Note from Kolby: This diary post was created two years ago, in 2021, by Kari and is just now being released to the public in support of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. This post discusses traumatic loss and may be triggering for some. We’ve been blessed with our two beautiful children in the years since, but we will never forget our Jack. We will always remember this day, and we hope that sharing it may help someone in the future.

One week ago, I lost my son.

One week ago, I lost my son.

One week ago, I held my sleeping baby who was absolutely perfect in my arms.

One week ago, I had to kiss my son goodbye instead of saying hello.

One week ago was the worst day of my life.

I don’t know how people get through this loss

I don’t know how people get through this loss, but I guess the days keep coming.  I keep going to bed at night and waking up, praying this was a nightmare. It’s not just me. It’s my husband too. My loving husband, whose life will forever be changed because we lost our baby boy. We feel broken… We are broken.

One week ago, a nurse said your son has no heartbeat.

One week ago, I had to pack a hospital bag and go to the labor and delivery ward, knowing my son was not alive.

I prayed to God that this was all a big mistake, a misread by the ultrasound tech.

I arrived crying quietly, holding my belly, praying this was not real. I prayed to God that this was all a big mistake, a misread by the ultrasound tech. My nurse, Anna, a godsend, came into the room and sat beside me on the hospital bed. I didn’t say a word. She leaned in and hugged me, and let me cry on her shoulder. I thought to myself, how am I supposed to go through labor like this? I don’t want to do this and shouldn’t have to. I am so sad and angry I have no words for anyone.

She quietly explained to Kolby and me how everything was going to happen. She went into detail about what my body would go through postpartum and what the next 12 to 14 hours were going to be like.  I thought if there’s a definition for torture, this must be it. We slowly started to plan all the things we wanted, like pictures of his perfect hands and feet, beautiful little blue swaddle blankets, and the opportunity for my husband to cut the cord.

We went over my plans for medication and comfort. I was not prepared for labor or any relaxing techniques; why would I? I was only six months along. I wasn’t sure I wanted an epidural, but as soon as the contraction pain started, I hit my call button and told Anna I wanted one immediately.  I shouldn’t suffer through this knowing my son is not alive.

I know that as Christians were supposed to believe everything happens for a reason, but there is no reason for a perfectly healthy little boy not to make it into his parent’s arms.

I know that as Christians were supposed to believe everything happens for a reason, but there is no reason for a perfectly healthy little boy not to make it into his parent’s arms.

It’s not fair.

It’s not right.

It’s not just.

It’s not good.

I felt so sick I didn’t want to move. I was in the fetal position, covered in blankets, just trying to get an hour of sleep.

There is nothing joyful or loving or beautiful about taking away a mother’s baby.

To induce labor, I was given a medication called Cytotec. Unfortunately, my body produced a hefty side effect that they warned us about – high fevers; Or as my medical records say- drug-induced fever. We arrived at the hospital around 3 PM, and by 9 PM, my temperature was going up; the pain was getting worse, and finally the epidural was getting placed.

After the epidural and the second or third round of Cytotec, I felt so sick I didn’t want to move. I was in the fetal position, covered in blankets, just trying to get an hour of sleep. Sleep was the only way to escape my broken heart.  By 1:30 AM, I had 102 fever, and by three my fever was up to 103.2.  Most of this recollection comes from Kolby. I was too sick/tired/heartbroken to care what was happening. I had given up.

Kolby was starting to feel afraid he would lose his wife, too.

Kolby was starting to feel afraid he would lose his wife, too. He requested we call the doctor and get a better plan for the high fevers because I was genuinely miserable.  We decided to stop the Cytotec and let my body rest.

My water broke just after 5 and I delivered my perfect, beautiful, handsome baby boy at 5:43 AM on June 9th, 2021. Those dates and times are something that is etched in my brain and on my heart forever. Jack William Kallweit, we love you so much.

After I gave birth to Jack, they made us hand and feet molds, bracelets, and a memory box of his swaddles, photographs, and hospital things. We held him, memorized all his sweet little features, and said our goodbyes.

We cried, then we slept.

We cried, then we slept.

The doctor wanted to keep us overnight, but he allowed us to go home in the evening because he said, “Well, she’s a nurse. She’ll know what to do if something doesn’t go right”. I never thought this would be the moment in my life being a nurse would be in my favor, but here we are. I am grateful I didn’t have to spend another night in the labor and delivery ward listening to new babies cry as their new parents celebrate. I don’t think I could have done it.

I’m unsure where the time has gone between the moment I delivered my son and now. It has been one week, and I’m still devastated that I’m living this nightmare of not getting to spend a lifetime with him.

My therapy is travelling, so a trip is planned with my husband. I cannot imagine going through this nightmare without him by my side. I honestly wouldn’t survive. If you’re wondering how I’m doing, it’s not well. But I know my son was born perfect and will always be perfect to me. I know our journey of adding to our family it’s not over but I’m not quite sure what that looks like yet. I do know I loved my husband immensely, but I love him even more now. I loved watching him as a dad. Even though it was such a short time it was beautiful. Watching him snuggle and love on his son was incredible.

I’m angry. I’m sad. I am broken.

I mentioned Christianity earlier, and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it all. I don’t know how you go through something like this after going through the things our family has already endured and come out on the other side.

I am angry.

I am sad.

I am broken.

Also, adding to the fire, I am currently living in a body that’s like a prison. All things postpartum are supposed to feel worth it when you have a healthy living baby to care for, but when you don’t, it feels traumatic.

I have learned over the last week I am not alone.

I’m sharing this because I have learned over the last week I am not alone.

So many women, one and four, go through losing their babies. They go through the pain and suffering that this nightmare is. And if you’re reading this, and this is you, just know you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel everything. It’s okay to say the things you’re thinking out loud to someone you feel safe sharing with.  It’s OK to talk about your baby. It’s okay to yell, scream, cry, run, whatever you need to do to get through another day – another moment.

To baby Jack, I love you. I miss you.

Lastly, to baby Jack, I love you. I miss you. I miss your little hands and, your perfect little feet and your cute little toes. I miss seeing you have your dad’s nose and your little arm muscles.

I miss your burrow-y eyebrows. I miss our forever ‘s, I miss what our life was supposed to look like, but I love you so much, and I always will,

Love,

Your Momma.