You are immensely cherished, and I want the entire world to know about you.
The Beginning
Let me take you back to the moment it all began. Roughly nine months ago, as I prepared for a work dinner in a bustling hotel room in New York City, I decided to take a pregnancy test—just to be sure. After all, navigating forced networking is much easier with a couple of glasses of wine at hand. Surprise! A positive result? Here we go with the awkward small talk.
While some might have felt overwhelmed by the news of another baby—especially with an 11-month-old at home and another child not even 2 ½ years old—I felt nothing but joy at the thought of you. I envisioned the three of you—Oliver, Lily, and Max—forming an inseparable trio. I marveled at how effortlessly your dad, Jake, and I created you (or so I thought). I was excited to see Max become your big brother and watch Lily thrive in her role as a big sister.
Joyful Anticipation
This time, the joy I felt was unlike anything I had experienced during my previous pregnancies. With Lily, it was a mix of shock and excitement; with Max, a swirl of anxiety about the rapid pace of our growing family. But with you, it felt as if you were meant to be—a precious addition destined to fill our lives with even more love.
Over the next four months, I fantasized about who you would become and how our family would change with your arrival. I dreamed of you inheriting my green eyes (a trait neither of your siblings share). I imagined you possessing Lily’s strong will and Max’s affectionate nature. I even envisioned you as the first to conquer sleeping through the night, so I could finally regain my sanity!
I pictured bundling you up in the adorable winter outfit we bought, taking strolls around town, and sharing cozy moments reading together as we waited for warmer days to arrive. I looked forward to the day I would take you to college—our last little one—when you’d see the tears streaming down my face as you embarked on a new chapter. I imagined the joyous moment when Lily and Max would meet you in the hospital, and Max would plant a big, slobbery kiss on your cheek, just as Lily had done for him (right before she requested my sandwich—she loves to eat!).
In My Heart
For those four months, even though you weren’t physically part of our world in the same loud and messy way as your siblings, you were always in my heart. I loved you more and more each day, especially after week 11 when the morning sickness faded. Mother’s Day was particularly special, picnicking in the park with Lily and Max, as I felt your presence enveloping us. That day, for a moment, our family of five felt complete, with both of them giggling and piling on top of me.
The Diagnosis
Then came that fateful Monday morning. Dad and I took Lily to the doctor’s office for a special ultrasound to reveal whether you were a boy or a girl. Although we already knew you were a boy, we wanted to keep her guessing since your arrival was one of her favorite topics. It started off delightfully—we talked about your heartbeat, which echoed her own. Your heart was perfect, a beautiful rhythm filled with love.
But then we learned that not everything was as it should be. Your limbs were much too small for a baby at 20 weeks, and even worse, your rib cage was too tiny for your lungs to develop. The doctor was unsure how to classify your condition, but she knew it meant you couldn’t come into our world as we’d hoped. We later discovered you had a condition that caused your bones to be extremely fragile; they were breaking even as you moved inside me, stunting your growth and causing you pain.
Saying Goodbye
Saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I wished I had felt you kick more before I had to let you go; I only felt you three times, while your dad didn’t feel you at all. I longed to have spent more time talking to you about my dreams and hopes. I worried you would never know how deeply you were loved. If only I could have done something to fix what was broken back when you were conceived, to give you the life you deserved.
This is a story about how on May 16, 2017, I lost my precious son. After a devastating diagnosis that was deemed “not compatible with life,” I made the difficult choice to end your suffering, even though I was not ready to let go. I gave birth to you at the hospital after hours of labor, only to find that your heart had stopped beating at some point during delivery. They wrapped you in a soft blanket and hat, allowing me to hold you for as long as I needed. I can’t tell you how long it was, but those moments will stay with me forever. You had your brother Max’s nose, a beautiful reminder of our connection.
Standing Up for Myself
Your story is also one of standing up for myself. I had a doctor attempt to sway my decision toward a different option, even calling your dad without my consent to convince him it would be too hard on him. I had another doctor suggest incorrect testing post-delivery, which could have prevented me from holding you and finding answers about your condition.
The Role of Science
Speaking of answers, I want to highlight the incredible role of science. Six weeks after your passing, we received news from the genetic lab confirming the exact mutation that caused your fragile bones. It was a specific type of collagen disorder, known as osteogenesis imperfecta type II. They informed us with 93% certainty that this was a random event, which should not affect future siblings. That small percentage left me anxious, but I felt grateful for a friend who had just graduated from medical school and helped me understand the intricacies of genetics. Here’s hoping we’re in that 93%.
A Personal Narrative
In a broader sense, this is a story about what is legally termed a termination for medical reasons. While I firmly believe I made the right choice for you, I understand that opinions differ. I hope by sharing my story, I can encourage others to consider the nuances of such decisions and how they may feel right for different people.
This narrative is deeply personal as well. I often grapple with how to describe what happened. Do I refer to it as stillbirth? Pregnancy loss? Abortion? Each term feels inadequate to encapsulate the love I felt for you. Ultimately, does it even matter what it’s called? Everyone’s pain is valid, regardless of the label.
The Power of Community
Through this journey, I’ve experienced the extraordinary power of community. The labor and delivery nurse who held my hand and cried with me upon meeting you, the supportive messages from friends and acquaintances, and the understanding of my colleagues during my grieving process—they all reminded me of the goodness in people.
Looking Forward
It’s been nearly five months since I lost you, and while some days feel like two steps back for every one forward, I remain hopeful. I look forward to welcoming new family members and cherishing the joys of life.
A Tribute to You
Lastly, this is a tribute to you, Oliver. I will never plan your birthday parties or witness your first steps, but I carry you in my heart, always.
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Conclusion
In conclusion, my story is one of love, loss, and resilience—a reminder of the connections we forge and the journeys we navigate.