When Love Is Silenced, Joshua’s Story by Michelle Dudley

Waking up on Sunday morning, I became aware that my baby boy was not moving inside me. I was 8 months pregnant. It had been a healthy pregnancy- 33 years old and 33 weeks pregnant. My 5-year-old daughter, Kristyn was my world. We had moved the month prior into our “dream home”. A two-story, white house with black shutters at the end of a cul de sac. There was a lovely, welcoming front porch with hanging pink Begonias and two white rocking chairs waiting for company.

I had a healthy, uneventful pregnancy with Kristyn. We had undergone an ultrasound and were expecting a healthy baby boy- our first son. I had just had a check-up at the obstetrician’s office and everything checked out great. I am a Registered Nurse who has worked as a LDRP nurse (Labor, Delivery, Recovery and Post-Partum) and NICU nurse (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). I was assured that all was normal and never thought otherwise during this pregnancy. I realize, I took so much for granted.

I pushed on my abdomen where my sweet baby rested inside but he was sleeping. He did not push-back. This is not unusual; babies sleep and don’t always move when you want them to. I told Steve I was a “little concerned” because Joshua was not moving. I could not remember when I felt him move last. Maybe we should call the Obstetrician and ask what to do so we wouldn’t worry all day about it. The on-call doctor told us to go to the Labor and Delivery Triage Department at our hospital to be checked with a fetal heart monitor and a possible ultrasound to make sure nothing was wrong. When we arrived at the OB triage center, the nurse took us into the examining room and fastened the fetal heart monitor belt around my belly. There was no sound on the monitor. Steve and I looked at each other with disbelief and prayed that all would be all right. There had to be something wrong with the nurse’s ability to find the baby’s heartbeat; maybe he was turned an unusual way. She was quiet and showed no expression, which seemed so cold to me. The nurse called the doctor in who would do an ultrasound. My doctor had a kind, gentle presence which helped me feel more relaxed and like I was in good hands. She quietly scanned with the ultrasound wand over my belly. With compassion and sadness in her eyes, she said,” I am so sorry, there is not a heartbeat. Your baby has died.” Shock and disbelief hit me like a sharp knife slicing my heart. I remember Steve and I hugging and grasping each other’s hands as I choked on the lump in my throat. I don’t remember much immediately after that. The hospital LDRP floor did not separate laboring mothers of dead babies from laboring mothers of alive, healthy babies. I was not considered high-risk since I was healthy even though my baby had died. Having been an LDRP nurse and experiencing a healthy pregnancy outcome, I knew what to expect as far as the labor experience. Everything was not “new” to me. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for someone to endure a stillbirth with their very first pregnancy and delivery.

I had an experience with stillbirth as a nurse. After having our precious first daughter, I worked regularly on the unit. One evening I encountered a vastly different patient assignment; a full-term stillborn baby girl to bathe and prepare to be taken back to spend time with her mother. There would be pictures with her family. I pleaded with the charge nurse for a different assignment. I had no prior experience with this. I did not feel comfortable, but she insisted I take the assignment. With a certain level of compassion, she assigned another experienced nurse to assist me. The baby girl was gorgeous and perfect-looking. She had soft blonde locks of hair. I bathed her gently- moving her lifeless limbs and massaging them with sweet-smelling baby wash. She had the scent of a newborn, that gorgeous earthy smell of new life. I washed her sweet blonde hair with baby shampoo. I dressed her in a precious pink outfit her mother had picked out special for her new daughter to wear. The little cap fit snugly on her pretty head. We made footprints with her lovely, soft, still-warm feet. She was swaddled tightly in her new yellow and pink baby blanket. We brought her to the nurse caring for her mother in the birthing room. The quiet darkened room of sorrow- surrounded by rooms filled with life, laughter, flowers, and balloons. I remember feeling so embarrassed and unprofessional in front of my coworkers. I could not stop crying while I was bathing and dressing her. Embarrassed, I apologized to my gruff charge nurse who came in to check on me. She paused, looked up at me, and then uncharacteristically wrapped her arm around me. She said, “There would be something wrong with you, if you didn’t cry.”

So, my labor was induced and in the quiet, dark night our first son was born in silence. Steve gasped and choked back sobs as Joshua entered the outside world. He saw him before I did. I watched my doctor’s face as he was born and saw her eyes shed tears of her own. It seemed to make Joshua’s silent presence valid and important. The nurses wrapped him in a warm blanket and handed him to us. His little body, limp, lifeless; felt surprisingly heavy. He was warm and soft, moving easily, with that familiar smell of a fresh, newborn. The earthy, beautiful scent of fresh new life. I kissed his soft, still-damp cheek and forehead as tears rolled down my face, christening his. His little jaw slightly open, his lips ruddy and dark as if someone painted them deep pink. I propped his little chin up with the edge of his blanket to close his sweet, little mouth. Open as if to say, “Hello world- I am sorry I missed experiencing you.” Wisps of dark hair covered his precious head with perfect little ears shaped like his dad’s. I examined his intricately designed little fingers. His fingernails with little half-moons at the base of each nailbed. Darling little baby toes on long boyish feet shaped like his dad’s. He was without a flaw; miraculously formed. No explanation as to why he died except a tight umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny neck… Medical professionals call it a nuchal cord.

My nurse was sensitive, calm, and quiet. Handling Joshua gently, she placed a sweet, blue-crocheted cap on his tiny head. Some special person crocheted this cap with love. Footprints and handprints were pressed onto his baby book. Pictures were taken. A gorgeous shot (taken by his dad) of Joshua with my hands holding him wrapped snugly in a flannel blanket, blue-crocheted cap on. Only my hands are in the picture. The picture is a precious memory- a reminder of his important existence. I had so much guilt about Joshua’s death. I felt responsible, This complicated my grief. I was angry with God and myself. It took me time to work through that anger. I have always had a strong Faith since I was a child. It is a huge part of who I am as a person. I know God’s love is perfect. I don’t understand it because I am an imperfect being. God is a perfect being who loves us more than we can possibly comprehend.

I had to come to terms with the fact that bad things happen in this imperfect world where death and darkness exist. Joshua’s death was not caused by any “mistake or choice” I made. I eventually come to accept this. My mind came up with many creative reasons why it was my fault. When we experience a devastating loss our human nature tries to find reasons to blame ourselves or others. We often blame God. I did. I was angry with God and myself for quite a while. I came to the realization that God does not cause awful things to happen to us. Bad things happen in this world to all of us. This World is not Heaven. We do not pull puppet strings on our children and make them behave as they grow- they get to choose their own way. We would not want them to be robots or puppets. God is our Parent. I believe God is heartbroken with us. He loves us so much and longs to spare us the pain of heartache. He wraps His loving arms around us and comforts us and heals our broken hearts. I believe He is saddened by our heartache. One day we will understand this mystery and I will have faith that will be so. Now I will accept that I am human and God is God. I do understand now that I did nothing wrong, I believe what God’s message is to all of us is that He loves us deeply. He loves us unconditionally. He loves us despite our imperfections, our brokenness, and our perceived or real “mistakes”. We don’t comprehend that because our human love is often conditional and fragile. The only thing that comes close to understanding God’s love for us is the love a psychologically healthy parent has for their children. This love offers a glimpse of God’s Love for us, His children.