Skip to main content

Kimber Paul Roosevelt

My husband, John, and I tried to conceive our first child for over two years. During this time of infertility we struggled with the pain of desperately wanting to be parents but not having a baby of our own. It hurt, it felt like in our hearts we were already parents but we just kept waiting for our child.
For two years we struggled with negative emotions that kept trying to dishearten us. We had to learn to fully rely on God, and with that come the acceptance of whatever He had planned for us, even if it meant we wouldn't have children. When we did learn to lean fully on Him everything else fell into place. We did not feel bitter about other women's pregnancies, and we could still find joy in every wonderful baby. It hurt not to be parents, but we woke up every day and made the decision to trust God, to trust He had a plan for us and that our struggles were not in vain. We did this for two years, so we had a lot of practice by the time that we actually became pregnant.
It was the greatest blessing in the world to be pregnant. I absolutely cherished every minute of it. For the most part I had a perfect pregnancy, there were no complications or worries at any point. My wonderful baby grew inside me and my belly swelled to accommodate. At one point we had an ultrasound with a friend and he said that it looked like a girl (but couldn't guarantee it because he was not a ultrasound tech).  We were so excited! A little girl! We named her Genevieve Lucille, after two of her great-grandmothers. We started to plan everything for our little girl. We were so excited. I remember John called us "his girls" all the time, it was so precious! Right before I turned 32 weeks we had another ultrasound with our friend and he again said that it really looked like a girl! With that final, we decided to paint the nursery. It was absolutely adorable! We painted a pink sky and green grass and then my mother hand painted gorgeous scenes from Dr. Seuss books all of the walls. Her room was wonderful, I wish I could have lived in it!
My baby shower was wonderful. My Sister and best friends planned it for me. A storybook baby shower, it was everything I had been dreaming about for almost 3 years (you do a lot of dreaming and planning when you struggle to conceive). And everything I got was beautifully pink! I always thought I would be the mom who wanted everything in neutral colors, but once I found out it was a girl I went pink and purple crazy!
We set up her room about a month before she was due. All her clothes were washed and hung in her closet. Her bedding set was washed and put in her crib. My husband even built a changing table out of pallets for her room.
We were completely ready for her at 36 weeks. All our hospital bags were packed and we were totally prepared for labor (well, as prepared as you can be the first time around).
At our 37 week appointment she had a beautiful heartbeat and I was perfect. The entire pregnancy had been perfect, we had only 3 weeks left!
Two days before she was 38 weeks, on monday September 3rd, I noticed a lack of movement in my belly. I drank a lot of sugary drinks and monitored her movements for a couple hours and become worried when she didn't move at all. I called my sister, a friend, and finally my doctor's office praying that they would all tell me that it was nothing and I was overreacting. They all said I should go to labor and delivery and just make sure everything was ok.
I called my husband and he left work and met me at the hospital. I remember praying the entire way to the hospital that she was ok, asking God to make her move. I remember realizing that she might not be ok, realizing that awful things happen to Christians. I remember the moment my heart half broke, and I prayed that God's will be done with Genevieve and that He would give us the strength to accept whatever His will was. It was the hardest prayer I've ever had to pray. Because even though I knew I wanted His will in my life, the possibility of losing my daughter to His will was so great.
The hospital was well prepared for couples like us. They led us to a small room and the nurse tried to find her heartbeat with the doppler, she couldn't. She gave a small smile and said that she would get the ultrasound machine to get a better look. She looked for the heartbeat unsuccessfully for about a minute before she was called away for an emergency. I knew then what was coming, although I just kept praying for a miracle. I begged God, asking that we could be one of those couples who experience the worst scare but come out with a wonderfully healthy baby, I prayed for an emergency c-section, that we still had time to save her. We waited for 30 minutes or so until she came back, the entire time I was gripping John's hand in a specific way, any time he tried to move I wouldn't let him change positions or text anyone with that hand. I needed his hand, and in exactly that position. I guess maybe it was the one thing I could control. She came back and looked again for her heartbeat, and couldn't find it. I remember her saying "that doesn't mean it's not there".  She left to go find the doctor on call. She left the room dim. At one point someone came in and took the ultrasound machine for another room. A couple of times, while we waited another 30 minutes or so for the doctor, we could hear the heartbeats of healthy babies around us as other women were being checked with the doppler. I had a dull ache, I knew my baby was gone. I knew she didn't have a heartbeat. I remember telling John to text my mom and sister and tell them what had happened and he said "we don't know anything yet." But I knew, I knew they should have been able to find the heartbeat. The doctor finally came in and then we waited another 10 minutes for the ultrasound machine back. She looked at our baby for what seemed like SO long before speaking. She asked us when our last ultrasound was, if we had seen any specialists, if we had been scanned by her office. Then she looked at me and said "I'm sorry Katharine, your baby doesn't have a heartbeat."
My heart shattered, it was the most devastating news I could ever have gotten. I gripped my husband's hand and I stopped talking. I knew if I talked I would fall apart. They double checked the baby's lack of a heartbeat with a radiologist and a much larger ultrasound machine. I remember the tech saying to the nurse "yep, no heartbeat" and then they looked at me with sad expressions. The nurse then moved me to a labor and delivery room. She wheeled me in a wheelchair, I looked at my feet the entire time, I did not want to catch any glimpse of happy moms with their babies or other women in labor waiting anxiously for their beautiful healthy babies to be born.
The doctor started me in inducing meds and then we waited. I said very little. John and I didn't talk about it. He called some of our family and asked my mom to bring our hospital bags to the hospital when she came. When she walked through the door she came and hugged me, and I said it for the very first time "my baby died". Oh gosh, it hurt so much, I didn't want to acknowledge it, I wanted it to go away. I sobbed in her and John's arms. I had lost my baby, the one who I had waited so long for, the one I had prayed for every single day of our pregnancy.
That night we felt on outpouring of love from so many people. Our closest friends and family came to show us their support, we are loved by so many people. Even more people supported us and uplifted us in prayer. So many people came and cried with us, wept over the loss of our child. We felt the peace of God surrounding us during our darkest hour. I struggled with the idea that I had to go through labor and deliver my child who had already died. How could I do that? How do you go through so much pain without being able to take your baby home afterwards? I can't remember when, but at some point I just stopped worrying and wondering. I just knew that I was going to do it, and that I could do it, even though it was going to be the hardest thing I'd ever done.
My closest friends and my mom stayed until after midnight. We were all under the impression that my labor would be very long so they went home to sleep.
My contractions were getting slightly worse than cramps when I tried going to sleep. My water broke around 2:00 in the morning and then we tried going to sleep again. John fell asleep right away, but I lay awake as my contractions got worse. I labored without pain meds for a few hours and then tried some IV meds that didn't help at all. I woke up John around 4:30 and asked him about an epidural, but he was too out of it to give me any real opinion. I called my mom and she said to get it, so I did. Thankfully while we waited by husband (once he fully woke up) helped me through the contractions.
It was an awful experience. The anesthesiologist took over 40 minutes to set the epidural catheter, it hurt so bad. At one point he hit a nerve and I felt spasms down my left leg, like someone had shocked me. When he finally got it set, he said he wasn't even sure it was set right. It was not a very encouraging time, and I think I ended up with 12-14 needle pokes in my back. Thankfully my nurse, Sara, was wonderful and stood in front of me the whole time and held my hands and helped me breath through the contractions. They made poor John sit in a chair the whole time (in case he passed out), and he was completely tense the whole time. When they were finally done he came to stand by me and then had to sit down because his body wouldn't work right from being tense for so long.
With the epidural in place (around 6:00 a.m. Sept. 4) I was finally able to sleep. I slept off and on for two hours. During the second hour I started feeling the contractions again but they were somewhat mild. By 8:00 I was in a lot of pain with every contraction. So much so that they had another anesthesiologist come in and check my epidural to make sure it was working, which it was. They gave me more pain meds, which didn't work, and decided to check my dilation. I was at 9 cm (the hour before I was between 2 and 3 cm). That explained all my pain, I was progressing very quickly and the epidural couldn't keep up with me. My support crew arrived about 15 minutes later. My mom, sister, Rachel (my doula), Kate, and my pastor all came in to say a prayer with me. It was beautiful, and it gave John and I overwhelming peace, God was truly by our side through everything, and we felt him. My Dad, who was working overseas, called and spoke with me, we both fell apart. I wanted him to be able to be there, to hold his grandchild,  I knew he was with us in his heart.
 Everyone left and the nurse and my midwife (who came on call that morning) said I was at 10 cm and ready to start pushing soon. John turned on our praise and worship music and he and my mom stood my my shoulders while Rachel and Heidi helped support my legs (since I had only had only a little feeling in them from the epidural). My nurse, Jordan, talked me through pushing and I pushed two sets of three 10 second pushes. On the third set she told me to stop because the baby was crowning. I stopped and Jordan went to get my midwife, Karen. She stood in front of me and I started pushing again. She immediately told me to stop, apparently she wasn't expecting my pushing to progress so quickly. She threw on her gown and gloves and got ready.
While she was readying herself the song "Forever Reign" started playing, I remember crying and singing along to the lyrics "my heart will sing, not other name, Jesus, Jesus". My heart was completely broken, but I knew I wanted God's will in our lives, and this was it. I wanted to worship Him even in our darkest hour. I praised Him in my heart and told Him, that even in this, He was enough for me, He was all I needed. John says he remembers looking down and seeing me singing and he said he fell completely head over heals in love with me all over again. It's certainly a moment of surrender we will never forget.
And so, to the words of that song, with the next push my baby was born without life at 11:00 a.m. on September 4th, 2013. The first thing Karen said was "the cord was wrapped really tight around the neck, twice." And the second thing she said was "oh, and its a boy!"
They had asked me before I started pushing if I wanted the baby on my chest right away or if I wanted to wait until the baby was cleaned up. At the time I didn't know, I said I was leaning toward holding the baby after cleaning. But, as soon as I saw him I wanted him. Karen handed him to me and I sobbed and said that his name was Kimber. A name we had chosen for a boy before we knew what gender the baby was.
He was absolutely perfect, in every way. He looked like he was going to take a breath any second, and in those first few moments, I just kept begging him to. I knew he was gone, already with our Lord, I just wanted him back so badly.
We were given a minute alone together as a family. A mother and father with their son. The name we had decided on months ago for a boy was Kimber Roosevelt. As I held him I had the overwhelming feeling that his name should be Kimber Paul Roosevelt, after my father. I couldn't explain why, it just felt right. I told John how I was feeling and he agreed without hesitation. So, that was his name, Kimber Paul Roosevelt Cunningham, our precious son.
He was 6lbs and 19.5in, and he had dark auburn hair. He was so handsome. Everyone loved him, so many people came to see us, to hold him, to grieve alongside John and I. The entire day was just an explosion of love and support from our friends and family. I greatly treasure being able to have held him for that one day, and I hope other feel the same way.
It hurt so much when we have him up. Although we knew he wasn't really with us, his body was all we had of him. I knew we had to give him up, but I didn't want to. John and I swaddled him and we, along with my mother, said one last prayer over our son. We wept as my husband prayed, just as we had prayed every night for the last nine months. Then we said goodbye to our son Kimber, not for forever, but for now.

I never thought that my child would die. It was completely devastating. As hard as it is to deal with his loss, we look back and can see how God prepared us for this as much as He could. Our two years of infertility taught us so much about the will of God and about choosing to trust in Him very day. It taught us that although we might not know what He is doing in our lives we know Who God is and know that He has a plan for us, and that all things work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose. When we lost Kimber we just stepped right back into that role. Our two years of infertility was preparation for Kimber.
It's still hurts, so much, but knowing and accepting that God is in control makes it a million times easier. We know its not fair, but we also know life is not fair. We know we won't ever understand why we lost him, but we know that God knows, and that's enough for us. We know we will never see him again in this life, but we also know that we will see him in Heaven. In the end we will spend much more time with our son, than we will ever spend apart from him. We find joy in that truth, and in that truth, we also find our healing.
It's hard being a mother and a father without our son. How can you be parents when your child is gone? It's hard thinking about how different the future that we had planned is, now that Kimber is gone. I have to remind myself that it was never supposed to be, it wasn't in God's plan.
An unexpected blessing we've had through this is that we thought we were having a girl throughout our whole pregnancy. We had an entire nursery set up for Genevieve Lucille. We had baby girl clothes, a girl car seat, girly everything! When we came home it wasn't as heartbreaking to look at the nursery, because it was never supposed to be his nursery. He was never supposed to have a place here, he was always supposed to leave us. We still call the nursery Genevieve's room, because it was never his. Although it hurts that he doesn't have a future here on earth, it does hurt a little less because we didn't dream about his future for 9 months. We dreamed about Genevieve's.  I feel like God gave us that backwards blessing to make it easier on us. He left us with the rainbow of a promise that He will not always leave our arms empty and our hearts broken.

Over five weeks ago at exactly 11:00 our beautiful son was born into heaven. Kimber was the love of ours lives, and its very hard to not have him with us.

We must continually choose to serve our God and to trust in Him. I know I certainly don't always feel like it, I don't feel like He is close to me at all times. But, just as I choose to love my husband every day, I choose to serve God every day. Some days my heart hurts and it resists the knowledge that my mind knows. I must consciously choose to trust in God, for emotions are fleeting, we cannot trust them to always fulfill our relationships.

We miss our son so much, and long for him. But the peace of God is with us, and we choose to put our trust in Him each day. We accept that, for whatever reason, it was in God's plan for our son to die. We know that He knows what's its like to lose a son, and He comforts us. His son was also born to die, He knows exactly how we feel. God knew this storm was coming, and He prepared us the best He could for it. In all things we choose to love Him and praise Him.

Comments

  1. I love you and Kimber. You have and continue to amaze me.

    ReplyDelete
  2. It was beyond special to hold your beautiful Kimber. It was certainly a blessing. I'm honored you shared him with us. I remember holding him and thinking how prefect his lips were and what a perfect blend, of you two, he was! Your trust in God on your journey is an amazing testimony! Thank you for sharing it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You know what? I thought the same thing about Genevieve's nursery. There was never a place in your home for Kimber, because he has a place with God ready for him.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Adoption Hurts

  "Is adopting her harder than you thought it would be?"      I think, when I weighed the options back in 2021, before I brought my 12 year old daughter home, I knew how hard it could be. I accepted that it could be brutal. But, honestly, I hoped it wouldn't be. I hoped maybe, just maybe, trauma hadn't sunk deep into her bones and colored everything she did.  Some people may have different perceptions on how prepared I was, since I did jump into it pretty quickly. But I think that I did acknowledge, and accept, how hard it could be. But the reality of life is that there is no real way to know how hard anything actually is until you're living it. Meaning, I knew how hard it could be...but had no idea what that level of hard would actually feel like.  Because it hurts. Raising a broken teenager hurts. It hurts my daughter. It hurts me. It hurts our relationship. It just hurts.  But just because something hurts...does that mean we aren't called to do it?  I t

Through Him

  I was raised by a Christian father who, though far from perfect, loved his family. I had a front row seat to his relationship with my mother and loved being his daughter. Through him I learned that I wanted to find a man like him in all the best ways. I married my first and only boyfriend when I was 19 and spent 13 years growing up with him. Through him I learned that I was a valued (and treasured) partner and that life is unbelievably special when you adventure together...and when you love unconditionally. A doctor met me one time and performed a dozen tests on my body. He was unkind and judgmental and his indifference made me cry in shame. Through him I learned that I might not ever be able to have children. My only son was born after years of infertility. He never took a breath and his death took my entire life by storm. Through him I learned that joy and grief can exist side by side...even when, or especially when, it is hard to find the joy. My father-in-law loved two children w

I’m so sorry, John…

John, I know you’re probably busy living your very best life in Heaven. I can’t imagine that earthly happenings matter much to those who’ve left us.  But I want it to matter anyway. I want to imagine that you can still care.  I’m sorry that I stopped reaching for you in the middle of the night. It was a slow and painful process of retraining my brain and body. After 13 years you just weren’t there anymore. And I had to remind myself over and over and over again. “He’s dead, Katharine. Dead. You’ll never find him when you reach for him anymore…one day you’ll have to just stop reaching”. And one day I did. I can’t remember when it was. When muscle memory and instinct faded away. But suddenly I didn’t have to remind myself anymore…my body finally accepted that you’d never be there anymore.  I’m sorry I got rid of your things. Your books and projects and broken treasures. You had such plans and dreams for all these things in your garage. And I threw them away. I sobbed and yelled at you fo