About this blog

Every child lost is a tragedy, whether through miscarriage, abortion, or stillbirth, or whether the child has lived a day or eighteen years. Every mother grieves for her child.

This blog is a chronicle of our journey as we began our life without our precious firstborn son, Cameron, who died in utero at full term. This is what grief looks like — it is real, and it is tangible. This is what a mother suffers when she loses her child — her baby. Christians are not immune to suffering. It is possible to trust God and still grieve.

Every mother’s journey is different. I am not claiming that my experience is every mother’s experience. I can only tell my story, and my story only.

But perhaps there is something universal to every mother’s suffering when she loses a child. The overwhelming shock, the utter devastation, the immense pain, the bottomless grief, the terrible emptiness, and the inevitable sense of isolation and loneliness from the world — I can only imagine that these must all be present in every mother’s journey.

Perhaps our story will be closer to home for those mothers who have lost children in their infancy — when life is cut suddenly and tragically short. When hopes and expectations are dashed and shattered even before they have fully formed. When a childhood is lost forever. I think especially of other mothers whose children died in utero, like Cameron did. Mothers, who, like me, never got to see their child open his or her eyes, never got to see their child’s first smile or hear their child’s first cry. Mothers who had to give birth, knowing that their child had ceased to live.

It is my hope and prayer that by sharing our story, others might better understand the depth and width of our grief, our sadness, our pain, and our mourning. Before losing Cameron, I could not possibly have known or understood what it is like for couples to suffer a tragedy like this. Now that I have been inside the valley, I want to shed light on this journey so that others might also understand — if not entirely, at least partially.

Hopefully this will help us all to better care for and love those who have lost children. I think this is a good starting point: before we can help, we need to at least try and understand their pain. It is now three years since we lost Cameron, and not a moment passes that I do not miss him, and yearn for him. This journey has no end. It will continue until the day I die.

This blog is ultimately in memory of Cameron, my beloved, precious son. This time of mourning, this time of grieving, this time of writing, this time of remembering has all been for him.

Photo above: Rhonda at Merimbula, New South Wales, exactly three months and a day after Cameron was born.