I found out that I was pregnant just before Christmas 2007.  It was quite a surprise, but each day I grew to love him more.   It was a long, hot summer and I felt enormous. Dylan was a great kicker-I always had a hand or foot extending out of my abdomen. Even the doctor's office staff laughed when a big foot poked out while they were measuring or listening to him. As far as pregnancy goes, it was normal, and all the tests and so on were fine and good. About a month before he was due to arrive friends threw me a beautiful baby shower. I was overjoyed at how many of my friends showed up. So our family prepared our home for him. We were so ready. Caleb and Amaya were anticipating his arrival-they couldn't wait to meet him. Amaya especially loved to feel my tummy bumping. I was about 39 weeks along, just days before our due date. Dan and I put together his swing and pack n play in the livingroom. The next day, i didn't feel him moving much. I went to the doctor's office. When several staff members couldn't locate a heartbeat, i went in for a sonogram. I have had tons of these, so i knew something was terribly wrong when his heart was still. The doctor and sono tech were silent for a moment. I asked, "he is gone isn't he"? The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry". I just lay there and cried. I was in shock, really. How could he die when he was healthy and normal just days ago? It didn't sink in, the reality of it. I was in a strange state-not denial, but it would be days and weeks till the real deep sorrow would sink in. 


So in a haze I was sent home and told to return to the hospital at 6 am to be induced into labor. I had to deliver my son who was no longer alive. That period of time i was really out of sorts. I was so shocked and just didn't know how to react. The delivery was much like Amaya's. It was very somber, though. The staff at St. Vincent was very caring and compassionate. They offered everything they could to comfort and support me, and met all my needs. I am so grateful for their help. I spent time with Dylan after I delivered him-a few short hours. I mostly just held him quietly, and checked him out. I bathed him, felt his soft hair and his skin. He looked like he was sleeping. He was bigger than Caleb, but smaller than Amaya at 7 pounds 0 oz and 20 inches long. To me he was pretty big. His hair was dark. His hands and feet were big and perfect to me. The hardest thing for me at that time was the cool feel of his skin. We said our sad goodbyes and he was taken. The last time I saw him a very kind nurse was delivering him to autopsy. I felt much deeper sadness as the hours passed. And a good word to describe what I felt was emptiness. My child was missing from my arms where he belonged. As I prepared to sleep I felt "this isn't right. my crying baby should be keeping me up tonight." I heard a crying newborn in the room next to mine-I looked into my empty arms and cried. 


I returned home and was constantly reminded of my loss. I was surrounded by all his baby stuff. Dan and I had to explain and answer the kid's questions and plan the funeral. Answering the kid's questions is the hardest. I still tear up when they ask me about him, or tell me something they remember or that they had been thinking about him. They miss their brother too. My fear about it at this time is that he will be forgotten by the world. For I knew him better than anyone else. So it is my job to keep reminding the world that he was real. So now I'm left in the aftermath. It has been over 6 months now. I don't ask why anymore, I understand the importance of mother nature. I now know I carry a gene called factor V Leiden, that makes me more at risk for blood clots and possibly caused Dylan to die from a blood clot in the placenta, umbilical cord, or in his body. I still don't know for sure, we are still waiting for autopsy results. I have mourned his death and will carry this emptiness the rest of my life. But being angry won't change reality. I am dealing with this. 


I feel a new heartbreak when I hear of other stillborn babies. I guess it happens more than I thought. I went to visit the cemetery. I couldn't see his marker because it was covered with a mound of earth moved for the next addition to the cemetery. I was overcome with emotion because it seems terrible for this to happen again to another family. I felt sad for them. When I see obituaries for babies it seems to me that it is happening too much. We have all these hopes and dreams for this child that to us is already a part of our family. And then the baby is gone, and the hopes and dreams are laid to rest along with our children. I hope that as research progresses, that less babies will die. I plan to support the March of Dimes, they do research to help prevent stillbirths. I wish there was a better system for lab testing-because my clotting condition is treatable. Dylan might have had a better chance for survival if I had taken blood-thinning drugs while pregnant. I will support and donate to research of this nature. I'll do anything I can-I don't want other mothers to endure what I did. 


I have been longing for a permanent marker for my child.  He was important to me, and deserves something lasting to mark his spot.  But The funeral and burial expenses were overwhelming on my small budget.  One day Caleb and I were in the car listening to the radio, when he heard the word "headstone" in a news story. He said innocently, "what's a headstone?' I explained that they were stone squares or rectangles that mark a person's spot in a cemetery. He says "oh yeah. Like Dylan's, but Dylan's is made of metal! (the temporary marker is plastic, but looks kind of bronze-like.) "I miss Dylan" he says quietly as his eyes well up with tears. "Me too," I say and hug him. Dylan would be 6 months old now(February 2009).


Thanks to The Dempsey Burdick Memorial Foundation, I just designed a headstone for him.  Kevin and this foundation are truly a gift-I am so thankful.  Words cannot begin to express how much peace I feel knowing his special spot will be nicely marked forever.  Thanks again from the bottom of my heart.


Rose Surma