Through the Darkness; Enduring the Loss of My Stillborn Son

June 15th, 2016 will be a day forever burned into my memory. The day before, the 14th, I had been at home with Sophie. I was playing video games, and streaming on Twitch. My wife had been pregnant now for nearly six months. We had known the gender of our baby for some time, and had already named him. Paul. He was a gentle baby. Sophie, my firstborn, had been very active, kicking often. Paul was softer. Quieter. He also seemed healthy. Years previously my wife had gone through treatment for thyroid cancer, so we were looked at a little more closely than some pregnancies - and everything seemed fine. He was just soft. Gentle.

Things had progressed to the point that Kaija was feeling him move regularly. We would sit on the couch together nightly and watch tv shows together. When he would kick she would grab my hand and pull it over so I could feel, but he never really kicked more than once or twice in a stretch - and I didn't leave my hand there. I didn't wait for the next kick. The next movement. I never felt him move. It's one of my greatest regrets. I never felt my baby boy move - and I could have.

Going back to the 14th. So I'm at home with Sophie, playing video games. My wife had gone to the Doctor's office without us. I had gone to every single Dr's. appointment with Sophie, because I didn't want to miss anything. This time around it seemed more convenient, at this stage, to be at home with Sophie so we wouldn't have to find a babysitter. I'd gone to nearly every Dr's. appointment up to this one, and this was to be fairly routine anyway. She had gone in for an ultrasound like a day or two before and everything had been fine. But everything wasn't fine.

I was actually streaming for an audience when I got the call. I saw it was Kaija, so I picked up the phone. She was sobbing. I knew something terrible had happened. I immediately ended the stream without any real explanation. Through her weeping, Kaija told me.

They couldn't find a heartbeat.

Paul was gone.

I was broken. I didn't know what to do. I began to sob. I knew that miracles were real, I had experienced them in my own life. I knew that God could do all things. I begged Him to bring my baby boy back. To heal him. My prayers went unanswered. All of the hopes and dreams for this little boy that I had built up. All of my daydreaming of running around with him. Of holding him. Of changing his diapers and teaching him little boy things. All of that in one moment was shattered.

The next few hours were a blur. James and Kathleen, my adopted mom and dad, were a Godsend. They swooped in and immediately began to take care of Sophie. Kaija and I went to the hospital. I don't remember all the minute details, I felt totally numb. I began the process of letting people know who had known that we were pregnant, that we had lost the baby. For the most part people responded really well. They were comforting and kind. They lent their condolences. They offered to help in any way that they could.

The actual birth was a nightmare that I won't go into in detail. I will say that I don't think I've ever cried that hard in my life. Fortunately institutional philosophies on grief and loss have progressed over the years, because they allowed us to have him - they didn't just whisk him away. I wanted, no, I needed, to have him in my arms. Even in this moment, knowing that he was gone, feeling how cold his little body was, I asked God. Please Father, please, heal my baby boy. There was no miracle, not for me, not for my family, not that day.

As I held him, and rocked him gently, I sang the song that I had memorized in hopes of singing him to sleep. John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy". I say I sang it, but I mostly wept it.

Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way, it's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Out on the ocean sailing away
I can hardly wait
To see you come of age
But I guess we'll both just have to be patient
'Cause it's a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
Yes, it's a long way to go
But in the meantime

Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way, it's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful Paul

Throughout the day close friends and family members came to offer their condolences. Kaija's parents were champions. We had told them on the 14th that we had lost Paul. They packed and immediately left to be with us. They were there on the 15th. They had driven through the night. I don't know how we would have made it through without them and my parents.

Our Bishop came to give us support. I love our Bishop. As he entered the room, he didn't say anything. He just stood there. He came over and wrapped me in a hug, and his presence was comforting. He didn't attempt to offer any words of counsel. He just loved, and grieved with us.

Throughout the day various other people came. At one point - we had me, my adopted brothers Matt and Aaron, my dad James, and Kaija's dad Alan, all in the room. Alan told me that it would be acceptable to give him a baby's blessing. She whispered in my ear, "Joshua should be his middle name. He is your son."

We held his little lifeless body in our arms, and I blessed him. I say I blessed him, but really it was the Holy Spirit. I don't remember all of the exact words. I know it started with:

"Father in Heaven, we take this child in our arms to give him a name and a blessing. And the name that he will be known by is Paul Joshua Sharp..." The rest is just vague memories. I know I blessed him that he would be aware of his sister, and present in her life - even when she didn't know it. I felt his presence then.

They had us stay in the hospital that night. The nurses at Portland Adventist were amazing. So was our OBGYN. The love and support we felt was overshadowed only by the intensity of our grief. We knew that we were loved. Kaija had held him throughout much of the day, I felt it was important to give her all the time that she wanted, but as the night wore on I could tell how exhausted she was. She had endured so much physically, mentally, and emotionally that she was absolutely drained.

I lifted him from her arms, and kissed her goodnight. I then began my vigil. I knew that the next day, his body would be gone. I couldn't bear the thought of him being alone for a single moment. So through the night I held him. I didn't sleep. I kept watch over his tiny, perfect, lifeless body. I felt as though I was standing guard over him. His father, faithfully keeping watch through the night. I looked at him. I prayed for him. I talked to him. I wept over him. I didn't fall asleep. I just held him.

It was the longest night of my life.

The next day is also difficult to remember in its entirety. I know at some point we went to the funeral home. I know that we had him cremated, and placed into two separate urns. One would be kept with us at home, the other I would keep with me in my car, so that I could take a little part of my baby boy with me wherever I went. The first urn, the one we would keep at home, we chose to be a red heart. Someone else had recommended that we have him placed inside a build-a-bear, so that's what we did. A little white polar bear, that we dressed in a white t-shirt, jeans, and converse-style shoes. An outfit that I would wear. An outfit that my son would wear.

I went through all of this in a daze. Every time I thought I couldn't cry any more or any harder a new wave of grief would wash over me. The only way I can describe it is by backtracking for a moment.

I love Kaija. I fell in love with her within days after meeting her. We were married for four years before we got pregnant with Sophie. While we were pregnant, I got sort of concerned. You see, I had never loved anyone with the intensity that I loved Kaija. I was afraid that I wouldn't have enough love inside of me to share with another entity. Then I held Sophie, and it was as though God opened up a chamber in my heart that hadn't existed previously. My capacity to love increased exponentially.

This was like that, only in reverse. It was like a piece of my heart was being ripped from my chest. As though a gigantic hole had ripped through my soul.

The grief didn't go away either. It dogged me for days. I would go running and just scream at the sky. I would grab a pillow and scream into it. I shed tears in front of my wife - but I tried to keep the depth of my grief from her. I promised Paul that I would take care of his mother and sister, and that I would take care of myself physically - but for many months I did a terrible job of keeping those promises. I ate terribly, gained weight, and stopped exercising.

I felt as though time had stopped, but as I re-entered the world it became abundantly clear that things were going to keep progressing, and that I had better catch up. Schoolwork still needed to be done. I had an amazing job that was extremely supportive - but at the time I was the only one who could do certain things, so responsibilities piled up. And the river of life moved on.

As time passed the pain turned to a dull ache that occasionally flared up like a partially healed sprain that I continuously exacerbated. I was furious at God for a long time. I felt like we had experienced our share of hardship. My childhood, the struggles that I continued to have because of that, the cancer that Kaija had endured, and now this? I mean - didn't we deserve just a little slack? Just one win? Apparently not. The thing is, I allowed myself to be furious at God, because I knew that He could take it.

And He Did.

Like a parent holding a child who has just endured their first major loss, and rails against them. God held me in the arms of His mercy and grace. There were times when I felt His presence, His acceptance, even in the midst of my rage. He whispered softly between my gasps for breath - "it's OK, I'm still here. I won't leave you. I still love you."

Around November I came to the stark realization that I wasn't keeping my promises to my baby boy, so I began to change. That change began gradually, but seriously picked up speed around January. I began to run. And run. And run. At first I ran because I knew that I needed to do something to get into better condition. I coupled that with healthier eating, and began to lose weight. As I lost weight, I began to run more. This month (June) I crossed the 400 mile threshold for the year. But even more exciting than the losing weight, or the miles that I'm running, is the miraculous experiences I've been having while running.

Shortly after we lost Paul, the Doctors told us that it would be OK for us to begin trying again. Kaija - the champion that she is - felt that we shouldn't waste any time, so we didn't. We got pregnant shortly thereafter (and I'm happy to say Simeon Alan was born on April 23rd of this year).

But that's not the only miracle. The miracle actually began to occur while I was running. One day, while I was running, I began to feel exhausted. I just didn't want to keep going. Then - into my mind came the thought "you can do it dad." I knew who was speaking, and suddenly my body was filled with energy. I set a PR on my 5 mile that day. These moments continued to happen during my runs. I would feel a presence, an energy, and sometimes have these thoughts that were not my own come to my mind. The most powerful one happened just before Simeon was born.

I was heading into the final stretch of my run, and I heard "Run with me daddy!" in my minds eye I saw a little boy go racing out in front of me, and another little boy keeping pace next to me. I sprinted to keep up with the little one that had run ahead of me, and I scooped him into my arms and lifted him onto my shoulders. I saw him stretch his arms out wide. In my mind, I grabbed the other one and held him in my arms. I had the impression to turn my music to a Christian station that I hadn't listened to in a while, and a song came on that I hadn't heard before. It was Good Good Father by Chris Tomlin. It goes like this:

I've heard a thousand stories of what they think you're like
But I've heard the tender whispers of love in the dead of night
And you tell me that you're pleased
And that I'm never alone

You're a good good father
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

I've seen many searching for answers far and wide
But I know we're all searching
For answers only you provide
'Cause you know just what we need
Before we say a word

You're a good good father
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

Because you are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways to us

You are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways
You are perfect in all of your ways to us

Oh, it's love so undeniable
I, I can hardly speak
Peace so unexplainable
I, I can hardly think
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
Into love, love, love

You're a good good father
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

You're a good good father
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am
You're a good good father

It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am
You're a good good father

You are perfect in all of your ways
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
You are perfect in all of your ways
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

At first, I heard this song exactly as it's meant to be heard - as me singing it to God. Bear in mind that I still, mentally and in Spirit, was holding my sons. Then something happened that I didn't expect at all. Instead of me pointing the chorus to God, it was as though my sons were pointing the chorus at me:

You're a good good father
It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am
You're a good good father.

I ran the rest of the way home, tears streaming down my face.

So here I am. Exactly a year after his birth. I've been forever changed. I wish that he were here. At the same time, I am amazed at what he has done for me. By entering my life for only the briefest of moments and then leaving with such intensity - I love life more fully. I cherish every single moment with my daughter. I'm more attentive to her needs, and more capable of patience beyond what was my capacity. While Kaija was pregnant with Simeon, I took every chance to feel him move. I went to the Doctor's visits. Now I hold him as often as I can.

Now, I look at my wife, and it's as though another chamber of love has been opened up inside of me. The power of that love is unbelievable.

Life is still hard. I still miss my little boy. But my gratitude for what I do have, and my appreciation for what is in my life, is beyond anything that I have ever felt or experienced. I understand, on some small level, what Alma was talking about when he said "yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!"

I love God. I love life. I love my wife. I love my daughter. And I love my sons. Both of them. I'm asked fairly often "how many children do you have?" It's a tough question - because I have three. My trio of awesome. And because of all three of my children, I have been eternally changed for the better.

Thank you, Paul, for coming into my life. Thank you for sharing the briefest of moments with me. Thank you for giving me a deeper understanding of what it is to be a father, and a greater appreciation for every precious moment of life that I have been given. I love you, son, and I will live a life worthy of being with you again.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.