Shiloh Maxwell Canfield

What follows are the first 4 days in the life of a late-pregnancy miscarriage, or stillbirth.  Not the story anyone wants to share or have, but our story it is none the less. Please pray, we are no where near healed- this is the hardest pain, the deepest sadness I have ever felt. At times I have wondered if maybe my heart would stop from the grief. There is hope in the future, but right now it is sometimes hard to feel hopeful. Minute by minute we get by. 

10/ Jan/ 2012 (day one)

Today we found out that our little baby, the one we had tried for for over 3 years and then conceived had died. At 5 months the body does not miscarry on its own, it will only do that in the first trimester, so it makes for a much more complicated process. It is pretty much like going in for a normal scheduled medical inducement, but nothing about it is normal. Words cannot describe my grief.

Sometimes I think maybe I shared to much, maybe put myself in a position of discomfort, but all in all I don't wish that things had been different on my part. If I am to share in the joys, I am to be transparent in our sadness as well. Loosing is the downside of life. Many times pain causes the growth we could not have grown of ourselves, it is what makes us more compassionate, more willing to love and slower to judge. To say that this was not a blessing would not be true. Each moment of the pregnancy since the first day I have loved my baby. I knew this child.

Death does take its toll.  It does bring sorrow, however I feel that it will grow in me whatever I nurture, it will cause growth in compassion and love or fear and bitterness. I have a choice to make, sometimes many more than several times a day.

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11/Jan/2012 (day two)

Loosing an extremely anticipated and already loved little baby is a very hard thing to do, but we didn't loose him/her. I know right where to look in heaven once we get there. No matter how sad we are, no matter the pain, my little baby is with the father who loves the best. I sense the lack, my baby is in perfect peace. Selfishly I long for the little one to be with me, but what better place to be than in the arms of a perfect father? My baby knew no sadness, endured no pain.  Still, as I open my hands and give the babe over I honestly don't feel better. I think in time I will.

God does give and take away, and His timing is perfect. I wish I had a huge amazing revelation to make this journey all worth its while, honestly though I am just sad and feeling broken and that is all I can share as of yet. Your prayers are appreciated, needed is a better word. I feel a gap, a hole.

Tomorrow I will go in to the hospital, I will be induced and the baby will be delivered. This is so different than I ever expected. I asked the doctor what the chances of a miscarriage this late in pregnancy. She said less than half a percent of miscarriages happen now. It is the most unlikely time during pregnancy she said, the highest during the first trimester, and the middle of the pregnancy is the absolute safest time, the chances of complication increase slightly at the end again. Not sure if that makes it easier or harder...it is what it is.

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12/Jan/2012 (day three)

Today is the day. I am so scared of so many things- but come what may, I will trust in the Lord. For the record though: This really sucks!

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At the hospital:

I could not have wished for a better doctor, or a more responsive and dedicated nurse. I checked in at 7:30 and induction began at 8ish. Labor lasted just around 10 hours- which was much faster than even the fastest estimation of 17 hours (or more likely 30 hours). I had geared up for the worst and however bad it was and hard, I really felt God's arms around me consistently brining peace the whole way through.

We held the baby, he was small, but incredible. His fingers and toes completely formed. Even that was easier than I was expecting. I know though that when we head home the waves of grief will start lapping in again. But for right now, I feel a moment of rest and peace.

This is the email we just sent out:

Dearest Friends and Family,

Today was the birthday of our little boy Shiloh Maxwell Canfield. Bethany had a medically induced miscarriage, after we found out on Monday that the baby was no longer alive. The doctor was shocked as were we, as miscarriage this far along only happens in less than one percent of pregnancies. We are extremely sad, disappointed and feel a weight upon us-however through this all we will trust in the Lord. We are so thankful our strength does not come from within us, as we currently have none. 

We had a hard time picking a name at the hospital today. We chose Shiloh - one of its meanings is peace, and that is very fitting, because our God is a God of peace that surpasses understanding. We don't understand why things happened this way, but in the midst of it we have incredible peace.

Love you all,

Brad and Bethany

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13/Jan 2012 (day four)

We named our little boy Shiloh, which we had never considered before, but as we sat at the hospital Brad thought of it. I knew it meant something about peace, and that seemed fitting- but it is the other meanings that we didn't know that get me now. We don't have a good word in the English language but it would be:  "Wished For", or a word that expresses supplicatory potential like, 'Oh, I wish that...' or He who is to be sent. After learning these meanings, I know that God in his mercies placed that name in our heart. On our part 'wished for' and yet one who 'was to be sent' so early on.

No one wants to go through this, no  one would choose this and I can't say how much it hurts. It will not be quick, there are no promises of when the pain will settle, I never knew the compassion that I should have for women in this situation. I was as well clueless to this kind of  pain. It isn't a sorrow that most have endured, to be induced at the hospital- many hours later to bear a baby that will never cry or breathe. This is a child who most people would unknowingly say we had not known. It is a clueless assumption though, as I have never wept so bitterly even for those I knew and held and loved on for years, for those people lived their lives and died of old age- my baby that I held for 5 months was much harder than I would ever have known to loose.

My grief comes in waves, today is much harder than yesterday. Tomorrow could be better.

To continue reading, click here:
The Days that Follow a Stillbirth: Loving Shiloh Maxwell Canfield (days 5 and 6)