I stood with you today.
I stood silently next to your bed and watched you as you tried to process the devastating words, “I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”
I moved you to a room away from the cries of babies being born.
I held you up as you labored and encouraged you when you said you couldn’t do it anymore.
I held your hand as you delivered your beloved child.
I spoke words of support as you did what you never thought you would have to do.
I sat quietly with you as you held your baby for the first and last time.
I ached for you as the tears streamed down your face in heartbreaking grief.
I watched the Father struggle to be a part of this woman’s work and try to be strong for his partner, all the while fighting back his tears and grief.
I captured moments some never wanted to remember, and some never wanted to forget.
I carefully chose the tiny gown, hat and crocheted blanket lovingly knitted just for your baby-pieces that represented your heart, bruised and broken.
I gently imprinted your love’s handprints and footprints into the soft clay plaque so you would have something tangible to remember them by.
I did all of this with a reverence for the journey I was on with you.
I sat on the edge of your bed as I handed you the pictures of your baby which brought on a fresh wave of tears.
I gently handed you the death certificate for you to sign and gave you time to do the unthinkable.
I carefully observed your face as you stared at the pen because to see it in black and white was a brutal reminder of all you lost.
I slowly helped you into the wheelchair and took you to the entrance of the hospital-the same door you came in through with hopes and dreams.
I saw the hesitation cross your face as you climbed into the car. Terrified to leave for all you would have to face at home, yet too painful to stay in the place where you lost something so precious to you.
I hugged you and reminded you to take care of yourself; to seek the support you would need.
After you left, I turned to make my way back into the hospital.
You didn’t see me find the nearest bathroom and lock myself inside.
You didn’t hear my muffled crying.
You see, I was your Nurse, and I was you – the mother who also lost her babies.
I laid where you laid.
I labored as you labored.
I pushed as you pushed.
I heard the deafening silence as you heard the silence.
I cried an anguished cry as you cried an anguished cry.
I felt lost and alone as you felt lost and alone.
I had to say goodbye as you had to say goodbye.
I kissed their cheeks one last time as you kissed your baby’s cheeks one last time.
My heart was broken into a million pieces as yours was shattered.
I see you, sweet Mama.
I see you.
Kelly is a mother to two beautiful children here and the mother to stillborn angel twins, and an angel stillborn daughter. She lovingly worked Labor and Delivery for ten years.