Introduction
If you know me, you know that I have a penchant for writing "trip reports" after any major event or adventure. Most of the time these involve mountaineering trips and are a way for me to remember the adventure, post-process and learn whatever I can, and share the experience with others. In a way, the following is very similar.
 The death of our daughter could be thought of as an "adventure" - a journey neither Julie nor I were prepared to take - a journey fraught with difficult decisions, fear, and sorrow.
Writing this trip report was certainly a healing experience for me, and for Julie too I think. We wanted to record as many of our thoughts and memories as possible.
We have no idea how far this story will reach, but if it comforts some mother or father in the same situation that Julie and I faced, or helps a supporting family member or friend understand what grieving parents are going through, we will be content.
Another purpose for this story is to share how God worked in our lives throughout this ordeal. Normally, I don't wear my faith on my sleeve. I'm not a good student of The Word like I know I should be. I'm not good at sharing my faith with others or evangelism. However, through this terrible experience God has given me the opportunity to share how His love, grace, and power have worked in our lives. I would be extremely remiss if I didn't at least try to share this experience with others.
Although written in the first person, this trip report was a joint effort by Julie and me. Julie's sister Carey, my parents, and Julie's stepmother Becky also contributed.
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Hopes & Dreams
 Julie and I conceived a child in October of 2005. Due to a few of Julie's health issues we weren't certain that we would ever be able to have children. Thus this was extremely joyful news. We kept this news to ourselves, enjoying the delicious secret, until we could keep it no longer. At the 20 week ultrasound we found out we would have a daughter and we let the cat out of the bag in early March. Our families and friends were ecstatic for us. The baby was due July 17th, 2006.
As with any expectant parents (first-timers especially I would imagine) we formulated tons of plans and dreams. We coined a pet name for her: "The Little Doodle" (zygote, embryo, and fetus just seemed too cold and clinical). We got her room put together and dreamed.
We dreamed of what it would be like to be parents of a newborn - our own child. We dreamed of feedings in the rocking chair and hanging out with her in the Baby Bjorn. We dreamed of watching her sleep in her crib and of introducing her to our friends, parents, and grandparents. We dreamed of watching football together with her in a onesie. We dreamed of her meeting our pets and how they would react to each other - lots of licking, cuddling, and petting we were sure. We dreamed of camping trips and hiking adventures. I dreamed of taking her up my favorite mountain - Longs Peak. How young could she do it: 6 years, 7 years?
 Julie's pregnancy went like a dream. Sure there was the normal minor morning sickness and a few aches and pains, but both Julie and The Little Doodle were extremely healthy. We chose to go the midwife route at the Fort Collins Women's Clinic. Since 28 weeks we had been going in for appointments every two weeks until the last month when we went in every week. I tried to make as many of these appointments as possible. Every time mother and daughter were doing great.
After the 4th of July we had completed all our big plans and settled down to wait for The Little Doodle to show up. Julie had just had a visit from 3 of her closest friends from college. I had gone on my last climbing trip for a while. We got one last visit in with my folks in Denver where we spent a relaxing 4th of July. We put the finishing touches on the nursery July 5th and we were finally ready for The Little Doodle to arrive.
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Terrible News
At 08:30 on Thursday July 6th (eleven days before The Little Doodle was due) we had a regularly scheduled midwife appointment at the clinic. The midwife (Terri) had a little trouble finding the heartbeat with the doppler and for a minute or two we were all very tense. Terri tried to "wake the baby" by jiggling and poking Julie's stomach while looking for the heartbeat. She said it was probably low and faint because The Little Doodle was sleeping in an odd position. Terri eventually thought she found the heartbeat - we all heard it (about 120 beats per minute) - and we left the office thinking things were okay (in reality we probably heard Julie's heartbeat and not the baby's). Julie was still feeling uneasy about things, however, and when she didn't feel the baby move for a couple of hours after the appointment she called the clinic. This was around noon and all of the midwives were gone to lunch, so Julie was instructed to call back at 13:30. At 13:30 Julie called the clinic again and assured them that she had already tried every trick in the book to encourage movement. She was invited to come in for a non-stress test to make sure everything was still okay.
I had been working at the USDA Forest Service since the morning's appointment and Julie had called ahead of time to let me know she was going in for the non-stress test. I hadn't thought anything would be wrong since just a few hours previously the midwife had said everything was fine. Julie's voice did not reveal the angst she was actually feeling. I asked Julie to give me a call when she was done with the test.
Julie had never had a non-stress test before, so the nurse Deanna explained the process as they settled into the cozy clinic room. Julie was given a hand-held device with a button to push every time she felt movement and a monitor was strapped to her abdomen that would track the baby's heart rate. Deanna worked carefully to adjust the monitor and admitted that she often had a hard time getting the monitors positioned correctly. The output showed a heart rate all over the board, ranging from 75 beats per minute to 122 beats per minute. After fiddling with the monitor for a few minutes, Deanna brought in another staff member to assist. After both staff members had the same problem finding a steady heart rate, it was suggested that Julie head to the hospital where they had more sophisticated monitors. At this point Julie began to feel very upset - she was so used to hearing The Little Doodle's strong heartbeat so quickly during all of her prenatal appointments - after the difficulty in the morning's appointment and the problems with the non-stress test Julie was feeling very scared and insecure.
As Julie was getting un-strapped from the testing equipment the midwife Lani came in and suggested that they just go for a quick ultrasound rather than go directly to the hospital. Julie was eager for reassurance and so the two of them rushed down the hall.
While Julie was rushed in for the ultrasound the clinic called me (Julie was too upset to make the phone call herself) and asked me to come in. They wouldn't tell me what was wrong - just that I might have to take Julie over to the hospital for some more tests. Dazed, I hustled out of the office and drove over to the clinic which was only about five minutes away. On the drive over I mentally prepared myself for what I thought was the worst-case-scenario: an emergency cesarean section.
As I drove over to the clinic a midwife took Julie into the ultrasound room. The tech prepared Julie and began the exam. It only took a moment to find what they were looking for, or more accurately, the absence of what they were looking for. There was no heartbeat - The Little Doodle was dead. The midwife (Lani) and the ultrasound tech looked at each other, then looked at Julie and both said, "I'm so sorry."
Julie knew what they meant immediately and burst into tears. Her first reaction to the news was to feel it was her fault. How else could a perfectly healthy baby die so suddenly? She cried "What did I do?" repeatedly as she wept.
I arrived a few minutes later. Nobody told me what was going on as the nurse directed me into the ultrasound room. The nurse opened the door and I found Julie crying. Between sobs she said, "She's gone."
I was stunned, absolutely stunned. I know it sounds cliche, but the only way I can describe what I felt that moment was I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, or kicked in the groin. My breath was taken away... replaced by emptiness.
I held Julie as she cried. At that point I was so shocked and numb; tears slowly streamed from my eyes.
After we held each other for a few minutes it was time to get on with things. Before we left the ultrasound room Julie asked the tech to repeat the ultrasound briefly so that we could both witness the stillness. Pat, the midwife who was on call, took us back into an office and tried to explain the next steps. Initially, Julie wanted to get the baby out and be done with the whole ordeal as soon as possible. At the moment she couldn't imagine how she would go on breathing, let alone labor only to deliver her lifeless daughter. Julie was thinking cesarean section.
Both Pat and I knew this was not a good idea and would make things much harder in the long run. Instead Pat posed a couple of strategies: (a) go home, sleep on things, and go to the hospital first thing the following morning (Friday July 7th) to induce labor, or (b) go home and get our things ready and go to the hospital as soon as possible to induce labor. Julie was for the latter as she just wanted to get the ordeal over with as soon as possible. I didn't really care, sooner was fine with me. It must have been about 14:30 at that point. We told Pat that we would try to be at the hospital by 18:00 and drove home in a daze.
Neither Julie nor I can recall Pat offering a third option: wait until labor stars naturally. Perhaps Pat did offer this option and we don't remember. Or perhaps Pat didn't offer this solution because Julie was so insistent about getting things over with as soon as possible. Regardless, I think waiting for labor to start naturally, although safest for Julie physically, would have been a pretty horrible option. Julie would have been unable to do anything (due to emotional distress) except sit and wait. Who knows how long this would have taken? We could have been waiting at home, unable to do anything else, for days or even weeks. That would have been pure torture. At least with the option we chose we could act, get things over with, begin to put this ordeal behind us, and move on with our lives.
We drove home in separate cars because Julie had driven herself in for the non-stress test and I had driven from work later when I got the phone call. Logistically it seemed better to drive both cars home so that we would have one less inconvenience to deal with later. Once we got rolling I was a little concerned that we had made the wrong decision. Julie had said he would be fine driving but I kept a careful eye on her in the rearview mirror and hoped she really was able to collect herself enough to concentrate on the drive home.
Driving home by myself gave me a few moments to examine my own feelings. It's hard for me to put a finger on the emotions that were racing through my head, but I guess the closest I can come to describing them is a mixture of shock and fear. The adrenaline had been flowing since we'd been hammered with the news and there hadn't been too much time to let ourselves be sad or grieve. Really, we were in crisis mode - there were still so many difficulties to confront before we could let our guard down. Mostly I was afraid - afraid of how I would be able to handle the challenges facing us, afraid of how Julie would handle them, and afraid that I would not be up to the challenge of supporting Julie.
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Preparations
 When we got home we gathered our dogs on the bed and had a family group hug and a cry. The realization of what was going on began to sink in, as did the enormous challenge we would face in the coming days. It felt comforting to hold each other for a few minutes and cuddle with our dogs who are enormously affectionate.
Before we began preparing for the trip to the hospital we turned to God in prayer. We knew we were going to need every ounce of strength and courage we could muster so we prayed for Him to be with us, to strengthen us, to give us courage. We were also aware that tragedies like this can drive a family apart. We prayed that God would strengthen our marriage, keep us united, help us support each other, and help us be the best possible partners we could be.
After we caught our breaths we tried to make some phone calls. Julie had been working on the phone list to take to the hospital so that we could tell our loved ones the good news as soon as The Little Doodle arrived. Now, with that list in hand, we made the few phone calls we could manage and asked others to share what had happened. It was a little difficult to get a hold of everybody in the middle of a Thursday afternoon but we were able to get in touch with my dad at work and Julie's sister Carey immediately. I didn't really know what to tell people or how to phrase, it I just told my dad the facts and that we would call him back after we got checked into the hospital and knew more. I left it to him to deliver the news to my mom who was out shopping with her aunt and cousin. When they arrived back at my parents house my dad pulled my mom aside and told her the news. Like everyone else she was in shock, and could only cry, "Oh no, Oh no" over and over gain. Carey likwise was devastated. Fortunately for us, Carey was in town and agreed to meet us at the hospital.
Another person we were able to get in touch with immediately was our pastor, Tom. Pastor Tom said he would come right over to our house to pray with us before we left for the hospital. While we waited for Pastor Tom, we packed for the hospital and continued to try making phone calls. During this time we were able to share the news with two of Julie's brothers (Michael and Steven) and my mom got the news from my dad. We still hadn't been able to connect with Julie's parents.
Julie took a few minutes to post a message to her "July Sparklers" buddy group on the pregnancy message board at ovusoft.com. This buddy group consisted of more than a dozen women who were all expecting babies in July. She had joined the group in early December and had developed friendships with the women, most of whom posted to the message board nearly every day. Julie had posted earlier in the day telling the group how tough her midwife appointment that morning was on her emotionally and signed off saying that she was concerned about the baby's lack of movement. Now she shared the devastating news with her friends and asked for their prayers.
A call Julie had me make was to her good friend and massage therapist Mary Jane who was scheduled to give Julie a massage at 16:00. I left a message with Mary Jane that said Julie would have to cancel the appointment but couldn't yet bring myself to tell her why. Mary Jane had been one of the first people we told about The Little Doodle because of the need to modify the massage therapy to accommodate the pregnancy. Mary Jane has two children of her own and had been a close confidant of Julie's throughout the pregnancy.
Julie runs her own web development company so she asked me to call a handful of her clients who were expecting to hear from her over the next few days. Julie was planning on working right up to the birth to avoid service interruptions and was even working earlier that day. Julie has a close relationship with many of her clients and almost all of them knew we were expecting a baby virtually any day. These were a couple of awkward calls, but had to be done. I just told them that we had some bad new, that we'd lost the baby, and that we would be in touch next week. In addition to my phone calls Julie fired off a couple of emails. All the clients were very understanding, wished us the best, and promised to have us in their thoughts and prayers during the coming days.
Making the phone calls to Julie's clients reminded me that I should probably call my colleagues at the USDA Forest Service. This was another hard phone call to make as the entire office had thrown Julie and me a huge baby shower just a few weeks previously. Everyone was so excited for us - I'm the youngest in the office by at least ten years and nobody has young kids anymore. The phone call with my supervisor was again awkward - there just seemed no graceful way to deliver the news. I told her that we'd lost the baby and not to expect to see me until late the following week. I don't think she quite knew what to say either but she was very understanding and encouraged me to take as much time as I needed and to do whatever was required to take care of myself and Julie.
When Pastor Tom showed up, we brought him up to speed with what had happened and what we were in for now. We asked his advice on several things. One issue in particular was whether or not we should have an autopsy performed. Part of me didn't really care what had killed The Little Doodle. Tom suggested that we might want the autopsy - just to leave fewer questions and nagging doubts. If we didn't have one, we might regret it later and there would be nothing we could do.
Then we prayed. I've never been one to dwell on the past. The "why" and the "how" of what had befallen us were unimportant to me at the moment. What I felt we needed at the moment was courage and strength to deal with the trials ahead. This is what we prayed for. We prayed that God would give us the strength and courage to do what we needed to do. We put our trust and faith in Him, that He would lead us through this ordeal. Thankfully we could take comfort that The Little Doodle was safe with Him. Really, she'd had it good - nothing but the loving warmth and comfort of the womb then straight to her reward with The Father. She never had to feel pain, or disappointment, or fear, or hate, or sadness. It was a blessing to know that she was in good hands. Now it was time to focus on us. After praying with us, Pastor Tom shared a few verses from the Bible. Some I knew, some I didn't:
| God has said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." So we say with confidence, "The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid." |
| - Hebrews 13 (NIV) |
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. |
| - Psalm 139:13-16 |
I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip-he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD watches over you-the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all harm-he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. |
| - Psalm 121 (NIV) |
But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me. |
| - 2 Samuel 12:23 (NIV) |
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; |
| - Psalm 23:4 (NIV) |
The verse from Second Samuel was very subtle, but Tom reminded us of the context. Kind David's firstborn son had just died and in his grief David new that his son would never return to him. However, David knew that he would "go to him" (i.e. see him again) someday in heaven. Tom used this scripture as well as Psalm 139:13-16 to reassure us that The Little Doodle was with God in heaven.
This part of Psalm 23 would stick with me throughout the coming 24 hours. Whenever I had heard this verse in the past I always thought of it in the context of someone who was facing danger and the possibility of their own death - like a warrior or a firefighter. Now it had a different meaning to me. Although it wouldn't be our own, Julie and I would be journeying through "the valley of the shadow of death." The Little Doodle's death would be a very heavy burden to bear, especially with the physical challenges still facing Julie. The Little Doodle's death would hang like a shadow over us during the next 24 hours, and long into the future. These verses reminded us that God was with us. We weren't alone. We didn't need to be afraid. God would watch over us - comfort and protect us.
After the prayer and the Bible verses Tom left us to finish packing up and he said he'd stop by the hospital later that night to check in with us. After trying unsuccessfully several times to reach her dad, Julie was finally able to reach her stepmom Becky at work. Becky promised Julie that they would come as soon as they could. When we could think of nothing else that had to be done we left for the hospital.
As we were headed out the door it dawned on me that there was one last thing we needed to discuss before leaving for the hospital: what should we name The Little Doodle? We had resisted telling anyone up to this point for several reasons: (a) we wanted to reserve the right to change our minds at the last minute if we wanted, (b) the name we had in mind was a little unusual and we didn't want to hear anybody's criticism, (c) we just liked keeping a secret to ourselves, and (d) we looked forward to telling everyone and making this one thing a surprise at her birth. Between ourselves, Julie and I had just about settled on Aspen Rachel. After thinking to myself for a few moments I had pretty much come to the conclusion that we couldn't name her anything else. Part of me didn't want to "waste" the name we liked so much on somebody who would never really get to use it. But on the other hand, we really couldn't recycle it on some future daughter. That just wouldn't feel right - this name belonged to this child. Having come to this conclusion I bounced my thoughts off Julie. She agreed. The Little Doodle was now officially Aspen Rachel.
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The Hospital
 We arrived at Poudre Valley Hospital about 18:15 and found Carey waiting outside the doors of the Birthing Center. We shared a tearful reunion and then walked into the Birthing Center together where we found Pat (the midwife on call) and Cathy (the nurse who would take care of us initially). The way things worked was that our nurse would be devoted 100% to us while we would be one of a few patients that Pat needed to attend to. (Cathy's shift ended at 19:00 however, so she was only with us for a short time until her relief came - Dorothy.) We got settled into our "birthing suite" which is a very large and nice hospital room prettied up as much as possible so that it doesn't feel very hospital-like.
Julie made a conscious decision to be as positive as possible. Our childbirth classes taught us about the importance of mental and physical relaxation for a smooth labor - at this point a smooth labor was the best we could hope for. Since she was in so much shock, staying positive turned out to be not as difficult as we had thought. Julie wasn't ready to consider the true ramifications of what had happened to us. She told Carey that the Little Doodle must have been really special for God to want to take her so soon.
After initially getting situated the next step was to induce labor. Pat had warned us earlier that this process might take as long as 48 hours. Throughout the pregnancy we had planned to go as natural as possible. (This was Julie's desire - I didn't really care. I would have supported whatever strategy she would have chosen.) However, this was not in the cards anymore. The Little Doodle had not dropped, Julie's cervix was 0% effaced, and 0% dilated. Pat had talked with the doctor on call who recommended a 400 mg dose of Cytotec to soften the cervix. Going from the hopes of completely natural to using a massive dose of drugs was a very scary predicament. We'd read that doses as small as 25 mg could result in profuse bleeding, uterine rupture, amniotic-fluid embolism and even maternal death (article on Cytotec controversy). Pat could sense our distress and said that she would try a dose of 200 mg and check back in five hours to see how that was working. Pat also said that if any problems arose in the mean time she could clear out the medication. If Julie had not made much progress Pat planned to administer another 200 mg dose at 01:00 and then start Pitocin in the morning. Pat tried to assure us that the risks of using high dosages were for the baby and not for the mother. What could we do? The things we'd read in books said one thing, our care providers were advocating the opposite. I felt like we really didn't have a choice - we had to go with the large does of Cytotec. It seemed there were no other alternatives.
One last thing that Pat offered to do was perform another ultrasound so we could be sure... really sure. It sounds silly, but subconsciously there was some small bit of me that couldn't believe this was happening. We weren't the only one either - Carey later confided that she just couldn't believe Aspen was dead either. It wasn't until this ultrasound that the reality of Aspen's death really sunk in. Since the phone call from the clinic life had been moving at warp speed (it felt like weeks ago, not four hours ago). With the torrent of emotions and decisions combined with the ebbs and flows adrenaline it had been a real struggle to keep a grip. Pat's offer to perform the ultrasound was just the opportunity Julie and I needed to step back for a second, take a deep breath, come to terms with reality, and ready ourselves for the next step. Unlike the last hurried ultrasound in the clinic, Pat took her time with this one. Again, it was obvious that there was no heartbeat. But this time Pat pointed out all the other details that are difficult for us laypeople to pick out. Pat pointed out The Little Doodles face, her arms, and legs, and showed us that one of Aspen's hands was resting up by her cheek. Pat speculated that this might have caused Aspen's death - perhaps she somehow pinched the cord up between her arm and shoulder. She then added that in situations like ours, sometimes it's never known what caused the death.
After the ultrasound we were ready for Pat to apply the Cytotec at about 20:00. Once that was completed the flurry of initial activity died down and we were alone with Carey in the hospital room. The only thing left for us to do was to wait.
Julie asked Carey to help us make some phone calls. One in particular was going to be very difficult - a call to Julie's brother Larry whose wife was expecting a baby daughter of her own in about six weeks. We had been unsuccessful in reaching him up to this point and didn't want to leave a message. Julie wasn't sure she was up to it anymore and through tears, asked if Carey wouldn't mind making the call. Carey was able to get a hold of him right away and when Carey initially told him she was with us at the hospital he was excited - thinking that Julie was ready to deliver a healthy baby. In the next sentence Carey told him why, and his excitement changed to stunned silence. Carey wasn't up to sharing the news with her sister-in-law and preferred he do it. There wasn't much else to say and Carey hung up.
After that Carey asked if there was anything else she could do to help us out. We couldn't really think of anything else except to get us some dinner. So Carey left to get us some burritos from Chipotle and some ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery.
While Carey was gone we settled into the hospital room. We got our things put away and got familiar with our surroundings. We weren't sure how long we'd be here - Pat had told us the general laboring might take as long as 48 hours. Once we were settled we watched a little television and were able to catch a recording of the day's Tour de France stage. Both Julie and I were avidly following the race and in this early stage all the Americans were looking good.
After a while Carey returned with our dinner. While we were eating my parents arrived from Denver.
One of the first things my mom did was thank Julie for being such a great mom. Aspen was my parent's first grandchild, and everyone - my parents, Julie, myself - had hyped up the excitement and anticipation of Aspen's arrival. Now my mom wanted to allay all fears that Julie might have that people would think that she had done something wrong, or this had somehow been Julie's fault, or that Julie had disappointed anybody by failing to deliver the gift she was supposed to. On the contrary, my mom assured Julie that everyone knew how a great a mom she had been and how well Julie had taken care of herself and the baby during the pregnancy.
We hung out with my parents and Carey for a couple more hours. Pastor Tom stopped in to check on us and offer his support.
At about 21:00 my mom was finally able to get in touch with my sister Kara. We had been trying to reach her all day without luck because she had been in class, and then on an ambulance ride-along as part of her EMT training. When she got the news Kara rushed right over.
By 22:00 we were ready for everyone to leave. Julie and I were both getting tired and wanted to be by ourselves. In addition, the labor-inducing drugs were starting to take affect and Julie was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. Our sisters and my parents collected their things and said goodbye. Our sisters left for their respective homes while my parents headed to our house where they could look after our pets for us.
By the time everyone left at 22:30 Julie realized the pushing sensations she'd been feeling were actual contractions. She was remarkably upbeat and began doing her best to cooperate with her body to make labor go as smoothly as possible. At this point Julie's emotions were so mixed - she had been waiting and preparing for this moment, this task, for nearly nine months. Julie had read numerous books, taken classes, talked with other women - all in preparation to bring our daughter into the world. Nothing however, had prepared us for these circumstance - they hadn't even occurred to us a mere 12 hours ago. At this point adrenaline kept the emotions from flooding in, allowing Julie to focus on the big job ahead of her.
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Labor
After the last of our family left, I was feeling really exhausted. One of the chairs in the birthing suite folded out into a cot so I set that up and laid down. Julie was doing okay hanging out in the Jacuzzi bathtub (Julie had been hoping to get a room with one of these tubs and requested it especially), and Dorothy was checking in on her often, so I was able to doze a little bit.
In-between catnaps on the cot I was able to pretty much keep tabs on Julie's condition. At first she was fairly comfortable dealing with the contractions in the bathtub or on the exercise ball. Later, sitting still became too uncomfortable and she began pacing around the bathroom, alternating back into the bathtub. Gradually I could sense that the pain of the contractions was becoming more and more unbearable as Julie's vocalizations grew louder and she became anxious. As the physical pain grew more intense, Julie began to feel overwhelmed by her emotions and didn't have the tools to cope. Julie and I had taken a class on Hypnobirthing with a goal of a natural birthing that was calm and relaxed. All of the techniques we learned focused on the baby, however, so there was really no relief of pain either physical or emotional with this strategy.
By 02:00 Friday morning Julie was in a great deal of pain - she needed me to keep her company. I sat on the bathroom floor while Julie tried to work through the pain. Instead of rhythmic pulses, the contractions took a hold of Julie with a vice-like grip of pressure and pain. In addition to the extremely intense pain, there was virtually no relief. The contractions lasted approximately three minutes with less than a 20-second break in-between. This was not what Julie had expected, everything she'd read indicated that she would have significantly longer breaks between contractions where the pain would ease up and she'd be able to catch her breath. I think the unexpected pattern of contractions mixed with the intense pain was starting to scare Julie.
Later we learned that this type of contractions had a name, Hypertonus (contractions lasting more than two minutes), which is a fairly common side effect of Cytotec.
To try to distract Julie from the pain I read some short stories from John Long's Close Calls. It was my hope that talking about the humorous mishaps would distract Julie a little bit as we talked about what the doofuses in the stories did wrong and if/how we might encounter similar situations during our own climbing adventures.
For the next hour or so Julie struggled with the contractions while I tried to keep up morale. However, the pain and intensity of the contractions continued to spiral out of control and by 03:30 Julie was ready to pull the plug on any hopes of trying to do the remainder of the birthing process naturally. (We believe the Cytotec was responsible for the unusually intense contractions with no break in-between.) We called Dorothy in and requested an epidural.
Administering the epidural was both a scary and fascinating process. The anesthesiologist who administered it was quite amazing - I'm not sure I've ever seen such a display of total competence. He had all his tools laid out perfectly on the cart and the speed and coordination he moved through all the steps in the process was really impressive. As an observer I enjoyed watching the efficient manner in which the anesthesiologist worked, but at the same time having a needle poked into Julie's spine was bit scary. To make matters worse, Julie's pain had continued to escalate such that she had a difficult time thinking straight and keeping her body still. These of course are two critical functions when an anesthesiologist is asking you important questions and sticking a needle in your spine! Though Julie described those ten minutes of administering the epidural as the "most painful ten minutes of [her] life," the process went as smoothly as we could have hoped for. The drugs slowly took affect and by 04:00 the pain had totally subsided.
Although Julie really didn't want to do it, the epidural turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Once the drugs took affect the pain was completely gone. This enabled both Julie and me to sleep for the next couple of hours (something we both needed pretty badly). Although Julie was able to drift in and out of sleep, not having the pain to focus on left her mind free to wander through a stream of emotions and thoughts of the very difficult hours that lay ahead. Julie recalled a Matt Redman song that she had heard just a day before - "Blessed Be Your Name:"
Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name
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Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name
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Just a day before, Julie rejoiced in the words "In the land that is plentiful - Where Your streams of abundance flow - Blessed be Your name" praising God for the gift of a daughter to arrive so soon - an answer to many prayers. But during these dark and confusing hours, the words "Blessed be your name - When I'm found in the desert place - Though I walk through the wilderness" occupied her thoughts instead. She had never felt so lost or empty in her life, despite a hefty helping of hardship. Somehow, in this dark hospital room, these words helped Julie feel not so alone.
We weren't the only ones who had a hard night. My mom related that both she and my dad had anxious night full of sadness, but little sleep. There were many concerned people worrying about us.
We got some fairly decent sleep until about 07:00 when the shift changed. We said goodbye to Pat and Dorothy and said hello to Lani (our new midwife) and Ruth (our new nurse).
For the next couple of hours we just tried to kill time. We watched some of the Tour de France on television and skimmed through grief materials provided by the hospital. We also went through the literature given to us about the organization Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep (NILMDTS). This is a loose federation of professional portrait photographers that donate their time and services to photograph babies who die in tragedies like ours. Our nurses had told us about it the previous night and Julie and I said we were interested. The hospital then made all the arrangements for one of the local photographers to be present after Julie delivered Aspen. At the time we decided to go ahead with this option we didn't really have a lot of time to think about it - it sounded like a good idea so we went with it. In hindsight this was an amazing experience and the photos given to us are a priceless gift we will treasure always. Julie and I are so thankful that this organization exists and we were fortunate enough to benefit from their kindness.
Carey was the first to arrive at the hospital the morning of July 7th and brought me some breakfast - a bagel and some coffee. While it was just the three of us, we confirmed with Carey that we were going to name the baby Aspen. I think Carey knew that Aspen was one of the candidates, but she didn't know that's what we would finalize on. Carey later told us that this was one of the most tender moments to her of the entire event - it was such an honor for her to know Aspen's name before Julie and I revealed it to everyone else.
A little while later my parents and sister arrived at the hospital. While we were greeting my parents Julie asked Carey to make a couple of phone calls for us. We had struggled with what to tell Julie's brothers - we wanted them to feel welcome to join us but didn't want to thrust them into a very emotional and difficult situation. It was a difficult balance to make them feel welcome and invited to come and meet Aspen, yet not make them feel obligated, or that we would be disappointed or put-off if they weren't prepared for the experience. We trusted Carey to handle the situation and she made plans for them to visit in the coming days. Frankly, I was relieved at this outcome. I had the people I most needed already around me and throwing more into the mix (no matter how well intentioned, caring, and supportive) was only going to be more stressful for me. I was already having a difficult time managing the tangle of emotions and stresses surrounding enveloping me - doing so in front of even more people would just be that much more difficult. At the time it was hard for me to describe exactly how I was feeling, but later Julie characterized it as "vulnerable." This is a good word. We were feeling very vulnerable - too vulnerable to invite any of our friends. After all, who would want to see a dead baby?
In addition to calling her brothers, Julie asked Carey to call her New York aunts and grandmother. Carey was able to get in touch with both her aunts to share the news. Carey left it to them to strategize on how best to deliver the news to Grandma. At 90 years old, no one was sure how she would take the news, especially after losing her son recently. The news was hitting a lot of people very hard.
My parents and sister hung out and we chatted a little bit. I can't really remember exactly what about, or anything specific we did together. Carey made some more phone calls.
One of the calls she made was to her dad's brother Rollin and his wife Jeanette in California whom Carey had become really close to over the years. Julie's dad had not shared the news with them or any of his family yet. I believe he was having a difficult time dealing with the events since he and Julie's mother had also lost their first child in a similar way. He later explained that he was not in the mood to talk to his mom - whose unsympathetic response he suspected would be "these things happen". I suspect it was equally hard to share the news with his brother, though for different reasons. Carey and Julie's dad had been at sea as a ship's engineer when their mother had a late-term miscarriage. His brother (the one Carey called) delivered the stillborn baby. Resurfacing these memories was hard for everyone. Carey and Julie's uncle shared the news with the rest of that side of the family.
Pastor Tom also came by to lend his support. By about 10:30 it seemed like the action was about to begin so we asked everyone to leave. Before they went, Pastor Tom led us all in prayer. After that there was one last round of hugs and best wishes.
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Delivery
As family and Pastor Tom left, the distractions of hugs and conversation quickly subsided. Ruth prepared the room and Julie confided in Lani that she was terrified of what lay ahead. How would she be able to do this? Aspen's delivery would signify the end of our hopes and dreams and the start of a new reality that Julie wasn't prepared to face. How could she deliver this baby when she knew there would be no breath or cries? Lani had overheard us talking to Pastor Tom and shared that she too was a Christian. Lani shared with Julie her belief that although she was going to catch Aspen's body, God had already caught Aspen and had already welcomed her into heaven. Lani asked to pray with us and we agreed. Ruth joined us at Julie's bedside and we all prayed together.
Almost immediately we felt the atmosphere in the room change. It's hard to describe exactly how things changed, or what they changed to. Our burden of fear and uncertainty dissipated, replaced by a something else - like a sense of peace. It felt as if God had answered our prayer and joined us in the room. Both Lani and Ruth commented on this experience later. They felt it. We felt it. Instead of fear and dread, we felt strength, courage, and intimacy... maybe even confidence. We felt we could do what needed to be done, that we could get through it together - something we weren't sure of just a few minutes before.
When it was time for Julie to start pushing she encountered an interesting situation: she couldn't feel the contractions (due to the epidural). The only way she could tell she was having a contraction was by either look at the monitor or feel the outside of her belly with her hands. Up until this point I had thought the monitor was pretty worthless, I couldn't tell anything from it. However, during the actual delivery Lani or Ruth must have rearranged the sensors, or adjusted the settings, because the contractions appeared as perfect, regular steps in the graphic output. It was easy for me to tell exactly what was going on and predict when the next contraction would start and how long it would last.
I stayed close to Julie, holding her hand and whispering encouragement as she pushed. Ruth and Lani also kept us abreast of Julie's progress.
Julie was intensely focused on the physical task of pushing Aspen out, but I had more of a chance to think about the broader implications of what was happening. It was so tragic to go through this whole ordeal with such a sad outcome assured. This was the point where my grief hit me the hardest. Watching Aspen's little head come out of Julie was pretty much the saddest thing I'd ever witnessed. Julie had been so looking forward to having a little daughter - having that dream stripped from her in such a cruel and unexpected manner was heartbreaking.
 The actual pushing lasted about 20 minutes, and with relative ease Aspen's body entered the world at 11:49 on July 7, 2006. She was 7 lb 4 oz, 20" and perfectly formed. Due to being dead for over 24 hours Aspen did have a couple abnormalities. The two most obvious ones were a small flap of skin that was beginning to peel off her right cheek and the other was that her skull didn't re-form after getting squeezed through the birth canal - instead you could easily see the various plates and the seams between them. Otherwise she was absolutely beautiful.
After quickly wiping her off, Lani placed Aspen's body on Julie's chest and commented on the fact that she was born with her head resting on her hand, just like she was sleeping. We were surprised by how peaceful she looked. We experienced an unexpected sense of joy to finally see the child we had been awaiting for so long. She was beautiful and her body was perfect. She was ours.
 The cause of Aspen's death was immediately clear upon her birth - there was a very tight knot tied in her umbilical cord. It was easy to see that there was blood in the umbilical cord on the placenta side. On the fetus side of the knot, however, the cord was white and limp - totally void of blood. Although we can't know for sure what exactly had happened, we believe that she had tied the knot in the cord when she was very small and it had remained loose until sometime late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning when it had been pulled tight and her blood supply was cut off. We were told this was a painless death - equivalent to fainting.
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Time With Aspen
 After we were done initially holding Aspen, Char (the pediatric nurse) took her to get cleaned-up, weighed, measured, foot printed, etc.
Betsy, the NILMDTS photographer, must have been waiting outside the room during the delivery because she was ready at the exact right time. Betsy had canceled plans she already had to go out of town when she got the call from the hospital the day before. She must have a very strong calling to be so dedicated to performing such a sad task as photographing stillborn babies.
While Char was cleaning up Aspen in the corner, and Betsy was beginning to take photos, Ruth and Lani finished cleaning Julie up and making her comfortable. When both Julie and Aspen were finished being cleaned up Char brought Aspen back over to be photographed with Julie and me. Betsy handled her task beautifully - she was very gentle with us in our grief but was able to get some really nice photos that we will cherish forever. I felt a little uncomfortable having my portrait taken with Aspen. Usually in posed photos I'm used to smiling (or at least faking the smile). I didn't know quite what to do with myself in this situation and I felt pretty unnatural the whole time. I was glad when it was over, but at the same time I was really glad that I had done it - that we had a NILMDTS photographer come. It was a special experience, and both Julie and I are really glad we have the photographs Betsy took for us. (It took her about three days for the post processing and Betsy gave us a CD with about 40 high-resolution images on it.)
 Soon after Betsy was done with the photo shoot our family started to return. I believe Pastor Tom was the first to return somewhere around 12:15. I think my parents arrived next and the first thing my mom did was give Julie a kiss and thank Julie for giving her a such a beautiful granddaughter. Kara and Carey also filtered in shortly. We introduced everyone to Aspen Rachel - only Carey knew the name ahead of time (I think Kara might have known that Aspen was among the candidates - otherwise it was a complete surprise to everyone else). Everyone got to hold and meet Aspen.
Becky (Julie's stepmother) arrived a short while later after driving all morning from Grand Junction. When Becky arrived Julie was holding Aspen. They all hugged and Julie offered to let Becky hold Aspen. Julie warned Becky that Aspen was very fragile, but Becky was still surprised at how delicate she was. Becky's first thought was that she was going to break Aspen. As with everyone, it was so hard for Becky to believe this had happened. Becky kept expecting Aspen to take a breath at any moment - Aspen looked so natural. As Becky stood in the hospital room holding Aspen she caught herself "patting" Aspen, just like any grandma would do with her new granddaughter. Becky kept reminding herself to come back to reality - soon she would have to say goodbye to her granddaughter forever.
I don't really remember much of the specifics, but in general we all spent several hours taking turns holding Aspen, crying, and hugging each other.
One event that stuck out was Carey giving a little stuffed teddy bear to Aspen. On her way back to the hospital Carey stopped at a Walmart and prayed that God would direct her to the perfect item to give. Carey found the little bear with angel wings and knew her prayer had been answered. While she was making the purchase Carey realized that she had not given us anything at Julie's baby shower. Carey had wanted to wait to meet the baby before giving a gift so that she could make it something personal. This little bear would be Aspen's gift from her Aunt Carey. It hadn't mattered to Carey whether Julie and I kept it or not (of course we would) - she just wanted to give something to Aspen at the hospital.
After a while Julie and I were beginning to get exhausted again and wanted to be alone. Becky noted that she could really see reality set in with Julie as the need to be so focused on delivery faded, and Julie was faced with the finality of it all. It was visible on her face and in Julie's body language. We were all really tired and heartbroken.
By about 15:00 our visitors said their last goodbyes to Aspen. They left and Julie and I were alone with Aspen. After everyone left we received a few phone calls and Ruth checked in on us frequently, but for the most part it was just the three of us alone in the hospital room. It was our first, and only, family time.
 Women in the community had donated handmade clothing and blankets to the hospital to be given to stillborn babies, and Aspen was given a pink outfit adorned with pink ribbon along with a few other items. All afternoon she had been wearing her pink outfit, wrapped up in the hospital blanket. Julie unwrapped the blanket and took off the pink outfit to look over Aspen's tiny body. Char had put a diaper on Aspen with Big Bird print. Lani had clipped the end of Aspen's umbilical cord just like she would have done for a living baby. The clip was still attached to the end of the cord; the cord was moist and limp. Julie's niece Lily was born just two and a half months earlier and Julie had visited her in the hospital a few hours after she was born. Julie remembered Lily's cord drying out quite quickly. Aspen's skin was so soft and smooth and her tummy was so perfectly adorable. Julie wanted to kiss every inch of her daughter's body. Aspen's body was so limp and fragile - Julie never imagined having to be so careful.
Julie dressed Aspen again and wrapped her up in the blanket. She left her legs and feet exposed, though, because they were so precious and we enjoyed looking at them. Then Julie held her very closely, kissing her forehead. It was so hard to never see Aspen's eyes, to never hear just one cry. It was so tragic that these moments were all we would have, that so many months - years - of hoping had to end like this. It was so sad to have just a few moments to soak in a lifetime's worth of memories.
Ruth came back into the room and Julie gave Aspen to me while Ruth examined Julie. The epidural had worn off and Ruth removed all of the IVs and tubes and helped Julie out of bed and into the bathroom. It didn't really occur to Julie up until then that she would go through the whole postpartum experience just like a normal new mom. Ruth gently explained what Julie could expect for her physical recovery and helped her prepare for the weeks ahead. Lani came back and did a final examination, went over paperwork, discussed birth control, and answered a few questions. We said goodbye to Lani, who promised to join us at the memorial service. She hugged us and said that she just knew that God would turn our tragedy into something beautiful.
 While Julie was getting herself ready to leave the hospital I began to compose an email to my friends and climbing peers. This included a wide range of people from very close friends who I've known for 15 years and climbing peers I'd met online but never in person. The unifying connection was that they all knew that Julie and I were expecting a baby (and for some, how this was going to affect my climbing season). My main motivation in writing the email was to avoid the awkward and painful experience of delivering the news over and over again on a one-by-one basis. I wanted to include as many details as were appropriate - basically I wanted to answer all possible questions people might have so they wouldn't have ask me later. I anticipated questions like: What did you name her? How big was she? Why/how did she die? How is Julie? etc. This was a sad exercise as it forced me to confront the ordeal (the first real time in the last 24 hours that I'd been able to sit down and think about it without some other pressing matter to deal with). I cradled Aspen's body in one arm while I pecked out the email with the other hand. When I was done I asked Julie to approve it and then sent it out. This email would serve as a template for more emails to come: one to my colleagues at the USDA Forest Service, another to Julie's clients, and one more to Julie's friends. In addition, other people were communicating our story. For instance, Carey wrote this email to more distant relatives.
 While we were getting ready to leave we found the first of the many flower arrangements, plant arrangements, and cards we would get from friends and family outside the hospital room door. This plant arrangement from on of Julie's oldest clients was the start of an incredible outpouring of support and shared grief. (A couple weeks later, when the arrangements stopped arriving, we potted all the living plants we'd been given and bought a bakers rack to display them on. This serves as a daily reminder of how many great friends we have and how much our family and friends love us.)
By about 18:00 we were ready to go - this was almost exactly 24 hours after arriving at the hospital. Julie and I were both physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Since the rest of our family left at 15:00 it had been mostly just the three of us - Julie, Aspen, and me - alone in the hospital room. For most of these three hours I had been holding Aspen while Julie got herself ready. It was a really long time to be alone with the body of our daughter while we waited to be allowed to leave. There was nothing to distract us from the grief of our loss. When we were finally done signing all the forms and given the okay to go Julie and I were really ready to get out of the hospital and relax and sleep in our own bed.
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Leaving Aspen Behind
 When we had packed everything up, and got completely ready to go, Julie and I held Aspen together and tearfully said goodbye. We wanted to hold her forever - but we felt that it was time to let go. We then gave Aspen to Ruth for the last time. Ruth bundled Aspen up with a blanket into a neat package and placed her on a table in the corner of the room. This little package reminded me of the "flour babies" junior high school girls carry around for their home economics class. It was extremely difficult to leave Aspen there. It was so sad for us to be leaving the hospital empty handed. It also felt wrong to leave Aspen in the hospital room all alone while Ruth helped us out to the car. We had to keep reminding ourselves that Aspen was in heaven and the bundle sitting there in the hospital room was merely an empty shell, dust, a corpse.
We left Aspen behind and Ruth helped us out to the car. We gave her a couple more hugs and set off for home with heavy hearts. (Ruth later called and left us a message, saying that Aspen's body had been safely taken to Pathology.) The empty car seat in the back of our car served as a weighty reminder of our loss. We made a couple of stops on the way home: one at the pharmacy to get a couple of supplies for Julie and then another at her sister's house where we shared a couple more hugs with Carey and Becky. We finally arrived home at about 19:00.
We were both really exhausted but we knew we had to eat something. My parents had stocked our refrigerator for us so we had a little bit of food and cracked a bottle of wine. This was the first drop of alcohol Julie had touched in nearly nine months - I had been a real stickler and Julie had been a really good mom. I know Julie had been really looking forward to the time when she could enjoy another glass of wine, but it certainly wasn't under these circumstances. It must have been bittersweet.
After having a little to eat and drink we went up to bed. The weight of the past days hit me like a ton of bricks and I slept like a rock. Julie fell asleep pretty easily too, but when she woke up to use the restroom in the middle of the night the first real flood of emotion came in. The adrenaline of the past two days had finally worn off and the physical pain was starting to creep in. This was the moment when it finally hit her that she was no longer pregnant. This was the moment when it first sunk in that she would never have the late nights rocking Aspen to sleep that she had looked forward to for such a long time. Her body was a mess, her hormones were raging, and her heart was truly broken. She wept for a good 45 minutes before she was able to fall back asleep. I don't think we stirred again until 9:00 or so the next day (Saturday July 8th).
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Memorial Service
When we woke up Saturday morning we had another emotional task ahead of us: planning a memorial service for Aspen. Julie and I both knew that this was an important thing to do. We hoped it would bring a sense of closure, peace, and reconciliation. It would also be a chance to stand together, surrounded in the love and support of our family and very closest friends. A service would give those who had loved Aspen an opportunity to grieve in a formal way and to say goodbye both to her and to the hopes and dreams that died with her. Julie and I also wanted a way to formally acknowledge her life and how much she meant to us. The months that we had Aspen with us, while she was growing inside Julie, were some of the happiest months of our lives. We didn't want that chapter of our lives to end without thanking God for it. Although we didn't understand why God had taken Aspen from us, we wanted to let go of any lingering anger and formally entrust her back into His loving arms.
Planning a memorial service was something we never thought we'd have to do for a child, and with our wounds so fresh the task was very emotional. Pastor Tom came to our home Saturday morning to discuss the service. The first decision was when to have the memorial service. Even at the hospital we had been thinking that we wanted to have a service fairly quickly and we had been telling people it would be Monday July 10th in the middle of the day. This worked for Tom so we finalized 13:30 Monday afternoon.
Next we needed to talk about what the service would consist of. Neither Julie nor I wanted to stand up and speak, so we asked Pastor Tom to conduct the service for us. We talked to him about our emotions and our hopes for the service, as well as what types of scripture verses we wanted him to read. We shared with him that our sadness was not for her (we knew Aspen was in heaven) but for ourselves. We agreed that we wanted the service to focus on three things: a) the fact that Aspen was with God in heaven; b) that God would be our comforter in the dark days ahead; and c) that we wanted to thank Him for loving Aspen and for loving us. We talked about the Matt Redman song that had comforted Julie in the hospital and Tom told us he was amazed by our perspective on things - he said he felt like he was witnessing the presence of God in our lives.
We weren't sure if we wanted to open things up at the end for others to talk if they felt moved to, so we told Tom we would make that decision later. Although we didn't want to deprive anyone of the opportunity to speak if it would help them process their emotions, we didn't want make people feel like they had to say something. We also wanted to have some sort of control over the tone that was set. Both Tom and Julie's dad stated that often times during memorial services the invitation was offered to allow other people to say something when the other people knew the person who had died. In our situation, however, Julie and I were really the only two who really knew Aspen.
 Finally we needed to decide on a venue. Having a service in a funeral home or even in our church just didn't seem right. So many of our dreams for our family involved the outdoors - that's where we liked to be. It was outside in God's beautiful creation that we felt closest to Him. So even with the rain it wasn't really even a question that we would gather outside to remember our precious daughter and to think of her in heaven. We envisioned some sort of mountain setting or a park with trees and flowers but isolated so that we could feel alone and private. Although we knew plenty of ideal settings in the mountains, we didn't want to have to drive for hours each way. Instead we wanted some place within 30 minutes of home. We had a few ideas and decided we would visit a couple spots that afternoon to choose one. Lani had suggested that the CSU experimental gardens might be a good place, so we ventured out in the rain to check it out. There were several sections of the gardens, but finally we found an area in a tucked away corner that had a large gazebo, a pond and was surrounded by large trees. It felt very much like a mountain setting and we decided it was perfect.
The rest of the weekend went like a blur. We hung out most of the weekend with Julie's parents and Julie's two brothers in Colorado came up with their families for a visit. Sunday night we drafted emails to send to my colleagues and Julie's clients. We wanted to get the messages out before the start of business on Monday so that we could prevent awkward phone calls, quickly set expectations, and keep those that cared about us informed and let them know we were surviving.
Another thing Julie did over the weekend was create a program for the memorial service. I think making the program helped Julie get into the right mindset for the service and helped her feel like she was doing something to honor Aspen's memory (much like writing this trip report did for me).
After more than three days of steady rain, the sun finally came out on July 10th. At 13:30 we gathered in the garden with our family and a few of our closest friends to remember Aspen. In hindsight, we may have chosen to invite more of our friends to be there with us. It was hard to know who would want to come and we didn't want to put anyone in an awkward situation. Since we were so emotional we wanted to only have people there who loved us and knew us best. We were honored by the fact that all of the people we invited came and our midwives specifically asked to be there.
 The ceremony was short and sweet - just what Julie and I had in mind. I know Pastor Tom did an excellent job, but for the life of me I don't remember much of what he talked about. For me, the most important part was to have our closest friends and family there to support us - for Julie and me to feel their love and be filled with the strength and support that their presence demonstrated. I know Pastor Tom's message touched on the points that Aspen was in heaven with God and that although difficult (if not impossible) to understand God was and is in control of all aspects of our lives and that we must trust that all things happen according to His will - a will that is motivated by His infinite love for us.
After the service we invited everyone to come over to our house to hang out. Pat and Becky (the midwife intern) had to get back to work at the hospital, as did a couple of our friends, but most of the people came over for a little while. Carey's church friends supplied us with snack foods (yet another reminder of how many people had us in their thoughts and prayers). Looking back on it, I can't really remember what people talked about etc. It was just nice to have sympathetic people there for us. After an hour or so people gradually filtered out of the house and eventually everyone was gone but my parents and sister.
Again, Julie and I were pretty exhausted so we took a nap while my family hung out and watched television. After our nap my parents talked us into going out for dinner. We went out to Julie's favorite restaurant and although the food was good I think it may have been a little too early for Julie and I to go out in public like that. It was really tough to be in such a somber mood when the rest of the world wasn't - our lives were devastated while the rest of the world didn't seem to notice or care. After dinner we said goodbye to my parents and sister and went to bed.
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Looking Ahead & Miscellaneous Thoughts
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Pregnancy Books & Classes
Julie pursued her pregnancy with a very scholarly approach, reading many books on the subject. She even got me to read a couple. We both felt let down by the resources we'd invested quite a bit of time (and money) reading. None of the Ina May books, the Hypnobirthing material, Dr. Sears Books, or What to Expect When You're Expecting really acknowledged the fact that things could go terribly wrong in healthy pregnancies and result in stillbirth. We hardly found a full paragraph on cord accidents of any type. To the contrary, we read about the near bullet-proof resiliency of umbilical cords. We knew that a miscarriage was possible early in the pregnancy, but once we learned that The Little Doodle was healthy during the 20-week ultrasound we left these concerns largely behind us. These resources did nothing to educate us about the possibility of stillbirth, and what (if anything) could be done to prevent stillbirth, and cord accidents specifically. Perhaps nothing can be done to prevent cord knots, but it would have been nice for these resources to at least acknowledge their existence and state that these freak accidents are unpreventable (perhaps with some statistics). Instead these resources ignored these issues, leaving us completely ignorant.
 The child birthing classes we took - Hypnobirthing - similarly did not prepare us for any complications whatsoever. I don't feel quite as let down by the classes though because they were upfront about not addressing any of the negative possibilities. It's my understanding they did this on purpose to boost the courage and confidence of the expectant mothers by removing as many doubts, fears, concerns, etc as possible. The emphasis was on relaxation and positive attitudes, feelings, vibes, etc. This probably works great for the majority of mothers who go through "normal" labor, but it left us totally unprepared for the challenges that faced us. It's hard to maintain positive vibes when you're laboring to deliver a dead baby.
I suppose that the excuse that both the books and the classes might use for nearly wholly ignoring stillbirth and cord accidents is that no matter how much you read about these tragedies beforehand, nothing could prepare you for the reality of a late term stillbirth. Why impose needless stress? I suppose this is a valid justification, but the experience still left us feeling a bit "gypped," wondering how the impossible could have happened to us. After all, we (Julie especially) had done a lot of research on all aspects of pregnancy yet we came out wholly unprepared to deal with the situation that confronted us.
All evidence points to the scenario that Aspen was healthy, functioning normally, and normally active up until Wednesday evening (July 5th) at the earliest. We have been assured that Aspen's death was painless (akin to fainting) whenever it happened (likely sometime over the night between the 5th and the 6th). We have to believe this - any other alternative would be too painful to bear. Either way, the veil of innocence has been ripped to shreds and we will never be able to experience pregnancy without the fear of having it all happen again.
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Cord Research
Since losing Aspen we have spent quite a bit of energy researching umbilical cord accidents. Surprisingly, there is very little research other there, even though there are between 4,000 and 8,000 cord accident deaths each year. Dr. Jason Collins, the nation's preeminent researcher of cord accidents who runs the non-profit The Pregnancy Institute, Inc., has been an extremely valuable resource for us. Dr. Collins has helped to answer many of our questions regarding what happened to Aspen as well as what we may face with future pregnancies. Sadly, our experience is very similar to the experience of many other parents. The Pregnancy Institute works very closely with pregnant women who have experienced a tragedy like ours to monitor their pregnancies and help prevent cord accident deaths. We know that there is a chance that we may run into umbilical cord complications with a future pregnancy - but Dr. Collins' research and strategies give us hope that we may some day be able to bring a baby home.
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My Grief vs. Julie's
Over the weeks after Aspen's death I had some time to examine the differences between my grief and Julie's. There were a couple of root causes for the differences, namely (a) Julie really knew Aspen - Julie and Aspen had been hanging out together 24/7 for nearly nine months - they had a much closer bond, and (b) having a child was one of Julie's long-held life's ambitions - this was something she'd dreamed about and prayed for since she was a little girl - of things she wanted most in the world this was really high on her list.
This wasn't to say that I didn't have some sort of relationship with Aspen, or that I wasn't really looking forward to her too, but Julie's relationship with Aspen was much deeper and Julie's desire to have a child was much stronger. Consequently, when Aspen was taken away from us my grief was for the loss of what could have been. What I lost was hopes, dreams, and plans. I was sorry for myself, sorry for Julie and me. (I really wasn't too sad for Aspen - she had it pretty sweet: straight from the womb to heaven.) The 180 degree turn from having such happy dreams and plans to having them all suddenly evaporate was a bitter pill to swallow. However, after a relatively short period of time I was pretty well reconciled to it. After that it was just the occasional trigger that would illicit a quick, sharp pang of sorrow - things like seeing little kids on tricycles, or in baby carriers. These types of experiences remind me how much I looked forward to doing these things, or having similar experiences, with Aspen. I imagine this sort of thing will continue long into the future.
Julie's grief was, and continues to be, much more intense than mine. The bond that she and Aspen shared was not only physical but very emotional. Julie was very attuned to Aspen's movements, sleep patterns, and even Aspen's moods. She spent nearly nine full months in a close relationship with Aspen - her biological nurturing instincts had truly transformed her into a mother. When Aspen died, a part of Julie died with her. Her new identity as a mother was suddenly ripped away from her and Julie had a hard time figuring out how she fit into the world again. The profound emptiness that Julie felt in the first few weeks was at times overwhelming.
Julie had always been a very independent person, but after losing Aspen she was suddenly very needy. She couldn't be alone for any significant stretch of time without sinking into a nearly impenetrable darkness. To combat this we had friends and family come and be with Julie when I couldn't be there. It was hard for me to know how best to support her. I focused on trying to be as gentle as possible and always available and accessible. I wanted to Julie to be comfortable with me so she could be completely open and honest with her feelings and grief. I wasn't really sure what else I could do, but encourage Julie to do whatever she had to do to take care of herself.
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Aspen's Remains
Although after Aspen was delivered, the cause of her death was pretty obvious, we decided to have an autopsy performed anyway. This would remove any lingering doubt as to what had caused Aspen's death and also tell us if there was anything else wrong with her. When we got the autopsy report back it didn't say much of anything - just that all Aspen's parts measured in the normal range, but her cord was pretty long (83 cm). I suppose it's nice to know that there wasn't anything noticeably wrong with her. At least Julie and I know that we don't have anything else major to fear if/when we try to have another child.
After the autopsy another question facing us was what to do with Aspen's remains. We weren't ready to make the ultimate decision, but thankfully this was something we could put off indefinitely if we had her body cremated. We didn't really have any idea what we wanted to do with the ashes ultimately - and we still don't. Our nurses at the hospital gave us a list of mortuaries in the area that they recommended, but one of Julie's clients, Resthaven Gardens, was a mortuary in Loveland so we went with them. The nurses told us there was usual very little, if any, expense in cremating a stillborn child. Although we never expected to use their services, it was good to give the business to one of Julie's clients and to deal with somebody with whom we already had a working relationship. The nurses at the hospital arranged everything with the mortuary and we received a call a couple of days later to come in and sign some papers. A couple of days after that we got Aspen's ashes back in a little cloth sack. The mortuary didn't charge us a thing. For the time being Aspen's ashes sit on her changing table in the nursery.
What to do with the ashes? Initially I thought I might want to scatter Aspen's ashes up at Chasm Meadow below Longs Peak and Mount Meeker - my favorite spot in Colorado. The place is incredibly beautiful with a babbling stream running through a pretty, flower-filled, alpine meadow and soaring granite walls in all directions. God's power, majesty, and love are inescapable there. I have many fond memories of mountaineering trips in the area and I had such grand plans for Aspen and me on those mountains. I know she would have loved it there... However, these thoughts have slowly faded. I know that Aspen is in heaven (and though it's hard to imagine, a much finer place than Chasm Meadow). What remains in the pouch in our house is literally just dust. At this point it's not very important to me where they reside. I'm not sure what Julie and I will end up doing with Aspen's remains, but neither of us are in a big hurry to decide.
There are a couple of ways we have monumented Aspen's short life. One of Julie's oldest clients and closest friends gave us some money to buy a clump of Aspen's to plant in our backyard. These now reside in the back of our yard between the birdbath and birdfeeder and are easily visible from our patio, living room, and kitchen. Whenever we lay eyes on it we are reminded of Aspen. In addition to the aspen clump, we have the bakers rack full of potted plants (given to us in arrangements by family and friends) in our dining room. This will always remind us of the love and kindness our friends and family have shown us. Finally we sponsored some aspen trees in the children's garden at the Fort Collins community Gardens on Spring Creek. "Our" aspen trees sit next to a babbling cascade with an engraved stone. A cemetery never seemed like the right place for a memorial for our daughter. The children's garden, on the other hand, is a place where children and families go to enjoy nature, have fun, and be happy. We like to think of Aspen's trees as being a part of that joy. We imagine taking our future children there, or even our nieces and nephews, to show them the trees, and have the trees be their way of remembering Aspen.
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Aspen's Things
After we came home we found that we didn't really want to do anything with Aspen's things. We plan to leave her nursery as is for at least the near future. The nursery is such a happy place that reminds us how much Aspen was loved. Julie and I go in there from time to time to take a few minutes to be still and remember our little daughter.
One thing that Julie and I enjoy looking forward to is trying to have another child. We have such hope in our hearts that some day we will be able to bring a baby home. We plan to hold onto all the things we bought, all the things our family and friends bought for us, and use them for Aspen's little brother or sister.
If for some reason we don't end up having another baby in the next five years or so we'll probably end up donating everything to the Alpha Center. The Alpha Center is a Christian, non-profit organization in Fort Collins that provides crisis pregnancy counseling (among many other services). One of the goals of the Alpha Center is to give young women in crisis alternatives to abortion. If we never get a chance to use all the things we gathered for Aspen it will bring us some measure of comfort to donate these things to the Alpha Center so that they may be given to a family (or families) in need. It's my hope that knowing Aspen's things helped a mother in crisis provide proper care and love for a child who would otherwise have struggled (or may never have been born at all) would provide Julie and me with some sense of peace.
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Spiritual Growth & Struggles
Both Julie and I were really thankful these events hadn't happened three days earlier when I was on The Sharkstooth. That day I was way back in the recesses of Rocky Mountain National Park and was out of mobile phone range for over 12 hours. In the middle of the climb it would have taken me at least seven hours to get back to Fort Collins. We were extremely fortunate that I had been a mere five minutes away at work when Julie went in for the non-stress test. Although it's difficult to look for the "silver lining" in this dark storm cloud, circumstances could have certainly been much, much worse. When Julie and I think of how horribly worse things could have gone we are extremely thankful. Chief among the things Julie and I are thankful for is that (a) we could go through this experience together (b) Julie escaped without physical harm and (c) that Aspen did not suffer (at least this is what we choose to believe).
A powerful experience both Julie and I had was being a firsthand witness to the power of prayer. Perhaps my prayer life had been lacking in the past, but I never put myself in a position to witness direct results from prayers. I guess this was mainly due to the fact that I never really asked God for anything. My prayers in the past had always focused on being thankful and grateful for everything God was/is and had given to me. I never felt I wanted or needed anything badly enough to ask God for it. That changed through these events. I wasn't sure I could get through this on my own, and even if I could, I knew I didn't want to. Asking God for the strength and composure to be the best husband I could be for Julie was a very comforting thing to do - but what was even better was God delivering! Every time I prayed, every time we prayed together, Julie and I both felt the surges of courage, strength, and composure we needed to continue.
Although we didn't really think about it at the time, God acting in our lives wasn't just a result of our own prayers - it was a result of the huge community that had us in their thoughts and prayers. Our church was praying for us, Julie's clients were praying for us, our extended families were praying for us, my colleagues at the USDA Forest Service were praying for us, our friends were praying for us, friends of our friends were praying for us, and on and on. The extent of the support we were getting during our trials and tribulations gradually became evident during the following weeks as the flowers, cards, meals, and phone calls continued to pour in. We received wishes of support and sympathy from so many people, some we hardly knew - it was amazing. Emotional healing has been another answer to prayer. Although Julie experienced tremendous sadness for many weeks, she was spared from the crippling effects of postpartum depression. We attribute this to the constant flow of love and support she received during the most difficult months. God has been faithful to us in so many ways.
I have to admit, though, that trusting God was not always easy when our world was ripped apart. The loss of Aspen took Julie to a spiritual crossroads unlike any she had ever faced before. She felt like God had ignored our prayers to bring our daughter safely to us. She didn't understand how God could let something so terrible happen to us, his children, when she knew He could have protected our Aspen. Julie so desperately wanted to trust God, but didn't know how to reconcile her faith with her pain. She hated feeling betrayed by God, especially when she needed Him most. She decided to confront these issues with Pastor Tom. Through a series of emails Pastor Tom helped Julie understand that although He didn't answer our prayers in the way we had hoped, God had heard our prayers. There is no way to know this side of heaven why He allowed this to happen, but we can trust that God is always good (Psalm 136:1) and because He loves us, He orchestrates all things together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). Julie learned that our tragedy has a greater purpose that we will someday understand. We found peace in this.
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This story was last updated January 1, 2007.
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