Here’s Our Story, Mason’s Story.

Mason is our second child, first son. We found out early December 2020 that we were expecting a child. We were able to share the news over the Christmas holiday. Our pregnancy was pretty normal. I am a diabetic, we had placenta anterior. Nothing that couldn’t be managed. At a regularly scheduled sonogram- we heard those four words. “There’ s no heart beat”. Our son was born, still, June 22, 2021.

Our medical care was supportive and caring. We had great team between my doctor, nurses, hospital staff. As a family, we have a fantastic support system with families, friend, and employers. As a community, there wasn’t much help in our area. Instead of leaving labor and delivery with our son, we left with a folder of some general nationwide information, my medical discharge packet, but very little else.

I felt like an empty shell of a person. I felt like I was one of very few having to live in this world without my son. At times, like the only one in the world having to live without him. Logically, I know this isn’t true. There are so many families with a forever hole in their hearts, arms that will always be longing.

Mason’s whole life was within my body. We delivered our baby into the world at 33 weeks. There was soft background music, muttering from medical team. You could hear the emotions though. The silence was deafening.

After, our support system was there. They helped us with meals, checking in. Just being there. As we planned Mason’s service, and as we continue talk about Mason and share his story, we hear more. More stories of more children who watch over us. Everywhere. It is almost where people only share their children, when they are around someone else who has been a hollow shell of a person too. The silence is deafening.

We were lucky, having a great support and access to resources. Many families, do not have this. Those who want to support, may not know how to help or what to do. Those parents may have to remain in the silence, even if everything inside them is screaming. The silence is still deafening.

This is why. To allow families a place to share our sorrows. To provide a few objects to hold in their empty arms. To help parents facing the unnatural order of having to grieve for their child. To share the love we have for our babies, while we wait to hold them. To break the deafening silence.

The louder we are, the less silence there can be.

Kayla Taylor