We were both doing fine... until we weren't.

As October gets closer, I can't help but think about how different September has been from what I predicted. Most of the past year has been spent with me being excited about and anticipating the arrival of September. I had planned to spend this month getting to know my son; instead I have spent the past 4 weeks working my way through grief so intense that it threatens to drown me. My son, Keller, did not survive long enough to see the arrival of his birth month. He died on the last day of August and I delivered him on September 1. Keller is not crying in has bassinette. I am not sleep-deprived and Matt and I are not arguing over diaper duty. This September has not been at all like the way I envisioned.

What confuses me the most is the fact that Keller and I were both so completely healthy... until we weren't. Keller was such an active baby. From the first time I felt him kick, not long after my 29th birthday in May, Keller never stopped playing soccer with my internal organs. During worship songs at church, he would kick and punch so furiously it was a wonder that I didn't have permanent damage. Keller's movement made him seem so... present and vibrant and ALIVE that it never occurred to me that he wouldn't survive long enough to be born. I had just assumed that he would be born healthy and that his activity level would continue into the rest of his life.

I never had reason to believe that Keller and I would not be perfectly healthy. At every prenatal appointment, Keller and I's check-ups were excellent. My blood pressure never spiked, I gained weight at the right rate, and my bloodwork was always good. I even passed the gestational diabetes screening test in spite of my consistent diet of maple bars and Pepsi. My pregnancy was not complicated at all and a lot of pregnant people were jealous about my lack of morning sickness and the fact that I only gained weight in my belly. Keller's heartbeat checks were always good and he appeared to be growing at the correct rate. With the exception of finding out that he had an enlarged kidney at his 20 week ultrasound that later corrected itself, Keller's development was uncomplicated and did not raise any red flags.

I had absolutely no problems with my pregnancy until I developed cholestasis in week 38. Cholestasis is a liver condition where salts build up in the blood and cause the skin to itch uncontrollably. In my opinion, I dealt with the itchiness like a champion until 3 days before I went into labor. That Friday morning, I was so itchy that I could think of nothing else. I honestly tried everything I could, including oatmeal baths, various lotions, and Benadryl to get relief. Nothing worked. I was at the end of my rope when I called my doctor's office with the slim hope that they would tell me to come in and get induced. I knew that induction was a long-shot but I felt somewhat entitled to it because I had carried my son with few complaints for 39.5 weeks and I was DONE. The nurse told me to go home, take more Benadryl, and put lotion on my skin. I was frustrated, but I did what I was told.

Looking back, I can's blame the nurse or anyone else for what happened to Keller. He and I were the pictures of good health... until we weren't anymore. We did not show signs of any major problems, so how could anyone have predicted what happened to us? My frustrating question is, How do two people who are perfectly healthy go from good to bad so fast? How did Keller go from a perfectly healthy and active baby to stillborn without me or anyone else knowing that something was wrong? How did I go from a perfectly healthy mom-to-be to being pumped full of drugs so that I would be "comfortable" as I delivered my baby who would never open his eyes? It boggles my mind and I can't seem to stop wrestling with these questions.

As I have pondered all of this, I have realized that this isn't the first time I have asked these types of questions and not found any answers. When my brother died, I asked myself, "How did Jack go from being a happy and healthy teenager to gone in such a short time?" My final memory of my brother is a good one. I was reminding him to take a pillow on his camping trip and he was laughing and happy. He was so excited about going on that trip and I could not have imagined that he would not return. He was so present and vibrant and ALIVE, just like Keller, until he wasn't anymore. I still have trouble understanding how things changed so fast and how my entire life changed in a moment. In some of my darkest hours, I feel sorry for myself because I have lost them BOTH. My mind cannot comprehend why the people I loved went from earth to Heaven with no indication that their time with me on earth was almost over.

Honestly, I think a lot of people can relate to me as I wrestle with these difficult questions. How many people have experienced times where life changes in a moment? How many people have wondered, "How did it go from good to bad so quickly?" Granted, some losses are predictable, where people appear to fade away from us slowly. Their health declines or they withdraw emotionally and eventually they are gone. More often than not, our lives change in an instant and that is the hallmark of a true crisis. In all kinds of crisis situations we ask, "How did it go from good to bad so fast?"

I don't know if the answers to these difficult questions will ever be found. And really, would knowing "why" actually help? Would understanding "why" bring my son and my brother back to me? I know that answers will not change the way things are, and as difficult as it is, I am charged with the task of accepting my lack of answers to these impossible questions. I am charged with moving forward with my life and allowing some questions to simply go unanswered.

We can torture ourselves with "why me?" until we have missed out on all the goodness and love that life has to offer. It's easy to get trapped in being the victim of the crisis and lose ourselves in our confusion and frustration about what has happened. At some point, we have to realize that continuing to be a victim is a choice. We can decide to be defined by our crises and unanswered questions, or we can accept that our answer may never be found until we are united with God in Heaven. We can decide to accept life's unanswered questions and move forward with a deeper appreciation for our own strength and resilience.

Right now my own strength and resilience aren't as high as I would like them to be. Keller is gone and I am still longing to hold my precious baby. Letting go of all the unanswered questions isn't going to be easy for me, but I am committed to working through my confusion and grief until I get to a point where I am strong and able to move forward. I honestly believe that living a life that is full and free from the restraints of being the "victim" is the best way that I can honor my son, my brother, and all of the people who left us way too soon.

Nothing about this is easy... and that's okay.

It has been nearly three weeks since I gave birth to my beautiful baby, Keller. In a lot of ways, I still can't believe that he did not survive. I find myself looking for him, either down at my belly or in our house. I am looking for proof that I didn't just imagine him and it is during those times that I look at his pictures and things from the hospital and I remember that he is in Heaven and it is now my task to go on living without him.


For some reason, I keep looking for some aspect of all of this to be easy. It's like I have a sense of entitlement for SOMETHING in this whole mess to be simple and not too difficult. I keep thinking about what has happened and I realize that everything about this is difficult; there is no "easy button" as the CEO of Staples would like us to believe. Once I remind myself how futile the search for the mythical "easy button" is, the more I am resolved to live the best life that I can even though it is hard.


That said, would it be too much to ask, really, for some part of this whole situation to come easily? I am committed to living each day and putting one foot in front of the other, but does it really have to be so difficult? It seems like every day involves some-sort of difficult task or event that must be overcome so that I can make it to the next day and task. It makes me wonder how I am going to make it through more days and more tasks if everything is so difficult to manage.


In the past week, I have done several difficult things. I attended a barbeque with my church friends and even managed to enjoy myself. I went to the local grocery store for the first time, with Matt's help, and managed to get everything on my list without crying and leaving the store. I went back to work, and with the help of my awesome co-worker, was able to make it through the day. I was even able to help with and attend the wedding of one of my best friends. All of these tasks seem to be relatively simple, but they were difficult for me because they involved being with people and focusing on something other than myself and the pain of losing my son.


This week also marked the first time I had to explain to someone, in person, what had happened. I was out to dinner with a friend when the waitress said, "Wow, you don't even look pregnant when you are sitting down." I had to explain to her that I am no longer pregnant and that my son was stillborn. She felt bad for asking, but I assured her that I am so happy to live in a small town where people actually care enough to ask about your family. It reminded me just how much Keller was anticipated and wanted by people all over the state and especially in my little town of Deer Lodge.



One of the most difficult things that I did this week was attend my follow-up doctor's appointment. I walked in to the office and went through the routine that I had become so accustomed to over the past 9 months. When I met with my doctor, she was very kind and gentle with me. She explained that my blood work had come back perfect and so had Keller's. She said that we were both in perfect health and that Keller's death was being officially named as a cord accident. She asked about my physical, mental, and emotional health. I told her that physically I am healing fast and that I am actually doing okay mentally. I then told her that I am still very raw emotionally, but that I am seeing a counselor and writing about my experience. Then we talked about Matt and I's desire to have more children in the future. She asked that we wait a year, but said that she would be supportive if we decided to try sooner. She said that physically I would be pretty ready to get pregnant in about 6 months, but that I should make sure that I am healed completely both mentally and emotionally before trying to conceive. We then talked about steps that would be taken to ensure my health and the health of our baby the next time I get pregnant.


Following my doctor's appointment, Matt and I had a serious discussion about having more children. We decided that we are both still committed to going through the whole process again and becomming the parents that I know we can be. We decided that we would consider the doctor's advice, but that we would not put arbitrary time limits or constraints on when we would start trying again. I told Matt that I would know when I was emotionally ready to have another child when I could honestly say that I want to love a completely different and separate baby. At the moment, I just want Keller. When I think "I want to have a baby" what I am really thinking is, "I want MY baby, the one that I carried for 9 months and gave birth to." Thinking about a baby, without picturing Keller's beautiful face, is not something I'm capable of right now. I am optimistic that I will heal to a point where I am ready to move forward and love my future children with the same earnestness and devotion that I now focus on Keller.


When I think about going through another pregnancy, with all of its physical and emotional ups and downs, it gives me severe anxiety. I think about all of the prenatal appointments, the preparations, and the anticipation and I can feel my chest get tight. When I am able to get a handle on myself, I remember that nothing about this is easy, so why would thinking about getting pregnant again be easy? Maybe I need to continue to work on accepting the difficulty of this situation and remember that very few things, that are truly worth it, ever come easily. As Matt says, "Maybe things that you don't have to work for, that come easily, are things that you probably shouldn't have in the first place."


Perhaps it is time to give up the quest for the "easy button," accept the situation for what it is, and look at the future knowing that it will be the most difficult battle that I have ever faced. Perhaps it is time to look at those things that are difficult and realize that difficulty isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's our difficulties in life that give us our strength, our character, and our resolve to improve things in the future.

Keller's Story

I orginally posted this on my Facebook page and it inspired me to start blogging. It is my hope that Keller's Story may inspire and help others heal from similar experiences.

This story is very long and may be difficult to read. I wish I could say that it has a happy ending, but the truth is that it doesn't really end. Keller's Story is just a single chapter of "Jami's Story" and I hope that my story is not complete yet. Maybe I will have a happy ending, maybe I won't. I do know that, while I have known great pain and sorrow, I have also known intense joy and times of extreme happiness. My story is not so unique or odd; it is a human story, just like everyone else's. So, that said, this is a story not unlike many others. It has humor, joy, pain, and should probably be read with the Kleenex box close by. It is the story of Keller, a wonderful baby who left us way too soon.

I found out that I was pregnant with Keller on January 1, 2009. I did not believe the first test because I had thrown the directions away and wasn't sure what "+" meant (duh), so I tried a digital test. When it instantly came up "pregnant" I was so excited and so scared. I took another digital test the next day (just to make sure that I wasn't dreaming or delusional) and it said "pregnant" as well.

The next 9 months are a blur of doctor's appointments, baby showers, and anxiety attacks. At Keller's 20 week ultrasound, we were informed that he was a boy and that he had an enlarged kidney. I was devastated at the news, but relieved to find out at the 28 week ultrasound that the problem had corrected itself. Other than that scare, it was an easy pregnancy with no major complications until I developed cholestasis (a minor liver condition that causes the skin to itch uncontrollably) in the 38th week. I loved being pregnant - my basketball-sized belly became my identity and I never tired of Keller practicing Karate on my internal organs. I loved having him all to myself and sharing him with people who asked about him constantly. I loved Matt's face when he would feel or see him move. I loved that I was providing Matt with the chance to be a father and that we were giving our parents a grandchild.

One thing that made the whole pregnancy exciting and fun was my husband's reaction to it. Matt loved being an expectant dad. He would tell anyone and everyone who would listen that he was going to have a baby boy in September. He never tired of putting together baby furniture, shopping for baby stuff, and talking about his son. In my third trimester, it became apparent that Keller was completely "Daddy's Boy." He would respond to Matt's voice and touch instantly, like he knew who his daddy was and wanted to connect with him. The look on Matt's face when Keller would push on his hand through my belly is one of my fondest memories of being pregnant.

I was probably the most neurotic expectant mom that you would ever meet. I meticulously prepared for Keller's birth by organizing, cleaning, and getting the house and car ready for him. I insisted that Matt put the car seat in the car 5 weeks before my due date because I wanted to bring him home if I went into labor early. I packed all of our hospital bags, including the diaper bag, and made Matt put them in the car before every appointment in the last 4 weeks of my pregnancy. I washed Keller's laundry, did his dishes, and made his bed long before I felt the first contraction.

As much as I liked being pregnant, I was eager to give birth and meet my little boy. By week 38 he was so heavy and I was itching so bad that I could think of nothing besides giving birth and meeting my son. I was truly ready to be done being pregnant and start being a mother. When I felt contractions on the day of August 31, 2009, I was so excited and so scared. I dealt with the pain for an hour before calling Matt to come home from work. I called my doctor and she said to come to Missoula. I dealt with contractions all the way and was relieved to make it to the hospital.

When we checked in to the labor and delivery ward, they gave me a gown and a belly band. Then they got the monitors going. The nurse tried to find a heartbeat with one of the monitors and when she couldn't, she went and got the charge nurse. She changed monitors but still couldn't find a heartbeat. They called my doctor and started the ultrasound machine. When my doctor got there, she coulldn't find a heartbeat on the ultrasound, so she tried a cord that she attached to Keller's head. She then told me the news, "Jami, your baby is no longer alive. I am so sorry." Then she informed me that I would have to give birth vaginally, like normal, but that they would try to make it as comfortable for me as possible.

What happened next still feels like an out-of-body experience, like I watched it happening to someone else. The anasthesiologist came in and gave me an epidural. It took him 4 tries to get the needle in because my spine was damaged in a car accident 8 years ago. It was incredibly painful and I still have bruises from 4 large needle sticks in the back. After that, I spent the next 8 hours in labor even though I could not feel the contractions. Our parents arrived at the hospital and our moms came in to check on us. They were so sad but glad that Matt and I were holding up ok. I continued to itch from the epidural and residual effects of the cholestasis and spiked fevers and got chilled. There was some concern that I had a virus of some-sort, so I was treated with IV antibiotics.

During the night, we met with a team of incredibly sensitive and caring nurses. One nurse in particular, had secific training on helping parents cope with stillborn and high-risk births. She talked to us about what we wanted for the birth. Did we want to see him be born? Did we want to hold him before or after his bath? Would we want pictures to be taken of him? These questions were difficult to answer, but we made some tough decisions as my labor continued into the morning.

At about 6:30 I was instructed to push. At that moment, I decided that I could not and would not push Keller out. I was not strong or inspired enough to push out my baby who would never cry or breathe a breath of air. In the fog of all of it, I heard Matt's voice saying, "you have to do this Jami. You can do this and you will." Where the strength actually came from, I don't know, but at 7:30 am on September 1, 2009, Keller was literally torn from my body and I became the mother of a stillborn son.

When Keller came out, his umbilical cord was wrapped very tightly around his neck. It was apparent that he likely died from some-sort of cord accident, whether it was pinched or just too tight. The possibility of me having a virus that got into my placenta (as evidenced by my chills and fevers during labor) was discussed as a secondary cause of Keller's death. Matt and I decided to forgo an autopsy because the cause of death was so apparent and we don't have a lot of history of genetic problems in our families. Ultimately we decided that Keller had been through enough and deserved to rest.

The next few hours are a blur. I know that my epidural was removed and I slowly regained use of my legs. We met with a hospital social worker and discussed funeral arrangements and grief counseling. Then Matt and I made a difficult decision. We wanted to see and hold our son, even if it was only for a few moments. We also allowed a photographer from an organization called, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, to take some photos of us with our son. Holding Keller was the single most difficult thing I have ever done. It was also the best moment of my life and something that I will remember forever.

Keller was a beautiful baby. He had my hands and feet, but every other feature was Matt. It was like looking into the face of a miniature version of my husband. I can only imagine how it must have felt for Matt to see himself in the face of a baby that he will never feed or rock to sleep.

Following our time with Keller, I was moved to the medical/surgical floor to recover without the sound of mothers pushing and babies crying. On my new floor, I was treated by another team of compassionate and caring nurses who helped me with my basic post-partum needs. Matt and I received visits from several friends and family and answered some phone calls. I received IV medication for a virus and we stayed over night in the hospital. We met with the social worker again to finalize the arrangements and I met with my doctor. She said that she was very sorry, encouraged me to get counseling, and scheduled a follow-uo appointment for 2 weeks later. Then we were discharged from the hospital.

Going home was tough. As I was wheeled out of the hospital, it felt like I was missing something. Somehow I was leaving without my big basketball belly and without my baby. I sobbed uncontrollably all the way home because I couldn't believe that Keller would never be home with us. He would never sleep in the room that I so carefully decorated for him. He would remain in our hearts, but not in our home. Luckily our generous and caring friends, Dan and Becky, went to our home and put all of the baby stuff in Keller's room and shut the door. While it felt somewhat like we had erased him, it made it better to come home and not see his things in every room of the house.

The days that followed were a mixture of intense sadness, moments of joy and remembering, and episodes of mental and emotional numbness. I started to heal physically and took care of myself. One thing that was extremely difficult was 3 days after Keller's birth when my milk came in. I was waiting for Matt to finish his shower when I noticed that I was dripping. While the nurses had warned me that it would happen, I could not believe that God would be so cruel as to make me endure the discomforts of lactation when I didn't have a baby to feed. It is my hope that getting past the physical effects of giving birth will allow my spirit and my emotions to heal faster. Time will tell on that one.

On September 10, just 10 days after his birth, we held a memorial service for Keller. It was a beautiful service, filled with the worship music that he loved and attended by over 150 people who already loved him. Getting through the service was difficult for Matt and I, but we are so glad that we held a public service to remember Keller and to formally say "see you later" to our precious baby. One of the hardest parts of the service was when our friends read letters that we had written to Keller. We poured our hearts into those letters and it was somehow cathartic to share our inner feelings with our friends and family in that way.

On September 12, Matt and I decided that we wanted to look at Keller's pictures that were taken in the hospital. Looking at the photos was extremely difficult for me because in some ways, those photos are really the only tangible evidence I have that Keller was here. My big belly is already going away, people are going back to their everyday lives, and Matt and I are getting stronger every day. Someday we will be able to look at those pictures and feel joy instead of intense pain. It is our hope that someday we may even frame some of the pictures so our friends, family, and future children can look at them anytime they want.

Keller Daniel Eads weighed 7 lbs, 7 oz and was 21 inches long. He will be remembered as an active baby who loved church music and his father's voice. His most active time of day was 11:30 pm and he always seemed to know when I needed a reassuring kick to know that he was okay.

In his short 9 months on earth Keller touched so many lives. So many people were eagerly awaiting his arrival and are brokenhearted that they will never know him. I am so thankful that I had as much time with him as I did. I still can't believe that my precious baby is in Heaven instead of home in my arms. I ache to hold him and feel like I will never be complete again.

People often ask me, because I have known a lot of trauma and pain in my life, if I still believe in God after all that has happened. The truth is yes, I do still believe in God. I believe that God is compassionate and merciful. I believe that God is in control and that we should praise him even in our darkest hours. I do not feel like God has targeted me and given me more pain than an average person. Sometimes I can't help but feel like God has taken a few vacation days where I am concerned, but then I remember that God never promised that we would be free from pain. He does say that he will comfort us in our pain and I believe that he gives us strength to get through even the worst situations.

As Matt and I look to the future, we are certain that we will have more children. We have so much love to give and we want Keller to have siblings. We can never replace our precious Keller, but we can move forward and live lives that would make him proud to call us his parents.

In all of this, I feel the presence of my brother, Jack Daniel Brogan, who died in 1998 at age 16. Jack has alwayys been with me, but I feel his presence most when I am being strong. I hope that Jack is proud of me as well and that he takes good care of his nephew. I will miss both Keller and Jack every day until we are all reunited in Heaven. Between now and then I want to remember them, respect them, and honor them with my actions and words. I know that they are together and watching over all of us.

To my precious baby Keller, I want you to know that being your mom is my greatest joy in life. I loved every minute of our short time together. I will remember you and love you every single day for the rest of my life. I pray that you will always know how much you were loved and wanted. Know that you will never be replaced or forgotten. I love you so much.