We can’t tell you the best day of our life without telling you the worst day of our life. Without the worst day, we wouldn’t have our best day and the best day triumphs every day.
So we will start with the best day of our life.
Chris and I are excited to announce that we became proud parents to a beautiful baby early Wednesday morning. We want to tell you that we have never been this in love with not only each other but also this precious creature we created together. We want to tell you we have experienced this feeling of pure pride and love and want to share it with the world. We want to tell you that labor was hard but amazing because we worked together as a team. We want to tell you that we held true to our word and waited to find out the sex of our child until delivery. We want to tell you how we both wept with joy when we found out we had a son. We want to tell you how in awe we were when we first held him and talked to him. We want to tell you how his little hands and feet were the cutest things we have ever seen. We want to tell you that the doctor says he’s healthy and on track for being a big boy like his father. We want to tell you that by far, hands down, the single best day of our life was the birth of our son.
But what we don’t want to tell you is that we lost our son.
We don’t want to tell you that I went for my ultrasound on Tuesday to see our 18-week-old baby, only to find out our baby’s heart stopped beating at 16.5 weeks. We don’t want to tell you that we were sent to the hospital to be induced immediately. We don’t want to tell you that after 12 hours of sobbing, waiting, researching funeral homes and holding each other I went into labor. We don’t want to tell you that I felt every single pain including the moment my body delivered our stillborn son. We don’t want to tell you that our child had an accident, wrapped up in his umbilical cord. We don’t want to tell you that we have cremated our son. We don’t want to tell you we have hidden my new maternity clothes, cancelled baby registries, and boxed up parenting books and toys. We don’t want to tell you that, by far, hands down, the single worst day of our life was the death of our son.
But remember…without this day, we wouldn’t have the best day of our life.
We wanted to share this news with you so you can help us carry his name on and the only way to do that is to talk about him. Please ask us about our son. Please ask to see photos of him because we are like you, proud parents and want to show off our perfect son. Please continue to share photos and stories with us about your pregnancy, your baby and your child. Please treat us like any other parent. And in three months, six months, one year or five when we have all healed and moved on, please mention our son’s name. We are asking you to help us keep our son alive in our hearts.
We are devastated and weak with pain but with faith, tears and love we know we will be okay. We want to thank our beautiful family, friends and the Falcon family for their support. We are overwhelmed with your words, acts of kindness and love. Thank you for loving us and thank you for loving our first son, James Alvin Miller.
James Alvin Miller
3.8 ounces, 8 inches
March 30, 2016