Child Loss: The Pain Cannot Be Described

I held him in my arms.  His little body was perfect.  I pulled him up close to me and we sat cheek to cheek.  I kissed his tiny little head a thousand times and more.  I held his tiny little fingers and just kept touching them lightly against my lips.  I took his precious little feet and fit them into the palm of my hand and ever so gently closed my fingers around each tiny toe counting to make sure there were five on each small foot.

And, then I felt my body fold into a million broken pieces as I rocked back and forth, my body shaking in pain knowing my son would never open his eyes and look into mine. 

The news of a baby was welcome news!  Our family was thrilled and we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of this little miracle.  The pregnancy was wonderful and wonder-filled!  I can’t tell you how special I felt to be chosen by God to be the mother of this tiny little miracle!  I felt honored, humbled, and I vowed to do all within my power to be a caring, giving, loving mother who honored God with my all. I promised God I would teach my child of Him and His ways, and my child would know how to pray and be thankful.

Around the 25th week of pregnancy I felt a bit weird.  I don’t know how to explain it other than “a feeling” that something wasn’t quite right.  I still felt the baby kicking, but not with the vigor that he had been using just a couple of weeks before.  My doctor’s appointment was normal except………….the doctor was a bit concerned that I wasn’t quite measuring where I should have been.  But, all else seemed well, and I went home to continue to dream about this precious new addition to our family.

In less than two weeks, I was back in the doctor’s office — this time with grave concerns because I wasn’t quite sure I was feeling movement.  I couldn’t tell.

I drew a long, deep breath as the doctor searched for a heartbeat. I squeezed my eyes shut waiting to hear the “thump-thump-thump” of the heart beating.  “Please, God.  Please let me hear that sound of my little miracle inside of me.”

Samuel Adam Hinton had died.  His heart stopped beating, and there was never a reason given.  For almost three weeks I carried that little baby inside of me knowing he was not living.  My doctor thought it was best for me to go into “spontaneous labor” rather than be induced.  While I would never wish that experience on anyone, that time was a gift for me because it allowed me time to begin my grieving without fully letting go.  I kept praying for a miracle — begging God for his little heart to start beating again.

It never did.  Samuel heart laid still within my womb. My precious baby boy.  My beautiful little child was dead.

Four days after Mother’s Day — on a bright, sunshiny Thursday morning I went into labor.  The nurses and doctors were wonderful.  They cried with me.  Who knows what to say when a baby dies?  There are no words.  None.  What can bring comfort to a mother’s aching, broken heart?  There is nothing.

Part of me died the day Samuel was born still.  I’ve never been the same, and I never will.  I think of him so much, wondering what kind of young man he would be today.  I know that he is at peace, but I miss that part of me — that part of life — that beautiful miracle child of mine.  I miss my little boy.

When people ask what it feels like to lose a child all I can say is, this:  “The pain  cannot be described.”  And, it can’t.  I carried a life inside of me.  I felt this child of mine moving and living inside of me.  And, then that life ended inside of me and I felt an emptiness that cut all the way through my soul.  When Samuel died, part of me died, too, and I don’t know how to accurately explain the death of a child other than to say, “It is the worst pain anyone can ever feel.”  The separation is the loneliest pain in the world.

I love you, sweet baby of mine.

To every parent who has been touched by the loss of a child, my prayer for you is this:  “May you remember more often the miracle of life that ignited your soul than the darkness of death that stole that life away.  May you see the rainbow that colors the sky letting you know that heaven is a promise.  It is real.  Heaven is waiting and so is your child.”

Love,

Clara