborn boys. My mind panics. Pregnant women interactions are equally difficult. I want to warn them. I want to tell them to stop whining about their minor discomforts. I want to tell them to really, really cherish that heartbeat inside them because one day it might just stop with no real explanation.

 

Why describe my neuroses to you? I can do that at therapy sessions and support group meetings. Because these are my story now. They are my reality as a still mom.  Some people rather bluntly, some more subtly, tell me to move on and try again. As if the four years of infertility problems leading up to our pregnancy never existed; as if pregnancy just happens easily for everyone. As if one child could simply replace the loss of another.  You do not move on when you are a still mom. You just learn to cope and edit.

 

I am working to raise money for stillbirth awareness and research, not solely as a sad still mom desperately trying to keep her son’s earthly spirit alive, but because people need to realize the true significance of stillbirth and infant loss.  It does not just affect the parents.  It is a permanent dark void in the world of what might have and could have been. How much all of those lost children could have contributed to the world if science and medicine had been more advanced and able to keep their hearts beating here on earth. 

 

There is such a massive void of knowledge on one of the most basic aspects of human existence: human birth. We as a people do not understand why some of our offspring die. For thousands of years, our peoples have just had to learn to deal with this seemingly inevitable reality. We have been taught to believe that infant loss is just part of nature. Survival of the fittest. But science and humankind is evolving. We are learning so much so fast, thanks to technology and scientific research. But for progress and advancement, there needs to be a catalyst. There needs to be demand. The only way to change the statistics is to refuse to accept the current answers of sympathetic dismissal and to reach higher. If our tiny human minds can figure out how to fly to the moon, we can figure out how to save our own offspring. But for so, so long pregnancy loss had been hushed. It simply makes people sad and uncomfortable. It makes pregnant women anxious. It makes still families linger in their grief.  This continuing to sweep our problems under the rug does not aid humanity. How many brilliant, beautiful souls have been sent away from their earthly existence because we have not progressed enough as human beings and learned more about the female body and how it creates? How life itself begins? Exactly how the placenta nourishes new life?

 

Like most human priorities, it comes down to human demand. If we continue to silence the still families and trivialize the loss of their children, we will never comprehend the true magnitude of the problem. We will never know as a people how much brilliance we have allowed to extinguish. Money and time need to be spent researching ways to save the beautiful future generations that need a voice. They need a chance. They deserve a chance. Help us work towards an end to stillbirth.