How One Mom Is Helping

The word "stillbirth" used to be vague and distant to me, something that happened to other people in another time. But on March 4, 2013, that all changed. The word "stillbirth" became intensely personal, a harsh and devastating reality. My reality. My husband's reality. During a routine visit to my OBGYN, three days before my daughter Harper's due date, we received the awful and unthinkable news no parent ever wants to or imagines they will hear.

But what's is like? What's it really like for the 26,000 families each and every year in the United States who suffer silently the sudden loss of a baby? The ones who have to leave the hospital with achingly empty arms, going home to an empty house to begin planning their baby's funeral?

After I had Harper, I wrote a poem called "The Hardest Part." I wanted to capture what it was like that first night when we found out we had lost her, because I never wanted to forget. Although every parent of a stillborn baby has a unique experience, I believe we all suffer the same spectrum of emotions. In sharing this very personal poem, I hope to help increase awareness and understanding of what it's really like.

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A lot of things about having Harper were hard. It was hard to wait for the doctor to come into the room with the ultrasound machine, Knowing that he wasn't going to give me good news. It was hard to find out she had died that day at the office... The doctor somberly looking at me and gently stating, "I don't like what I'm seeing. I'm sorry, her heart isn't beating."