I would love to share Crystal with you.  She is the wonderful mama behind Calvin’s cupcakes and These Fragments of Love who is sharing her story of leaving the hospital with empty arms.  Please send her love at the links below!

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“I’m sorry but the baby has passed away.” When the doctor spoke, I was not expecting to hear that last word. Every last bit of me clung to hope that though the child I carried was “imperfect” or likely disabled, my baby was still alive. That space between those two words – passed and away – the briefest of pauses, not even enough for a breath, was the threshold between life and death. It marked crossing the line between preparing for the worst and living it.

That night, I went to the hospital to be induced and deliver my baby. Unfair is a huge understatement in describing what it was like to enter the space where mothers go to give birth to their living babies, while I walked in months too soon because my baby died. Fear. Dread. Anger. Despair. These feelings overwhelmed me as I waited for labor to begin.

On March 5, 2009, at 9:54am, my first child left my body. The tears poured out. The sobs shook my body. My husband whispered, “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry,” over and over again as he cried with me. They told me they were going to clean the baby up.

When the doctor brought him back, she asked us if he had a name. We answered, “Calvin.” She told us, “Calvin is so special. He’s so special,” and placed him in my arms. He was dressed in a tiny gown and wrapped in a tiny blanket, both of which were sewn and donated to the hospital just for babies who were born too soon. In that moment of looking into my son’s face and feeling his weight in my arms, a peace I thought was impossible—especially with what we’d just been through—washed over me. I felt the love and joy and mother seeing and holding her baby for the first time. It didn't last.

Leaving the hospital devastated me, because I also had to leave my son behind. I was “lucky” in that I didn't leave with completely empty arms. I had a memory box that included his gown and blanket, a copy of the book When Your Baby Dies, a card with Calvin’s name on it that my nurse made. We also grabbed what I could from the hospital room (socks, my peak flow meter, even the sheet and pillow case Louie used on the fold-out chair); we needed to have tangible reminders that Calvin was real, that we held him, that he was ours.

Receiving one of Stephanie’s Art Cards in the memory box would have been a tremendous source of comfort, because it’s from someone who has walked a similar path and knows this heartbreak of losing a baby. It would have been a beautiful reminder of how much of a miracle Calvin was, of how much of a blessing it was to carry him in my womb, in my arms, and in my heart. I would have loved to be able to frame it and display without being guarded (like I am with Calvin’s picture). Through these cards, families will know that they aren't alone and that their babies matter and mothers will know that they still count.

Please read more about Crystal at These Fragments I Love - http://fragments.louielovescrystal.com
*Giving back with Calvin's Cupcakes - http://blessedtobebroken.com/calvinscupcake

Illustration by Louie (Calvin's daddy).  You can see more of his amazing work by clicking the giant Louie below!

If you have a story you wish to share about leaving the hospital with empty arms and only a memory box, please contact me by clicking the image below.  I would love to share your story!