Trigger warning: this is a story of stillbirth. If you are currently grieving a loss or in any other way feel that this may be too difficult for you to read at this time, please give yourself space and permission to scroll away.
Vaia’s Story
It was September 12th, 2019. Only one week to go before my baby’s due date. Baby clothes and other items were thoroughly washed and neatly organized in dressers. I scrubbed my car clean… twice… and buckled the infant car seat base to the back seat. I put the stroller in my trunk and then packed a hospital bag for the baby.
Everything was ready. I had been having consistent contracting for the last three days. They grew closer together but had yet to become more intense; my midwife and I assumed I was in early labor. I was sometimes uncomfortable but never quite in pain. I was not concerned. I noticed that baby hadn’t been very active… but I figured the consistent tightening of my stomach disguised any movement. So far, everything had been going perfectly, with a healthy and active baby constantly moving inside of me. The heartbeat was always strong and consistent. It was almost a dream pregnancy, and I never suspected anything to ever go wrong.
But, to the horrific reality of an imperfect world… that very same day I had buckled in the infant car seat base, I found out that I would not ever need it. Not for this child.
“I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat”
My midwife came to my house for a prenatal checkup. The first thing we did was check on baby’s heartbeat. We listened… for so long. Her face never changed or looked alarmed. I watched her for any sign of worry. She remained calm. We just kept listening. My midwife poked at my tummy and tried to get baby to move… no movement. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, I finally allowed myself to ask the question that had been haunting me. “Is it strange that we can’t find a heartbeat?” My world slowed as Korina nodded and answered, “It is very strange.”
We decided to go to the hospital. Elijah and I were scared beyond anything we ever felt before. On the way there, we hardly said any words at all. We tried to pray out loud, but all Elijah managed to say was, “Dear Lord…” and then we both just cried. The tears ran so viciously. They fell onto my tummy, which was 39 weeks rounded and so dreadfully STILL.
We arrived at the hospital and we were brought straight to the examining room, where a nurse began monitoring my heartbeat with one machine, while searching for baby’s heartbeat with the other. Korina and Elijah stayed right beside me. After several minutes of listening with no success of finding the heartbeat, an ultrasound was finally ordered in.
The doctor watched the ultrasound screen for only a few moments before the nurse nodded his direction. I saw the look on their faces… I looked up to the ceiling and closed my eyes. Noise and movement disappeared from the room as my mind sunk into a dark world of fog. I knew what was going to be said to me. I knew in my heart that I no longer carried a living child. I knew that my heart was about to shatter with the news about to be given me. I knew, and I didn’t want to hear. I tried with all my might to turn off the world, to push pack time… as time stood still.
I felt a gentle hand rest upon my arm… I tried to imagine it away. I heard the kind voice of this doctor say these words… All I could do was shake my head.
“I am so sorry… there is no heartbeat.”
“Living a Nightmare”
I felt like screaming. I thought I was dying. I looked at the doctor’s eyes which were filled with unshed tears only briefly before falling back and sobbing at the ceiling. I shook with immense pain in my soul. Elijah walked brokenly to my side and we held each other.
My imagining our baby screaming and kicking into the world was erased. We were moved to our delivery room and I was immediately given an IV. I lay there, just waited to be induced for a labor I did not want to go through. Not like this…
It was such a storm, this evening. Emotions were churning with anger and heartbreak. Outside in the dark, the thunder, rain, and lightening created such a sad and dreary atmosphere. Inside there was pain, grief, and suffering. My body raged with the sharpest of physical turmoil.
I will never forget the one time I allowed my emotion to get the better of me… as I struggled through one of the hardest contractions of all, I grew angry. I was angry about what I was going through, with nothing to look forward to in the end. I was frustrated by the pain that had no purpose or prize for the endurance I had. I was hurt that God could have allowed such a loss to myself and Elijah. I was shocked and yet SO very much aware of the hardship and the raw sorrow I felt in my heart. I bitterly breathed through the contraction, and when it was over, I sobbed. My emotion went straight from anger to heartbreak. I couldn’t believe I was going through this, with no reward of a crying baby at the end. I couldn’t believe that my baby was gone and that I was taking this pain, only to live a whole new world of another kind of pain. I just stayed there on my hand and knees, begging God for an explanation.
I finally found myself asking for an epidural after realizing that I didn’t want to be strong anymore. My grief barely allowed me enough strength to CRY, let alone to continue birthing a baby. After suffering through a torturous contraction as the epidural needle was being inserted, the medicine kicked in really fast. Not long after my pain disappeared, I was told that I was 10 centimeters dilated and could begin pushing whenever I wanted. I pushed for over an hour.
My sweet but deafeningly silent baby was finally born at 2:21am. As they cleaned up and cut the cord, quickly looking the baby over, my mom breathed the phrase I was waiting for, “Oh Hannah, she’s beautiful”. After seven and a half hours of laboring, on September 13th 2019, Elijah’s and my sweet daughter was born into this world and into our loving arms, though she would never be born into this life. She went straight from my womb to heaven. But here we were, holding our baby girl’s body in our arms, in complete awe of her perfect beauty. She was a healthy 6 pounds and 15 ounces, and 19 ½ inches long.
But oh… how painfully quiet it was. I still remember it like a nightmare. And yet it so amazed me still… how much love washed over me so powerfully as my baby was placed in my arms. I looked at her and loved her so fiercely that suddenly the pain that I was just experiencing didn’t matter. I will miss and love my precious little one forever; but I was so proud to have had a baby girl as perfect and beautiful as this.
But as I sat there gazing over my little gift, I couldn’t help not being able to say goodbye. I hadn’t even been able to say hello. I was so thankful for the time I had with her as she grew inside my womb, but oh how I had spent that wonderful time still longing for the day I would get to meet her and see her darling face. Then I realized that I had forgotten to dream another dream… that she would have been able to look back at me and see mine.
“Our First and Only Moments”
As these first moments unfolded with our daughter, the doctor stitched me up for about an hour. We all got cleaned up and then Elijah and I were left alone to have time with our baby. We cleaned her tiny and perfect body together, and then Elijah dressed her in the outfit I had picked out weeks before. She looked so beautiful in all of it.
We named our little girl Vaia (Vay-ah) Jubilee. Vaia means Violet, and Jubilee was fitting as she was forever freed from the troubles of this world. She is our precious little Vaia, and violets will forever remind us of her. The day we returned from the hospital Elijah had found a violet growing outside of our home. Over the next few days our gardens were full of them. This was truly a gift of Grace from the Lord, as violets don’t often grow in the fall.
Hours before we left the hospital, the man from the funeral home came to take Vaia. Watching her being taken away from me was the hardest thing I had ever had to watch. As the nurse wheeled my baby out of the room and I knew I would never see her again, I cried whole new tears. It hurt so much to say goodbye in such a final way. I grieved as I would never again in this life see my baby girl. It still physically hurts beyond words that I am not able to hold Vaia in my arms. My arms feel heavy so often and literally ache. Nobody should have to bury their child… especially a baby. I never thought I could live through something like this… and yet here I am, living through it, with God literally carrying my burdened soul the entire way.
“Postpartum after Loss”
We left the hospital alone, without a baby to love and to nurture… Our lives were turned upside down as the whole life we dreamed of having by now was suddenly taken away. We began a journey we never thought we’d have to take. Our story changed drastically in only a matter of one day. My heart had been lifted to the clouds before it fell straight to rock bottom… and shattered. So, this is the story I now carry… So, this is Motherhood for me.
My postpartum journey was miserable. Grief and lack of care or appetite, I am sure, all played huge roles in my delayed healing. Because of the epidural and traumatic pushing experience, my bladder shut down and I had to wear a catheter for 5 days. I had blood in my urine that was scary to deal with. My stitches slowly came out over the weeks, which was gross. I lost so much blood that I couldn’t stand long at all. And it took twelve weeks before intimacy was comfortable. My milk supply came in and took FOREVER to totally dry up; I believe it took nearly three months before I wasn’t leaking anymore; I never pumped and did all I could to dry up, but my body took forever to get the hint. I suffered terrible migraines the first week because of the epidural. Physically, I felt like I was dying… emotionally, I WAS dying.
But through it all, the Lord continued to show us Grace. Family and friends were always near, a beautiful rainbow (not a cloud or a raindrop nearby) met us at Vaia’s burial, violets were growing everywhere, people brought us meals for months… these are a few of the beautiful examples of how God reminded us that He was there with us through this storm. I surrounded myself with other’s going through similar loss, journaled every day about my baby, meditated on God’s Word surrounding grief, and clung to supportive family and friends. Jesus literally carried me through this season and brought healing to my soul.
Vaia has taught us so much about life, Grace, this world, loss, and Hope. I thank the Lord every day for giving her to me for the time that He did. And I have the assurance of seeing her again someday, as well as the gift of being able to be there for others who suffer this kind of loss. I will never forget her, and the fact that we lost our baby will never become easier. But through time and growth, her memory only becomes sweeter. In her short life, she has left a beautiful legacy for us to honor her by.
Thank you, Vaia… for being my little girl. For knowing my love and feeling my joy for you. Thank you for touching my life as well as the lives of so many others, like no one else could. You will never be forgotten… even though you were Stillborn… for you were STILL BORN.
Story submitted by Hannah A.