I am staying with a friend who lost her baby 1 month ago. She is healing, physically and emotionally. Last month I helped her deliver her dead baby girl. This month I came to stay with her to talk and just be with her.
She was 22 weeks pregnant and got a terrible life threatening infection in her uterus. She immediately went into labor because her body needed to expel the infection, and her doctors did not stop it because the only way for the infection to go away was for the baby to come out.
Upon hearing this I drove to San Francisco to be with her for the birth. There was no hope of survival for a baby at 22 weeks. So I stayed with her and her husband for 24 hours in the hospital and helped them eat, and sleep, labor and rest, and perform a blessing for the baby after she was born. I have never witnessed something so profoundly sad as watching parents hold and love their dead child.
The experience was beautiful and crushing. Life and death. Ugliness and dispair and love. I am finally able to write just a little about it here. Before it felt to sacred and too raw. I cannot express how grateful I am for my plump little cherub boy.