Our story.

Warning: There are pictures at the end of this story that may be difficult for some. Please know we choose to share these to honor Benjamin.

2020. The year of COVID and quarantine, a year we knew we’d never forget. None of that mattered though as July of 2020 was going to bring us our first child and we were beyond excited. We spent most of our quarantine preparing the nursery and getting our home ready to welcome our child.

Being pregnant and quarantined is actually not the worst thing. Working from home in sweatpants and slippers made the pregnancy very manageable and uneventful. Except for three weeks of “morning” sickness in the first trimester, it could not have been smoother. All the ultrasounds were perfect and the proverbial milestones were met.  Our little one was growing just as he or she should.

As we drew closer to our due date we finalized all of our preparations - car seat, hospital bag, outfit for our little one to come home in, etc. It was all starting to feel so real. However, there was one small issue nagging at me - when was the last time I felt the baby move? Was it today? Yesterday? Is it normal for the baby to be less active toward the end?

It’s Monday night, June29th, and I can’t sleep. These questions start weighing heavily on me. I pick-up my phone and google everything and anything about baby movement at the end of pregnancy. I read that maybe if I drink a cold glass of water or eat something sweet, that can get the baby to move. I got out of bed, headed to the kitchen and tried it all. Nothing. I downloaded a “heartbeat detector” app on my phone - it found nothing. At that time, Jon came down to make sure I was OK. I explained everything - how I was not sure when I had last felt the baby move, how I downloaded the app and couldn’t find a heartbeat. I told myself not to make too much of that - how good could the app really be? I knew I wouldn’t rest until I heard the heartbeat. It was worth a trip to the ER to hear it.

It’s 2 am and Jon drives us to Stamford Hospital, where we were to deliver our baby once labor started. It was the longest, quietest 20 minute ride of my life. Once we arrive, masked up due to COVID, we are taken up to the maternity ward. Jon has to stay in the waiting room while I am taken back to see if they can find a heartbeat. I walk with one of the nurses into a small dark room and while standing she places the cold jelly on my belly. While I’m praying with all my might for a heartbeat, she sets the ultrasound wand on my belly (no picture, sound only). Nothing. She moves it around while trying to stay calm - “let’s try another angle” she says. Nothing. The next thing she says confirms my fears, “let me go get your husband and a different ultrasound machine”. When we arrived at the maternity ward, they told us they would only allow Jon back once he tested negative for COVID. There was no way they tested him that quickly. I knew at that moment life would never be the same.

Jon arrives and grabs my hand while I explain that they can’t find the heartbeat. At the same time, three other nurses arrive with a picture ultrasound and that confirms our worst nightmare and the most painful five words any parents can hear, “I’m sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”

Shock. I feel nothing and everything at the same time. The weight of the world has just crashed down on us. The nurses leave us and we embrace. Jon tells me that he loves me and that we will figure this out together. We call family (yes, it is about 3:30 am at this point but we need the support) and share the heartbreaking news. My Mom and her husband jump into the car and start driving north from Georgia.

What now? I figure I will have a C-Section and get this over with quickly, but no. After being told my baby died, I now am being told it is best if they induce labor and I deliver this baby. Shock. How will I ever find the strength to get through this?

After rounds and rounds of drinking a chalky liquid to induce labor with oral medication, they start the IV. About 12 hours after that, I receive the epidural. It’s 7 am July 1st, and I can feel I am ready to push. We call the nurse who confirms and by 7:30 I am laboring to deliver this angel baby. At 7:45 am, July 1, 2020, our sweet baby is born. “Is it a boy or a girl?” is my first question. “It’s a boy!”. Benjamin Joseph Cafasso - 6 pounds 7 oz and 20 inches long.

The nurse took Benjamin to be cleaned and brought him back wrapped in a blanket and wearing a knit hat. My first thought as she hands him to me is, perfection. This baby is perfect. And he is. Thankfully, even though the hospital was on lock-down due to COVID, they allowed my Mom and Jon’s Dad to come visit us and meet Benjamin. That meant the world to us.

We were able to spend the night in the hospital as a family. It was the best night of our lives. But the morning of July 2nd came all too fast and we have to say our good-byes. There is no way to describe the feeling you have, watching your child be physically taken from you for the last time. Knowing you will never see him again, in this lifetime. A piece of your heart and soul goes with him and will never be the same again.

It is true, we are not the same people we were before Benjamin came into our lives. But we are better for having him. I would give ANYTHING to have that sweet boy here. To hear him cry, laugh, watch him grow, learn who he was going to be. They say when you lose a child, you don’t just miss them at the age they passed but at every age and milestone they should have hit in the future. This journey has been unrelenting. It has tried our marriage and tested our faith and strength. But, we have learned that we have an incredible family and support system that will hold us up when we can’t do it on our own. Family is everything.

As we continue on our grief journey, missing Benjamin every second of every day, we move forward with nothing but hope, faith, and love for a brighter future. We have joined a “club” that no one wants to be apart of but we have found a community of amazing people we would never otherwise had known. If you are reading this because you too have joined this “club”, please know we are here for you.