This post is part of a ten-post series I’m sharing about the life and loss of our son, Afton. Click here to read more of Afton’s story.
I had gone in for a routine exam when we realized that something might be wrong. It was after hours, so the doctor sent me to the nearest hospital to have a specialist take a look, “just to make sure.”
The hospital we were sent to was the hospital that we were also planning to deliver at. Well, hey! we thought. This is convenient! We had already done a tour like the super eager-beaver parents that we are, and we joked more than once on our way into the hospital about how it was actually kind of awesome to have a practice run before coming in for the real thing.
We waited for the doctor in the triage room, eating graham crackers and drinking apple juice and watching the Hallmark Christmas movie that the nurse had put on the TV. The doctor came in, started the exam, and said: nope, there’s no dilation… oh my goodness, yes there is. She’s dilated and her water is about to break through. Lay the bed flat, lay the bed flat.
The nurse rushed to lay the bed flat – inverse, actually, with my head reclined lower than my feet. And there could be no more painfully perfect metaphor for our lives in that moment – the tipping of the bed signaling the tipping of our world. Completely and utterly flipped, crashing, inverse, upside down, all wrong.
The doctor took my hand. “Lindsay, if you deliver tonight…”
Tonight? I stopped breathing. I stopped listening. How is this happening? Wouldn’t I KNOW if I was going to deliver a baby? I’m only 23 weeks. “Bedrest… risks… survival…” No, no, no. This isn’t my life.
When they left us alone for a minute, Bjork and I cried and tried to find words, something to make this okay or to reassure us that our baby would come out of this just fine. And there was really nothing, except:
This is our story now.
We said these words to each other over and over throughout the next 6 days, telling ourselves at every turn: this is our story.
Brené Brown says: If we own the story, then we can write the ending.
Even now, in these fresh and tender days after Afton is gone, I’m reminding myself – this is your story now. It really hurts. It’s not the story you wanted. But it’s not done, and you can still write the ending. 💙
I read all of your your posts and I love it.
My heart and prayers are with you and your husban.
Love from Dominican Republic
Incredibly written. Raw, real, and unbelievably reflective of acceptance. Acceptance of something that is not acceptable without some Divine Hand to hold you. Thank you so very much for sharing! Abundant prayers your way.
I am heartbroken for your loss. I just read all your eloquently written entries, back-to-back, crying all the while. You are incredibly strong and brave share this beautiful and painful story. Thank you. I wish you peace and healing.
Lindsay you are so brave for sharing. Thank you for sharing your story and your pain. As a mother I can only imagine the devastation and emptiness after such a loss. I think of you, Bjork and Afton daily and send you love.
You write beautifully about this most difficult of experiences. My prayers are with you as you grieve. St. Afton, pray for us.
Wow. Thank you for sharing this. I came here for recipes and now my eyes are tearing up. It is so brave and beautiful of you to write about this experience. Thank you, thank you thank you. Hang in there.
I’ve been reading your food blog for a couple of years and am always wowed by your sense of the written word…sometimes heartfelt and serious and oftentimes hilariously goofy and sweet. It could be easy enough to jump to a recipe without reading your blog but that would be like eating artichoke leaves without getting to the heart of the matter. So it is with your words regarding your beloved son, Afton. I almost feel as though I might be trespassing on your most intimate and precious thoughts but this is what writers do to honor something or someone. It helps them to make sense of this crazy life and even more importantly, to help others understand. Thank you for sharing your words.
Dear previous Lindsey and Bjork…
Words are never enough. I’ve lost a child before birth. I raised four healthy vibrant ones. They are grown now. This past year, I, along with my boyfriend, discovered his son dead from an overdose. The trama and death of those from within us is always beyond words.
The pain of parenthood is through good and bad what makes us
stronger.
I ache for your loss. I’m not one to say much usually. I
Enjoy your posts. I have looked into your food photo classes – even though I’m a professional photographer that’s been published. One can always learn. Im open to learn – always. That is what keeps me alive.
As a 53 yr old Christian woman, I have found your posts to be fun, passionate and inspiring.
My prayer for you – having lived through pains I didn’t describe here, is that God keep your heart tender and that the flame of your passions never die. Please stay fresh and alive and tender. It is how we stay useful for His purpose.
Yes, your purpose or passions may dim – that is while you heal – but God’s calling, is God’s calling and it is always there.
I’m a testament that you may have to dig deep far longer than you thought – but the purpose will be clear to you in the end.
I’m here reading, believing, cheering and praying.
Hopefully, someday I’ll make it to a photo class and give you both a huge, loving hug!
Thank you Carla. I’m so sorry for the loss of your baby and your boyfriend’s son – thank you for sharing your story. We would love to see you at a workshop someday. 💙
Just beautiful. Praying for you guys. Such a sad story but a beautiful one as you loved your little precious boy and have honored him in the most humble way. I am so sorry for your loss.
I am so honored that you are sharing your story with us. Remember this and tears will be helpful to you both to heal. I also am glad to see the beautiful pictures you have of you and Afton. Such treaures. 💙
Sending you hugs from Kansas.
My heart is broken for you, and I find your bravery and your ability to share overwhelming and beautiful! You are my hero. Sending love and prayers.
Blessed Afton is making his truly loved short life known through your words and pictures. I see the strength he is given you and your husband. Who’d have thought his gift to the world would be strength.
Blessings
Raw. My heart goes out to you both. Hugs.
You both were very brave to let us share a moment during such a gut wrenching time of your life!
Oh Lindsay, my heart is breaking and I am sobbing right now reading your story.
My daughter, Ivy, lost a baby boy @ 19 weeks. His name was Hudson. I held him in my arms. He was so beautiful. Such a heartbreaking time.
This was the summer of 2011. Just over a year later, she gave birth to a beautiful and perfect son, Adler (AJ).
It was a difficult pregnancy. She has a damaged cervix that was sewn together pursestring style and spent 6 months mostly in bed. It was totally worth it of course. He is an amazing 4 year old character.
Now @ 39 she is 8 weeks pregnant. Surprise!!
She and her husband are ecstatic but scared.
My heart and prayers are with you and Bjork.
Much love, Deborah
I’m so sorry for the loss of sweet Hudson. 💙 What a cute name. And rainbow baby Adler – also so cute. Thank you so much for sharing your story Deborah, it helps to know that we’re not alone.
Thank you so much for sharing your powerful, heartbreaking story. Thank you for diving deep into your grief and being so willing to share that with friends and strangers alike! There is so much love in your words and make even the hearts of strangers ache to the core. Deep grief is only present where there has been deep love. Continued prayers.
“Deep grief is only present where there has been deep love.” Yes. Thank you.
My heart breaks with each posting of this story. Your beautiful way you share it with us, your readers, must be very therapeutic for you. I look forward to each posting. I feel like I know you. God bless.
Love love to both of you. Thinking of you and my heart breaks for you. May you find the strength to continue to move forward and write your story in a way that helps all three of you heal.
Praying that your eloquent words will help in the healing process.
I must have accidentally clicked on the option to only receive emails about food. I want to read all of your posts. Can this be fixed on your end? During this difficult time for you I am sorry to add something like this to your day. You are so strong to be able to write about this sad loss in your lives. My prayers go out to you and your family.
Hi Susan. I just went into your profile to make sure you still receive them – you should be set to go!
Praying for you both, beautifully written ! Sending you both warm big bear hugs!
Thank you for sharing something so deeply personal and emotional with all of us…my heart aches for you and your husband. Thinking of you and sending you both hugs and strength. xoxo Sweet Afton.
I’m following your story and your pain touches me. Every time I think of your little Afton, I cry. I can’t imagine how torn you and Bjork must be. I am praying for you both.
I’m still thinking of you, every day. That you can share this with others is an incredibly touching thing. I really hope that you and Bjork find peace and serenity in the aftermath.