You are so cherished, and it’s time for the world to learn about you.
The Beginning
Let me take you back to the start. Nine months ago, in a midtown hotel room in New York City, I found myself preparing for a work dinner when I decided to take a pregnancy test—just to be sure. After all, navigating forced networking is much simpler with a couple of glasses of wine in hand. To my surprise, it was positive! Awkward small talk awaited me.
While some might have felt overwhelmed at the thought of another baby—especially with an 11-month-old and a toddler at home (I know this because people asked if it was unplanned!)—from the moment I saw that test result, my heart swelled with happiness about you. I could already envision the three of you—Oliver, Beatrice, and Deacon—bringing joy to our family. I was grateful for the ease with which your father, Tom, and I had created you (or so I thought). I was excited to watch Deacon step into the role of big brother and to see Bea shine in her newfound status as a big sister.
A Different Feeling
This time felt different. All previous pregnancies were filled with a mix of shock and apprehension. With Beatrice, it was “Whoa, I’m having a baby?! This is going to be amazing… right?!” And with Deacon, my thoughts were more along the lines of, “Can I handle this again? Why so soon? Bea won’t be thrilled.” Yet with you, I felt a profound sense of purpose and love, ready to expand our family and embrace the beautiful chaos of three.
Over the following months, I spent countless hours dreaming about you and how you would fit into our family. I imagined you with my green eyes (a trait neither of your siblings inherited), and possessing Bea’s stubbornness blended with Deacon’s affection. I pictured you being the first to master sleeping through the night—no more Magic Sleepsuit for me!
I envisioned snuggling you in the camo Patagonia bunting we bought for winter outings, sharing stories while sipping coffee, and waiting for the weather to warm up enough for our first outdoor adventures (ugh, New York… probably not until April!). I dreamed of taking you to college—my youngest—and seeing you tear up as you noticed how emotional I was. I imagined Deacon and Bea visiting you in the hospital, with Deacon giving you a big slobbery kiss on your cheek (just like Bea did for him), before turning around and asking for my sandwich—because food is always a priority for her!
Love and Loss
Throughout those four months, even though you hadn’t yet joined our world in the loud and messy way your siblings had, you were always a part of my heart. I loved you more with each passing day, especially after week 11 when the nausea began to fade. Mother’s Day was particularly special as we picnicked in the park, where I felt your spirit with us. Our family felt complete as Bea and Deacon piled on top of me, joyfully laughing. That moment will be etched in my memory as it was one of the last before I had to say goodbye.
On that fateful Monday morning, your dad and I took Bea to the doctor’s office, excited to see your picture and let her guess if you were a boy or a girl. We already knew you were a boy, but it was fun to keep her in suspense since the baby in my belly had become one of her favorite topics. Initially, everything seemed perfect—your heartbeat was strong, just like hers.
However, the news we received was devastating. Your arms and legs were much too small for a baby at 20 weeks, and your rib cage was so underdeveloped that there wasn’t enough room for your lungs to grow—the very organs you would need to breathe once you entered this world. The doctor struggled to identify the issue, but it became clear that it would prevent you from joining our family. We later learned you suffered from a condition that made your bones fragile; they had started to break each time you moved inside me, causing you pain.
Saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I have ever faced. I wish I had felt you kick more before I had to let you go. I only felt you three times, and your dad didn’t feel you at all. I regret not spending longer moments talking to you, sharing these thoughts, so you would know how deeply loved you were. I often worry that you will never truly know.
A Heart-Wrenching Decision
This is a story about losing my second son on May 16, 2017. After receiving a heart-wrenching diagnosis that was deemed “not compatible with life,” we made the agonizing decision to end your suffering before it began. I gave birth to you at White Plains Hospital that morning after hours of labor. Sadly, you no longer had that perfect heartbeat, so we believe you passed away during delivery. They wrapped you in a blanket and a hat, allowing me to hold you for as long as I wanted. Although time slipped away, those precious moments will be forever cherished. You had Deacon’s nose, and I will never forget that.
This is also a tale of standing up for myself. I faced a doctor who used misleading information to try to convince me to have a D&E instead of giving birth to you, despite knowing how much I wanted to hold you in my arms. I was lucky to have the strength to resist and to ultimately hold you, giving me the answers I needed about your condition.
Understanding and Healing
As we navigated this overwhelming experience, we received a call from the genetic lab weeks later. They identified the specific mutation affecting your collagen production, confirming a diagnosis of osteogenesis imperfecta type II and reassuring us that this was likely a random event. This knowledge helped ease my fears about future pregnancies.
On a broader note, this is also a story about the complexities of termination for medical reasons. While I believe we made the right choice for you, I recognize that others may feel differently. I hope sharing my experience encourages understanding of the difficult decisions that can sometimes be necessary for the well-being of a child.
This journey is personal, and I’ve struggled to find the right words to describe what happened. Do I call it stillbirth? Pregnancy loss? Abortion? In the end, does it even matter what I name it? Pain is pain, regardless of its label.
This is a story about the strength of human connection. I will always remember the compassionate labor and delivery nurse who held my hand and wept alongside me. The messages of support from friends and colleagues near and far made a significant impact on my healing journey. I am grateful to those who allowed me to grieve and re-enter the world with patience and kindness.
Looking Forward
Healing is a process, and while it sometimes feels like two steps back for every step forward, I remain hopeful. There’s a mix of emotions when I hear someone ask about my due date. My therapist has certainly earned her keep! Some days are tough, but mostly I feel optimistic about expanding my family and welcoming a new niece or nephew soon.
A Tribute to You
Lastly, this story is for you, Oliver. Though I can’t plan your birthday parties or capture your first steps, you are forever part of my heart. I will always love you.
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In summary, this poignant narrative is a tribute to Oliver—a tale of love, loss, and the hope for healing. It reflects the journey of a mother navigating the complexities of pregnancy, loss, and the enduring bonds of family.