Memories for Sarah

As a professional photographer, I’m no stranger to capturing smiles and photographing exciting, happy times in peoples’ lives. Most of my clients want me to document joyous events – those moments you will remember forever. But, occasionally my calling as a photographer requires capturing a different kind of memory. You see, I volunteer for support an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep (learn more about NILMDTS), which provides compassionate portraiture for families facing the loss of their newborn (or unborn) child. The parents often have only a few hours, or even minutes, as their child clings precariously to life. They do not get to welcome their child home, and have to say goodbye forever.

One evening I get a call from the hospital. My evening plans are forgotten as I collect details from the nurse. I discover baby Sarah will be delivered by c-section, but she has not moved in her mother’s belly since yesterday. At the hospital, I carry my photographic equipment with me through the sterile, white halls. I check in with the head nurse, and sit in the waiting room, waiting for her to tell me when they are ready. The c-section is underway. Silence permeates the empty waiting room, and I see baby Sarah’s extended family waiting; waiting for a miracle.

The staff leads me into the recovery room so I can assemble my equipment. She is still in the operating room, so I continue to wait. After what seems like forever, a nurse tells me the delivery is complete – but baby Sarah is stillborn. My heart sinks. The recovery room doors open, and a hospital bed rolls through the door. I see baby Sarah, in her mother’s arms. Both parents’ eyes are red and glistening. I hear them quietly mourning – baby Sarah was born the same day she died. Grief floods the room, filling every nook and cranny. I am sorrowful but focus on the task ahead. My soul aches for the parents as I tell them I am the NILMDTS photographer. Baby Sarah is put into my arms. She is beautiful: her skin is unmarred, curly wisps of hair grace her head; it is almost as if she is sleeping. I tell her parents how beautiful she is, and then begin photographing. With her little hat on, Sarah appears to be simply asleep. I gently unwrap the blanket, revealing Sarah’s tiny hands and feet – which I photograph as well. Once I am finished – I ask her parents if they would like to be photographed with Sarah. The answer is, “Yes.” I position Sarah in their arms so she appears to be sleeping. Through their grief, her parents caress Sarah’s petite fingers. I do my best to capture these poignant moments. Their faces are exhausted from the long ordeal. I see it is time to wrap up the session.

I have not been in the shoes of these parents. I sense their pain and witness their grief, but know that I cannot fully comprehend their anguish. No words will ease their heartache, yet I say, “I am so sorry for your loss. Your daughter is beautiful.” Gratitude fills their eyes. Each NILMDTS session changes my perspective, reminding me how precious life really is. I am honored to be have been a part of NILMDTS. It takes my calling of photography to a deeper level. Yes, I am still creating memories. But these are all Sarah’s parents will ever have. Baby Sarah’s portraits prove her existence, however brief. Sarah really was here.

Please note that names and details have been changed to protect the identity of the family. Betsy’s story was included in the book, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times, Tough People (published June 2009, Story #98).