It was the morning of September 10th 2020, I was in the beginning of my third trimester with our second son. I had ordered a couple of new baby things and went back to being busy with work, not really thinking about the fact that I hadn’t felt him move all morning. I already had an appointment scheduled for that afternoon, so I figured it was fine to wait. At an appointment two weeks prior, I had been told that he was starting to run out of room, so his movement was probably changing.

That afternoon at my appointment the nurse was struggling to find the heartbeat, which for some reason didn’t worry me. He was always in the bottom left corner of my belly and I joked with the nurse that he was just hiding. She smiled and said we were going to try seeing him on the ultrasound. I was honestly excited to see him again! Looking back, I can’t believe I hadn’t put things together by then.

At this late stage of pregnancy, you are just so sure everything is going well and you will soon be bringing home a baby.

After she began the ultrasound, the technician went silent. At that point I blurted out, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? He’s not moving.” It felt like an out of body experience. With tears in her eyes she said, “No Meghan, I’m so sorry. There’s no heartbeat.” My doctor rushed in and asked if someone was with me. Thankfully my husband got home early from a trip and was waiting in the car. 

When my husband arrived by my side, the doctor told us these things happen sometimes. They didn’t know why, and it wasn’t my fault. I hated that answer. I needed an explanation, but the only things They could offer me were hugs and some water before we were walked out the back door. My husband and I just sat in the car, staring out the window for a while in silence. What were we supposed to do now?

I was scheduled for an induction the next morning, but I went into labor naturally just hours after we left the doctor’s office. With our first son, Patrick, I had a scheduled c-section and I had spent this second pregnancy hopeful to experience labor and try for a VBAC. Not in a million years did I think this was how that would happen.

As the contractions were growing stronger and closer together, I put Patrick to bed at my in-laws and quickly packed a hospital bag. On our drive to the hospital, Chris squeezed my hand and said “Charlie. That’s his name.” Charlie was the name at the top of our list, and we couldn’t imagine not using it for him. 

On September 11, 2020 at 5:30AM, at Summa, Akron City Hospital, Charlie Hamilton Stevenot was born. He was 2 pounds, 10 ounces and 16 and a half inches long. He was perfect. He had thick dark red hair. He looked like an exact copy of his big brother, but with Chris’ feet instead of mine. We took turns holding him all day, studying his features and talking about what life would have been like with our two boys. I told him how sorry I was over and over again. Just 24 hours after receiving our painful news, we were released from the hospital with empty arms and some bereaved parent gifts. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. 

Not having an answer has been such a hard part of this grief journey. The doctor that delivered Charlie speculated it was a cord accident but we still are not sure. I go back and forth between telling myself that everything happens for a reason, and wondering if this was a preventable accident. I have had to rely heavily on my faith and the desire to honor our son’s short life any way we can.

Shortly after Charlie died, my best friend said to me, “He was warm, safe, in the most loved place in the world.” I’m not sure if she knew the magnitude of that, but it has helped me immensely. As a mother, I thought my job was to protect my children. When your child dies, especially like this, you feel like you failed at your only job. I think really that our one true job is to love our children, and for the entire time my son’s heart was beating, he only knew love.