Oliver was here. Christa's Story

Oliver was here.

Though his time in my arms was brief, his presence in my life is eternal. I carried him, nourished him, and dreamed of the life we would share. When I first saw those two pink lines, I imagined first smiles, wobbly first steps, whispered bedtime stories, and all the love that would fill our days. I never imagined that our time together would be so short.

At our 20-week anatomy scan, we learned that Oliver had a lower urinary tract obstruction caused by posterior urethral valves. The world tilted on its axis as we met with maternal-fetal medicine specialists and faced an impossible choice. After deep consideration and agony, we knew that TFMR (termination for medical reasons) was the best choice for our baby and our family. The amniotic fluid that was supposed to be surrounding him, helping his lungs develop, was trapped in his bladder. Without that fluid, his lungs could not grow. If he made it to full term, he would not be able to take his first breath. He would suffocate in my arms. Knowing this, we chose to spare him that suffering, carrying the pain ourselves instead. We took on a lifetime of pain so he didn’t have to. The weight of that decision, the complexities of our grief, and the way it places us in the baby loss community are things we navigate every day.

Every kick, every flutter reminded me that he was real, that he was mine. I sang to him, spoke to him, and held him close within me for as long as I could. He was so wanted. So loved.

The day he was born, January 8th, 2020, was both the hardest and most beautiful day of my life. I held him in my arms, memorizing every detail—his tiny fingers, his delicate nose, the way he fit so perfectly against my chest. I couldn't believe how perfect he was, despite only spending 23 short weeks in my womb. I whispered my love into his skin, pressing a lifetime of affection into those fleeting moments. And then, I had to say goodbye.

But goodbye was not the end.

Oliver is with me always, in the soft hush of the wind, in the warmth of the sun on my skin. He is in the tears that fall and the love that never fades. His name is spoken, his memory honored, his impact felt. Because of him, I went on to become a birth and bereavement doula and help others navigate the impossible. His life has impacted so many. Every birth I've attended, every loss I've supported, every family I've held—it's all because of him. He deepened my motherhood, and that is something death cannot take away.

To every mother who has walked this path, who has held their child and then had to let go—I see you. I grieve with you. And I honor the love that will never be lost. Our babies were here. They mattered. And they always will.

-Christa Burns