Let's Not Be Still - Hope Still Lives

This event cannot be possible without the work of our wonderful volunteer committee members. Many of our committee members have shared their story of their beautiful children of whom they lost too soon. Read their stories below! 

Our story is similar to others who have lost a baby too soon. My pregnancy was low risk and went really well. I had no complications and never a time where I was concerned during the pregnancy.  I absolutely loved being pregnant! I am a fitness instructor and personal trainer and I kept teaching fitness classes throughout my pregnancy. I felt great when I was active and   always listened to my body when I needed to modify or stop. I remember doing burpees and teaching a class and feeling like I had superpowers with no pain and even with modifications I felt like I could do anything. I kept myself healthy with exercise and good nutrition and my one and only ultrasound gave us the impression all of my intentions were working!

For both my husband and I, this was our first pregnancy and we were both excited and nervous, not knowing what to expect. At about 38 weeks pregnant, I had a busy morning going to a local 5k because I had helped a local running group train for this race the past few months. I went to the race with my sister and niece and we walked/jogged for most of it. I felt good but I got tired in the afternoon and took a nap. I woke up from the nap and was doing my daily routine of counting kicks and feeling the baby move. After half hour of not feeling anything, I asked my husband to take me to the hospital. We didn’t really think much of it, just something we wanted to be cautious with and playing it safe by checking on the baby.  As they scanned my belly I watched as several nurses faces changed as they searched and searched for the heartbeat.  And finally they brought the doctor in who scanned again and said, ‘ I can’t find a heartbeat, I am so sorry.” It felt like I left my body after that. My husband kissed me and nurses gave me their condolences.  My mind couldn’t catch up to what was happening, and peoples voices were just muffled noises in the background.  There were times where I just thought this is a dream and I will be waking up soon.   Family and friends came immediately, and the hospital gave us our own wing for just for all of them to be with us. People laid on floors, cots, uncomfortable chairs...and they didn't care. They were all here for us...for me... for Ephraim and I felt so lucky. Weird, I know, in a time where I should have felt only pain, I felt blessed in a way, lucky and thankful, all things I needed more than ever. But to know how much love you already have when you lose something is incredible. My son, Ephraim Cali was born that morning, with a beautiful easy labor and surrounded by everyone who loved him. He went from the best place in the world to the next best place in the world.

As I think about that time with him, I close my eyes and I can see his lips that look like his sister’s and his nose that look like his brother’s.  I can’t explain how I love someone that I just met and said goodbye to in the same day, but I do.  Because of him I think, feel, smell, taste and love so differently. My life forever is changed because of him and this experience. For that, I love him. The saying of ‘everything happens for a reason’ gives me a new meaning. You never want this to happen to anyone but I promised him I would be a better person because of him and I would never let his story end that day.  He comes to me when I need to remember what matters most in life- the people. 

His name means fruitful, meaningful. In the Bible it says, "It is because God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering." I think of this, and everyone to came to support us during this time. Even though I miss him and think of him every day, he reminds me just how lucky I am. I love you buddy, I hope I make you proud. I love being your mom.

This race is not just about my son, Ephraim. During my time of grief, I was introduced by many other women that had the same experience as I did. Unfortunately, they lost their babies too soon as well, but I was fortunate enough to meet them and they have now become my friends. With these friends and my family, we are developing our 5k to honor our babies as well as encourage others to tell their story and raise money for research in stillbirth. We shouldn’t be hearing, “This happens, and we don’t know why.” We should know why. We should demand answers and we should demand more of our healthcare to provide us with answers and support during pregnancies. We want to help others to that this does not continue to happen to babies. For many of us, even an ultrasound could have prevented our babies from dying. With this event, we can help raise awareness and money towards research.

In 2015, I was pregnant with our second baby. I had a very normal pregnancy, and it had gone almost exactly the same as it had with our first son Colin. The same weeks 6 and 7 nausea, the same salty and sour cravings, the same anticipation of delivery to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl. The same, until it wasn’t. Normal, until it wasn’t. One day in December, I felt a sudden lack of movement, and I had an intense sense of dread. After a very long car ride and an even longer ultrasound, the doctor confirmed that our baby’s heart had stopped. I was 35 weeks and 4 days. 33 days away from bringing our little man home to meet his big brother. 

Less than 24 hours later, our second son, Caleb Andrew, was born sleeping. He weighed 5 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 19 inches long. He looked shockingly like his big brother, despite all his dark brown hair. We spent about 18 hours with Caleb before leaving to go home to our oldest son Colin. We walked out of that hospital to a vastly changed world.

After Caleb was born, we were told there was nothing visibly wrong – no knot or rip in the cord, no deformities or potential genetic issues, nothing abnormal about the placenta. Our doctor advised us that we could get an autopsy, but that the chances of a “cause” would be relatively small. That Caleb’s death was likely caused by what many stillborn babies die from – a “cord accident” – where the cord was compressed at some point and he peacefully went to sleep without any pain or suffering. She recommended sending samples of my blood, along with the cord and placenta, out for analysis, which we did. It all came back inconclusive – there was nothing out of the ordinary, confirming that Caleb’s death was from an unspecified cause.

Fast forward two and a half years, a very tense but uneventful third pregnancy, and hours on a knotted mess of a grief journey and my husband Chad and I decided to start The CAL Foundation in Caleb's memory. We know that we cannot give families what they desperately want -- their little babies back, healthy and living on earth, but we can provide assistance in other ways. Through The CAL Foundation, we financially support parents of stillborn babies through payment of medical bills related to labor & delivery. We believe that even if a family is capable of paying, they shouldn't have to. When those bills begin to arrive, it is just another reminder that their arms are empty. We strive to help ease this burden.

The Foundation has given our family an outlet -- something to throw our "extra" parenting energy into that we would have used on Caleb, had he lived. We laugh and we worry and we get frustrated and we cry and we love. All very similar things that we do with our living children! It has given us a way to continue to remember him, and make the world remember him. 

Our adventure to Colt began when after 2.5 years of marriage, my husband, Joe, and I, decided to consult with a doctor about our unsuccessful desire to start a family. Our days quickly became filled with doctors visits, medications, and failed treatment options, which finally led to our fertility specialist having the difficult conversation of "in my expert opinion, I believe your only option to have your own children is in-vitro fertilization". 

   We shared our next steps with family and friends and with their support, began the next step in our journey. The shots were sometimes difficult to administer, the experience was emotionally very difficult and extremely stressful, but finally it was retrieval day! Our plan was to return in five days, have an embryo transferred, and freeze the remaining embryos for future use. That was until, two days after retrieval, we received a phone call that our embryos were not growing well and that our transfer needed to occur the following day. With fear in our hearts, we went the next day and prayed that our little embryo would "stick". Several days later, I received the call that the remaining embryos had not survived and we had nothing to freeze... That was it, our little transferred embryo was our only chance! By God's grace, we learned shortly after, that the one little embryo was all we needed and we were pregnant with our "little nugget". 

   I had a pretty "textbook" pregnancy. I was never sick, he gave me the talked about "glow", I felt great and truly enjoyed being pregnant. Once I got to the point of being able to feel him move, I felt him day and night. He loved to kick and I loved feeling those kicks and his Daddy was just as thrilled when he got to enjoy them! Our friends, family, and even friends of friends were so invested in our pregnancy because they knew what we had been through to get to this point and were just so happy to celebrate his life with us. 

   We enjoyed beautiful moments of watching him on 3d ultrasounds, celebrating at our baby shower, capturing beautiful maternity pictures... until at 38 weeks 4 days, I woke up and didn't feel my Colt moving like I always did. I drank some orange juice, laid on the couch... still nothing. I called the doctor and they suggested I come in for a scan, but they were sure that because I was so close to my due date, that he was just running out of room to be so active. My husband rushed home from work, we went for our scan, and heard the sentence no parent ever thinks they will hear, "I'm sorry, but there is no heartbeat". I took the next few minutes trying to comprehend that he was actually gone and then we had to make the absolute worst phone calls to our parents. The doctor came back into the room and explained that they would begin my induction and I would give birth to my son that day or the next. I spent the next almost 15 hours praying they were wrong, I just could not believe that our perfect boy was gone and I truly think I believed that he would be born, let out a huge cry, and prove them all wrong. At 4:02 the next morning, January 8, 2017, I met the most perfect little man, Colton Michael Killiany, but he did not cry like I prayed he would, and our reality set in.

    My husband and I spent that morning and afternoon, holding him tight, giving so many kisses, and introducing him to his grandparents, aunts, and uncle. Those hours seem like minutes shared, but I am forever grateful to the nurses for using the baseball we brought to place his feet and handprints on, sending us home with every blanket that he touched, the tape they used to give us his length, locks of hair, and several other memories to hold onto and to our birth photographer, Courtney, for still coming to the hospital and taking so many photos for us to be able to share and proudly display through our home. 

    That car ride to a home with a still empty nursery, filled with a closet and drawers full of clothes, diapers, and blankets, never to be used on my sweet boy still haunts me and I believe always will. The years passed have been an ongoing struggle of learning how balance being parents to a child that is not here, how to feel like you are honoring him and making him a part of the things you do in your life, while still finding joy and celebrating his beautiful little brother, Everett, that we are blessed to wake up to everyday, and recently trying to understand that he has gained another sibling, "Peanut", in heaven, due to an early miscarriage. 

     Our story sounds so similar to so many before us... everything was perfect... until it wasn't. Our hope and goal is that through our efforts, we can make a difference, and help others in the future NOT have our story. Through education and research, we CAN save lives. Through sharing our story, we CAN provide support to other families like ours. Our children CAN and WILL still make a difference in this world!