Meet Our Board President: Christopher Overtree, PhD

My name is Chris Overtree and I am a child and family psychologist who has been training and practicing in Western Massachusetts since 1996. I was recently the Executive Director of a large child-serving non-profit before returning to my primary work as a psychologist. Prior to this, I was the Director of the Psychological Services Center, a low-fee community mental health center at UMass Amherst, where I was also a lecturer in Clinical Psychology. I now work with the College of Education at UMass Amherst and operate a private clinical practice in Amherst MA.

My clinical work involves helping children and parents who struggle with anxiety, depression and navigating the educational system find the support and tools they need to thrive. My advocacy and research have focused on the systems of care for children and families as well as schoolwide mental health supports for children. My recent work running a large and financially complex non-profit organization taught me the intricacies and challenges of this sector. It is a privilege to join the Empty Arms Board of Directors and I look forward to seeing this amazing organization grow and thrive.

Meet our Bilingual Peer Companion: Gloria Augosto!

1) Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I discovered Empty Arms after my first loss five years ago. I remember just not believing how many people go through so deep and inexplicable pain. That's when I decided to be part of Empty Arms. This is a place where we lift each other with light and love. The spirit of our babies are always with us.

2)   What motivates you to stay involved?

I stay involved because I could not imagine someone going through this process alone. This journey is one full of many waves and is always good to have someone that can be there to hold us when we need to.

3)   What do you do for a living?

I'm a doula, student midwife, and an Empty Arms bedside companion in hospital at the time of loss. I am also ready to facilitate their bilingual support group as soon as we get it back in session. And I'm a mama of 9, five present here in this world with me and 4 spirit babies. 

4)   How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

I spend my time reflecting in the garden, with my five kids, doing music, doing postpartum healing ceremonies, and going to births. 

5)   It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

I want to share a story about a nurse. One time I went to the hospital to be a bedside companion for a family that lost their baby. We made a circle that to do a prayer and I heard the voice of that nurse praying as well for me. That was something I will never forget because she just stepped out of her nursing role to just be human and that's what is all about. 

6)  What are YOUR HOPES for this year? I hope to keep helping more families since I'm finishing Midwifery School this year. I just want to keep evolving and just continue to be a vessel for healing. It is an honor to be where I am today.

Meet Our Group Facilitator: Charlotte Capogna-Amias

Charlotte Capogna-Amias (she/her/hers) is a queer parent to two living children (one she gave birth to and one her wife gave birth to) after experiencing two, recurrent pregnancy losses and nearly three years of infertility. Over the past three years, Charlotte has  co-facilitated the Miscarriage and Early Pregnancy Loss Support Group and the Subsequent Choices Support Group. Charlotte is currently co-facilitating the Infertility & Loss Support Group. Charlotte is trained in the Group Peer Support model (GPS) and has a Masters in Social Justice Education. Charlotte is the Assistant Director of the TRIO Student Support Services Program at Westfield State University and lives in Florence with her family and menagerie of animals.

What are Babies For? By Samantha Wilde

What are Babies For?

When I received the news thirteen weeks into a pregnancy that the baby I carried had Trisomy

18, the most common of the rare chromosomal abnormalities, and the one dubbed “incompatible

with life,” I had to figure out what to do. But this was much more than a logistical problem. It

was, in fact, a spiritual problem.

Because I carried a baby who could die in utero and at any-time, and because this baby likely

would not survive birth were she to make it that far, and if she did survive birth would

statistically only live a few hours, the meaning of pregnancy radically altered.

Think of the “typical” pregnancy. It is fraught with emotion and expectation, of course, but it’s

generally assumed that there will be an outcome: the birth of the baby. Mothers prepare

themselves. Buy clothes. Decorate a nursery. Friends ask after the mother and everyone waits

excitedly for the moment when they meet the baby.

I did not meet my baby. And what is a pregnancy if it is not about a baby you can meet in nine

months? What is a child, if it is not someone you could watch grow up?

Larger and larger questions came to my mind in the morning I received the baby’s diagnosis.

What would it be like to have others ask after the baby and know she would never meet their or

my expectations—these expectations that she would live and breathe and wear some clothes I

bought for her?

I wrestled all that day, desperate for an answer of what to do in the immediate sense. Because

while I was pregnant, I would not have a child. Not one to hold and nurse, not one to eventually

nag and fight with. What do you do with a baby in utero who is there and on their way out?

I needed an answer. No one else seemed to have one for me. I experienced, as many others have,

a bleak silence in the face of such a diagnosis. Few know what to say and so say nothing at all.

The loneliness is unbearably long. Though I am a minister, even in my communities of faith,

nothing could reach me, though I say honestly that nobody tried.

The answer that came to me was simply this: that I would love the baby. That was all. That I

would love her. For the moment and the day. For as long as she was with me. For as long as I

was alive. I realized that I did not have any other choice. That my only power was in my choice

to love her, to love her just as she was.

Because of the nature of Trisomy 18, different in many ways than 21, there was no wondering if

she could make it or simply live differently. The doctor confirmed through ultrasound that her

brain was slowly filling with fluid. My choice was not to fix her. She was unfixable. My choice

was only to love her. And I did. And I do.

And that realization illuminates for me the spiritual kindness that we can offer to ourselves and

all who lose pregnancies, babies and children. What are babies for? Are they for us? Are they for

our own happiness? Do we have them so we have someone cute to dress? Or so we can impress

others?

We know none of that is true. Children are for themselves. As Kahlil Gibran so beautifully said,

“Our children are not our children. They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.”

The layers of expectation we put upon our children is tremendous but only clearly seen inside of

the loss of one. Even a living children will not satisfy us or keep us happy or fulfill all our

expectations. And a child who is not even here—even less so.

It is a profound and devastating lesson that breaks the heart to expand it. But it is a truth of life.

There are no guarantees. I do have living children and to love them is to know that their lives do

not belong to me nor can I write the story of how long they will live.

I have a dear friend who lost a son at five years old. Because he was born with an condition that

was known to lead to such an outcome, my friend did not parent for the future. As so many of us

do, she did not parent for graduation day or for future grandchildren. She parented for the

moment. For each moment.

This is the lesson of spirituality we would pay to learn on a 10-day silent retreat. Delivered so

ruthlessly as in loss it comes unwelcome and cruel. The spiritual treasure remains, however

much we may howl, grieve, and despair over our loss. To love anyone in the moment is all we

ever have. The “future” of our children is a mirage. We may love to believe in it, but we cannot

know it with any certainty.

What I did not realize in that moment when I decided to simply love my Trisomy 18 baby, was

that I was doing the yoga of grief, of parenting, of life. The yoga of present moment. Do we love

for the future? Well, we must be taught then to love for the now. Do we have kids for the future?

Well, we must learn that our kids are only here now.

In romantic relationships, how clearly we see this: I will love you if you stick around. I will love

you if you fulfill my wants. I will love you if you love me. But parenting is monastic training

that rattles the whole spiritual house. That is not what love is or what love does. If we love, it is

simply because we long to, need to, want to, and can do nothing else. We cannot control what

comes back to us or the condition of the one whom we love. Ultimately, we love for its own

sake. This is a deep practice and a true one.

Perhaps you have learned it, too.

The other day my friend who lost her son and has a living daughter wondered how to parent both

children—one on the earth and one not. How do we walk through any of this? How do we parent

and why? In the end, we must lay down our own agendas. Our children will ask for exactly what

they need. That we love them and let them go. That we love them and accept them as they are.

That we love them though they disappoint us heartbreakingly. That we love them though they

cannot ever be what we hope—perfectly safe, well and alive forever and ever in our arms and on

the earth.

But maybe in the practice of loving we learn to meet them where they are, wherever that is.

Because love is both the most powerful and most invisible force, it may also be the secret to

what our hearts so long for. To love and never lose may simply be to love and keep loving. To

love and never lose may simply be to become the one who can keep loving whatever the

outcome may be. Love doesn’t depend on outcomes, of course. What the heart needs to heal is

the love beyond circumstances. And this is the love our losses have gifted us with. For me, it is a

long steep climb to get close to the goodness of that thought, but I take it step by step. May we

each hold the treasure of that love as close to us as our breath.

Samantha Wilde is author, minister, yoga teacher, mother and mentor to mothers. Find her at

https://thesamanthawilde.com , join her for her annual Gathering of Mothers Workshop, reach

out for mentorship, spiritual support and yoga education. She loves to be in connection with

other mothers.

Community Spotlight: Veronica Lee

Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I first found Empty Arms when I was getting my undergraduate degree in Public Health at UMass Amherst, where I worked alongside Carol and Lisa as one of their interns. My experience working with this organization helped solidify what I truly wanted to pursue within the reproductive healthcare world. Now, I support EABS as an assistant, coordinating emails, calendars, and all that jazz. 

2)   What motivates you to stay involved?

The community of EABS is something so special, safe, and cared for. Each person involved in the organization, whether staff, interns, bereaved parents, community members, donors, or an intersection of them all, brings such warmth and acceptance. After you are introduced to such a wonderful group, it is impossible to leave. 

3)   What do you do for a living?

I wear many hats! Aside from my position with EABS, I work as a birth and postpartum doula & I am a counselor for folks receiving termination care, whether electively or for medical reasons. 

4)   How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

I constantly am in awe of how much I love the work that I do - people remind me so often how rare that is for someone who is just 23 years old. Although my work really is fun for me, I also enjoy adventuring with my dog Nell, hiking/camping through the Green Mountains in VT, and rewatching "Friends" episodes (anxiously waiting for the reunion episode).  

5)   It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

Although their presence is horrible, I get a good laugh out of encounters with anti-choice protestors.

6)  What are YOUR HOPES for this year?

My hopes this year are to begin fostering dogs (if I can summon enough willpower to foster without adopting every puppy) and to spend more time with my family who I did not get to see much through the pandemic. 

Community Spotlight Series: Emy Collins→

1) Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I got connected with Empty Arms very soon after my son, Bash, died in November of 2018. When I first met Carol, she said she could tell I was very loved because of the number of people who reached out on my behalf. I knew the moment I met Carol for the first time in the super cozy Empty Arms office that I was more likely to survive this devastating loss with people like her by my side. It was only about two weeks after Bash’s death that I went to support group for the first time. I haven’t looked back since. 

2) What motivates you to stay involved?

Bash motivates me. My living child motivates me. I’m motivated by my deep desire to figure out how to make meaning of my loss, and our collective losses. Being involved with Empty arms soothes a part of my soul that few other things can reach. It also gives me purpose and helps enormously in my healing process. I believe I have a lot to offer other bereaved parents as someone who experienced this loss as a single, low-income, woman of color. I’m drawn to caring for my community, and Empty Arms allows me to do that in a way I never imagined possible.

3) What do you do for a living?

I’m currently a full-time college student, so I’ve drastically cut back on my “for a living” work. Up until the pandemic shut schools down, I wrangled children at a non-profit school-aged childcare program, had a housecleaning business, and worked with an incredibly talented catering company. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to return to a couple of these jobs by this summer. For now, I nanny some really fun little humans. Recently, I started doing bedside companion work with Empty Arms. I knew very early on in my loss journey that I wanted to be a bedside companion, and when Carol approached me with the offer I jumped at the chance. It’s really hard work, but even more so, it’s really important work. I feel honored to be in the position to offer my support and experience to other loss families in my community.

4) How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

At the beginning of quarantine, I taught myself how to embroider and I really enjoy that. I’m also really good at it. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time snuggled up watching movies with my fiance, daughter, and our impossibly cute cat. I love to cook, and in an attempt to spend less money on takeout, I’ve been making some of our favorite restaurant foods. School takes up a good deal of my time, but I try to get outside, read for fun, and make art as much as possible. We love to spend time with our extended family, and we’re hopeful that it’ll be much safer to do that more often in the coming months. 

5) It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

I can’t think of one story in particular, but I love laughing with my Empty Arms family; it’s healing. I’ve got a pretty twisted sense of humor and can literally joke in any situation, so it’s not hard for me to laugh in meetings or during private conversations about our babies. There’s one fellow loss mama who I like to joke with about how sassy and troublesome Bash and her baby would’ve been. We’re certain the two of them would be the kids causing all kinds of trouble on the playground and at birthday parties. 

6) What are YOUR HOPES for this year?

My biggest hope for this year is that we’ll get to a point where it’s safe enough to return to some level of normalcy. I miss physically being with people something awful! I also really hope to continue to learn and grow as a companion, a friend, mother, partner, and person in general. This year, I also want to figure out how to memorialize Bash more publicly. Overall, I want us to all find more joy and peace throughout this year, and always.

Community Spotlight Series: Bevely Maldonado

Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I FIRST HEARD OR EMPTY ARMS BACK IN 2006 AFTER MY STILLBIRTH. BACK THEN EMPTY ARMS HELD A FEW MEETINGS A MONTH WHERE YOU COULD JOIN AND SHARE WITH OTHER PARENTS YOUR GRIEF/ STORY. THAT'S WHEN I MET CAROL AND EMPTY ARMS WAS JUST BEGINNING.

What motivates you to stay involved?

THE FACT THAT I HAD SO LITTLE SUPPORT DURING MY LOSS AND WANTING TO GIVE THAT TO OTHERS BECAUSE I COULD RELATE MORE THEN MANY WITH THEIR PAIN AND SUFFERING. ALSO IN MEMORY OF MY DAUGHTER, GIVING BACK IN HER MEMORY.

What do you do for a living?

I CURRENTLY WORK FOR CATHOLIC CHARITIES AS A CASE WORKER HELPING TO HOUSE THE HOMELESS.

How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

I'M A MOM....I DON'T HAVE MUCH PERSONAL TIME LOL... IF I DO HAVE A MOMENT TO MYSELF... I ENJOY QUIET TIME OR MAYBE CATCH UP ON A MOVIE.
I LOVE SPENDING TIME WITH MY CHILDREN, HANGING AROUND THE HOUSE DANCING, TRAVELING, OR DOING ACTIVITIES OUTDOORS.

Community Spotlight Series: Charlotte Capogna-Amias

Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I first connected with Empty Arms in 2015 after I had my first pregnancy loss. The midwifery practice I was working with told me about Empty Arms after I found out at 11.5 weeks that my pregnancy had ended. I had never attended a support group before, but I was deeply needing support from people who "got" what the experience was like, firsthand. I will never forgot that first Miscarriage Support Group that I attended with Lexi Walters Wright as the facilitator. She was so kind, thoughtful, and sensitive to the needs of the group. I truly felt held, understood, and validated in my experience. It was deeply healing. I attended that group again over time and also the Subsequent Choices Support Group when I was pregnant with my son.

As time went on, I knew I wanted to give back to the organization. I contacted Lexi when a call went out that they were looking for new board members to ask her more about her experience and she gently nudged me in the direction of becoming one of the support group facilitators. I have been co-facilitating the Miscarriage/Early Pregnancy Loss Support Group for a couple of years now and have also co-facilitated the Subsequent Choices Support Group. In the coming months, I'll be co-facilitating a new group for people who have experienced loss and infertility. This is a topic that is near and dear to my heart and I feel so honored to do this work.

What motivates you to stay involved?

As we often say at Empty Arms, "We wish you didn't need us, but we're so glad you found us..." I wish no one needed this organization, because I wish no one had to go through the devastation of losing a child and/or pregnancy. Still, I am so grateful to be affiliated with such a phenomenal organization with such caring and committed staff, volunteers, and interns. I can say with all honesty that my work with Empty Arms energizes me. I realize that might sound strange when our work centers around an experience that is often associated with deep sadness and grief, but it feels so meaningful to be able to offer myself and my skills as a facilitator and empath. Giving back in this way fuels me and I feel incredibly honored to be trusted to hold peoples' stories and experiences in the vessel of our support groups.

What do you do for a living?

I'm the assistant director of the TRIO Student Support Services Program at Westfield State University. The TRIO Program is a comprehensive academic, career, graduate school, financial and personal support program for students who are low-income, first-generation college, or students with documented disabilities. I love my job! I work with incredible colleagues and students. Plus, we work with students until they graduate so I get to form really meaningful mentoring relationships with them. I'm also a mum to my two wonderful living children: my ten-year-old, Adelaide, and my almost-four-year-old, Linden.

How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

I spend my personal time hanging out with my sweet family, which includes the aforementioned kids, my wife, our cat, and our five chickens. What do I do for fun? So many things! I love to read (especially historical fiction, memoirs, or books with a spiritual or social justice bent), listen to podcasts (I consume them like they are my J-O-B), watch films and shows, create art and decorate, and spend time in nature. I can often be found outside gardening, going for long walks and hikes, canoeing, and swimming. I love traveling (oh how I miss it!) and going on adventures to places I have never been before such as museums, restaurants, cities, and beautiful spots in nature. I also love to dance and sing (though I'm not necessarily good at dancing and I'm shy about singing by myself... working on caring less about both)! I also meditate, run most mornings, and do yoga... I will admit that I don't necessarily find those practices "fun," but gosh, they do make me feel good. Hanging out with my closest friends also brings me so much joy. I don't know where I would be without them.

It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

It is probably surprising that we DO sometimes laugh in our support groups! It just goes to show the complexity of being a human and how the experience of loss can often make us "feel all the feels." I remember sharing in one Subsequent Choices Group some of the (rather superstitious) things I did when I was pregnant with my son in an attempt to put out to the universe that I really wanted to keep my son. One example I shared was that I slept snuggling this hard, wooden fertility doll I had gotten on a trip abroad, literally every night, while I was trying to conceive and was pregnant with him. Many people nodded and then we took turns sharing all the things others had done with a similar "plea" in mind. We were laughing about our efforts and it felt so validating! I wasn't actually all that crazy for spooning a fertility doll every night (though maybe I had taken the original intent of the fertility doll a bit to the extreme)!

What are YOUR HOPES for this year?

Good question! I find I don't often stop and reflect on my hopes and goals, so it's always good to take a moment to do that. I think my biggest hope for this year is that our country will shift to a better place with the COVID-19 pandemic and that most people will be able to be vaccinated so that we can eventually be able to do all the things we miss from life pre-pandemic (and of course, so that fewer people get sick). At the same time, I want to plant a hope that some of the surprising silver linings from the pandemic stay with us beyond this time. For me, those silver linings include the ease that working from home offers, slowing down, driving less, and being grateful for what I have, and expressing my gratitude freely.

Meet Our Peer Companion, Dianna Martin

1) Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I learned about EABS in December of 2014 when my best friend lost her daughter during delivery. I wish I could say I never dreamed I would be part of the group myself, but I did dream it. I wrote it off as something I was trying to process while helping my friend through her grief and the process of being in a higher risk pregnancy a year later. In April 2016 I lost my daughter to complications related to her Down Syndrome diagnosis just 38 hours after birth. It wasn’t until this time I realized how beneficial this group is. It quickly became a passion. Two years after my loss I helped to create the Syrup Stampede. I am also finding my way in companioning new families.

2) What motivates you to stay involved?

Losing a child is very life defining. There’s no way to recover and many times you have to claw your way out of your grief and despair. Unexpected triggers and waves will always be present but EABS helped me figure out how to deal with it. It helped me to see those waves would soften. A couple of weeks ago EABS mama were talking about songs that reflected our experience. Home by Phillip Phillips describes what EABS has done for me. I want to help others also figure out, that despite this horrible loss, we can help you feel at home again.

3) What do you do for a living?

I am a Registered Nurse at the D’Amour Cancer Center. I infuse Chemotherapy and blood products to people going through cancer care.

4) How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

In my spare time, I play a lot of legos with my 8 year old son. I play teacher’s assistant on Wednesdays when I am home with him. When we are able, we like to go on bike rides and take hikes with our 60 hound mix. We are lucky to have a backyard that abuts a nature reserve so hiking and discovering make us smile.

5)It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

While creating the Syrup Stampede we had a difficult time getting donations and services that fit our budget. I think we got a few pitty donations when people would hear our stories. When we figured this out we joked about using our card. We labeled it the DBC (dead baby card). It’s one of those things you can’t use or laugh at unless you possess the card yourself. But hey, if you were handed a card, play it to your advantage.

6. What are YOUR HOPES for this year?

My biggest hope is to find a way to educate the health care professionals to listen more to the concerns and fears of moms. We hear too many stories about how moms voiced concerns regarding their pregnancy yet felt dismissed by their providers, especially in our POC/minority groups.

Community Spotlight Series: Lisa Hamilton

1)    Could you share your connection to Empty Arms and how you first discovered this organization?

I met Carol many years ago when we both had young families that happened to be in the same classes at the same school. We found that we had a great deal in common. It was a few years before I understood what Carol did and how she, “made up” her job! I volunteered the first year of the Syrup Stampede and I fell in LOVE with this community! I am an end of life doula and also a bereaved parent and when 1 of the TWO employee positions at Empty Arms needed filling, I was fortunate enough to come on board! Yes, you did read that correctly! Empty Arms has 2 employees in total encompassing 1 full time position!

2)   What motivates you to stay involved?

There are so many reasons! First, Hannah and Lucy are my star babies that I cannot hold like my earthly babies. The work that I am honored to do for Empty Arms helps me feel more connected to Hannah & Lucy.
Next, I was alone in my pain and the toll of carrying that burden caused me 18 years of suffering. When I am bedside with a bereaved family or facilitate a support group, I feel immeasurable gratitude to be of service to them.
And lastly, I hold hope for every single person we serve and there are so many. This community safety net needs all of our connected hands in order to lift up families. I am still making new connections to help strengthen our grasp to one another. It fills my cup to do this valuable work, to say the least.

3)   What do you do for a living?

I currently work with Empty Arms as the Project Coordinator and Development Director; I’m a bedside companion and I facilitate support groups: Twin Loss Support Group &  I co-facilitate the Miscarriage and Pregnancy Loss Support Group. I work far less in my end of life job right now because of concerns for safety with the pandemic. My work brings me into clients’ homes and that is just not possible right now. I look forward to providing that service to families again in the future! I also run mindfulness meditation groups for sexual assault survivors and hope to return again later this year.

4)   How do you spend your personal time and what do you like to do for fun?

Plants and I are inseparable. In my home, the indoors and outdoors gets quite blurry! I take walks in the woods and long, slow runs to process my thoughts. Yoga and meditation keep me grounded. I love to sing and dance and I miss live, raw music so terribly! My teenagers and I are working from home together and they are not psyched about hearing me break out into song or catching me kicking up my heels in the living room to my own impromptu dance party, so that’s fun! I also love to coach Girls on The Run and this March will be my 12th season! My husband and four living children keep me humble, grateful and full of joy. My three boys (24, 21 & 17) nudged me into dystopian & science fiction again (I liked it as a teen) when they were in middle school and I can’t stop reading this genre! My 13 year old daughter loves dogs more than life itself so we have been watching dog & puppy videos all quarantine long and it has been the greatest source of joy and giggly fun! We have an 11 year old fluff named Birdie, who truly is LEARNING NEW TRICKS! Dogs will save us all.

5)   It’s odd to some that we share tears and laughter in this line of work! Any funny stories or anecdotes you’re willing to share?

I recently companioned bedside with a family and the birthing person had just been to the salon to have their hair, nails, and eyelashes done. Hours later they had not expected to be taken by ambulance to the hospital with a baby born too soon to survive. I was holding the baby in my arms and noticed something on his perfect head that seemed out of place. The parent reached over and picked it up and put it in her hand to inspect it. She realized it was a large clump of her eyelash extensions and decided to look in the mirror for the first time in 30 hours. Hysterical laughter gave way to tears and then more laughter. We laughed so hard and took so many ‘Glamour Shots’ while they held their baby boy. We both ugly-laugh-cried right through our masks and down our faces! This parent and I still text these pictures back & forth and all the while, thinking about the relief of laughter amidst such heartbreak.
As a very important aside not to be ignored or forgotten, working alongside Carol McMurrich is pretty phenomenal! You never know when that gal will crush the workday tension by breaking into song and host her own impromptu dance party too! Laughter, song, & dance heals!

6)   What are YOUR HOPES for this year?

I hope for safe face to face time with all the people that I sorely miss without any barriers between us or fears of illness!

Holding Space for Fathers

When Robert Croteau enlisted in the Marine Corps in 2008 at the age of 19, he probably never imagined that twelve years later he would be sitting in a circle of emotionally raw men, some wiping away tears, helping to build a program for grieving fathers at Empty Arms. Yet that’s exactly where he is: in the midst of a social work program at Elms College, Robert is completing an internship with Empty Arms that focuses on building programs specifically for fathers. Robert’s story is one that involves several major life changes and some serious attention to the change he was able to make in the world. We at Empty Arms are so happy to have him as part of our team. 

Here is Robert with his new daughter Chloe, who is Logan’s little sister.

When he finished high school, Robert went right into the Marines, where he worked as an aviation supply specialist with one tour in Afghanistan. Shortly after coming home, in 2012, he met the woman who would soon become his wife, Melissa. Several years later they discovered they were expecting a baby, and they couldn’t have been happier. They planned a wedding and got married, excited for the life they would be building together. 

Except that all did not go as planned. Midway through her pregnancy, Melissa went for a routine doctor’s appointment where it was determined that their son, Logan, had passed away. Robert remembers, “I had a new job as a dispatcher, and I had just come off a 16 hour shift. I almost didn’t go to the appointment-- I was exhausted-- but I really wanted to be part of everything so I made myself go. I am so grateful I did... “ When they got the news about Logan, Robert remembers not knowing what to do. “I picked up the phone and called my mom, who worked at the hospital. I couldn’t even get the words out. I just said, Mom, I need you, and she came.” 

The next few days were emotional agony as Melissa was induced and delivered Logan. Robert recalls, “I did all the funeral arrangements, I felt like I had to as the male, as the father, but I also felt  like I had to do it so my wife didn't have to do it. It was still difficult for me but I felt like I would rather take that hit than have her take it”. Things became even more complicated when several days later, Melissa developed a blood clot in her leg and had to be rushed back to the hospital. It seemed their nightmare was going on and on. 

As the couple struggled through the next few months, and into the next year, Robert describes the challenges of being a grieving father: “As the father in this society people don’t talk to you. They give you the space you want, they may check up on you, but there’s no in-depth talk about your baby or your loss. For example, we stayed at my parents house for a couple of weeks afterwards, but even when they came home from work it wasn’t like we talked about anything specific-- they made us food and took care of us, but we didn’t talk about our feelings. I feel like the female counterpart, their friends ask about their emotions, they pry it out of them somehow, and I don’t think that happens with men.”

Certainly Robert is not alone in this observation. Many of the men we serve at Empty Arms describe the same isolation, of friends not knowing what to say or how to treat them in the wake of loss. Reactions can range from totally ignoring the loss, to saying hurtful things to the father that can be difficult to ignore or repair. Robert also shares that it was difficult for him to express how he was struggling. “I think probably from my experience in the Marines, - any physical or mental injury, you didn’t report those things, you didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to acknowledge I was struggling-- I wanted to show, I’m ok, I can deal with it.” Yet his heart was hurting. 

While his wife, Melissa, attended Empty Arms meetings, Robert didn’t feel inclined to go with her. He shares, “Society doesn’t treat us the same- we’re expected to not have as many emotions and get over it faster. That’s from my own experience. The people I got the most acknowledgement from were the various women in my life-- my female boss, my wife, my mother. My wife’s friends would ask “Is Robert OK?” but they never asked me”. The men in my life supported me in other ways -- my father started a GoFund me so that we wouldn’t have to use our wedding money on the funeral, and my father in law helped to pay for the headstone. 

Robert was by no means alone, yet it was hard for him to know who to talk to-- or how. 

Several years passed, during which Robert continued to work as a dispatcher and then changed jobs to work as a janitor in a school. Yet something was missing. Robert shares, “I wanted to feel good about the work that I do. I’ve always wanted to help people my entire life-- my sister, who is seven years older, is a nurse. I knew I wanted to be like my sister and help people. I wasn’t interested in nursing, but I wanted to improve the quality of life for other people. At first I wasn’t quite sure how-- and I wanted to wait until I knew what I wanted to do to use the GI Bill to go to college. But then, as I was working menial jobs after the loss, I thought-- now is the time I’m going to do something with this: I realized that I wanted to help families and individuals after their loss. I didn't have a lot of support for me, and it was a subject I am passionate about.  My original thought was to be a psychologist, to help people work through grief, but when I talked to the school, they said, I think you’d be more interested in social work.”

It is as part of that social work program that Robert circled back to Empty Arms, where he has trained as an Empty Arms facilitator and has worked to develop a curriculum for his Father’s Support Group, which is halfway through its first session. Unlike most Empty Arms groups, which are drop in, this group is a closed group: meaning that a group of 8 men signed up for the group and committed to attending six sessions together. This known group of participants creates an extra layer of safety and allows participants to develop a shared understanding that carries over the sessions. Together with Carol, Robert has found the group to be incredibly powerful.  “It’s doing so much for these dads. As weird as it seems-- when they’re telling stories and getting things off their chests and they’re connecting with each other--it makes me happy. They’ve found that connection and they know that they’re not alone anymore. It makes me feel good that I have the strength to be the facilitator of that group. When they’re telling their stories, and they say something I can relate to I find myself wanting to smile-- they’re getting it out and you know that it’s cathartic. This is really good work we’re doing right now.” 

How right he is. 

Creating this designated space for fathers feels very powerful. Says one father who’s involved with the group, “I’m honored to be sharing in this newly formed Father’s Group. While we’ve only met a handful of times to date, I really appreciate getting to connect with other men who have been in similar circumstances and are also navigating infant losses.  Through our presence and participation in this group, we are there in support for ourselves and for one another.  In contrast to more general support circles, this fathers group has an added dimension of being able to talk through our losses and shared experiences with other men - something that I’ve been finding incredibly valuable.  I’m looking forward to the remaining sessions that we have scheduled. Connecting with others in similar shoes is healing for me and I’m hopeful that our discussions will be beneficial to other families, and particularly fathers suffering similar losses, in the future.” 

As an organization and as part of a shared society we have always been aware that mens’ experiences are different, yet we’ve always served men successfully in our larger circles. It has been very impactful to see how mens’ sharing has changed when they are in a circle with just other men: it’s somehow deeper, and more honest. Empty Arms is so pleased to be offering this new group, and Robert’s story is emblematic of how our programs expand here at Empty Arms: community interest, combined with community need and willing participants creates new services. Robert shares how much he’s benefited from being part of the group as well: “Being a member in the group has felt very powerful. Four months ago when I attended my first Empty Arms meeting it made a huge impact on me and I immediately wondered if I should have done it sooner. It was such a welcoming space. I’m so grateful to be able to provide this for others, and to be involved in it myself.”

When Joy and Loss Coincide: The Story of Triplets

Laura and her husband Evan had been trying to become pregnant for years when they got the surprise of a lifetime: they were pregnant with triplets. All along, they knew their pregnancy was considered high risk, especially because their triplets included an identical twin pair. Nevertheless, Laura and Evan began to feel hopeful when their triplets were still thriving at 24 weeks gestation (the earliest age at which an infant can possibly survive out of the womb). Up until that point, they had held off on buying things and truly imagining what their life would be like. Passing viability meant that their triplets had a good chance of survival: Laura and Evan realized that they needed to get ready. They began to do research on other triplet families and how they’d coped, began to put together a registry that included three of many things, and began to envision how they would incorporate three newborns into their house. 

All that would change in an instant just over one week later. 

That day,  Laura and Evan arrived for their regularly scheduled ultrasound at the maternal-fetal medicine clinic expecting to be seen quickly and head off to work. Little did they know how quickly things would change. Moments after the sonographer finished the scan, a doctor came in and told Laura and Evan that despite having seemed healthy just two weeks ago, right now he was seeing very severe “Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome” (TTTS) in their identical twin pair. TTTS happens when identical twins, who share a placenta, have unequal blood supply, which causes one twin to get too much blood-- and therefore produce too much amniotic fluid-- while the other gets too little blood and does not produce enough amniotic fluid. The situation is extremely dangerous for both twins. Laura and Evan had to make a decision-- and they had to make it fast. 

The option was put on the table that all 3 babies could be delivered, but at a very high risk to all three. At just shy of 26 weeks gestation the boys would be micro-preemies and would face a myriad of complications. If they did nothing, it would almost certainly result in the death of the identical twin pair. A third option was a complicated laser surgery, in which a doctor would use a scope and laser to map out the blood flow of the twins and systematically laser shut the vessels that were problematic; hopefully giving each twin equal blood flow. The complicating factor was that the nearest place that could do such a surgery was located in New York City. The TTTS was severe enough that if surgery was going to be considered, it would have to be immediate. 

Within the half-hour, Laura and Evan left Baystate and were in the car headed straight for NYC. Upon arrival, Laura was assessed and admitted for surgery. She was taken into the operating room, given an epidural, and prepped for the procedure. 

 It was only a few minutes into the procedure when Laura heard the words she had been dreading: the doctors could no longer detect a heartbeat from the recipient twin. One of her identical twin boys had died, leaving his twin at a very high risk. Laura recalls, “I was just lying there, in shock. Tears were rolling down my face.” As continuing with surgery was no longer necessary, the doctors performed a fluid transfer: extra fluid was taken from the recipient twin and given to the donor twin to try to give him a fighting chance. Laura was wheeled out to recover. Arriving in the post-op room, she saw her husband hopefully waiting. She remembers that she couldn’t even speak. Fortunately, the doctor broke the news. Laura and Evan were left to wait as her epidural wore off, behind a curtain within earshot of other families who were meeting their healthy babies for the first time. As they sat holding each other, slowly processing their pain, around them others wept with joy. 

Laura and Evan were moved to a semi-private room in the wee hours of the morning, and at their next scan later that day they learned that their other twin had passed away during the night. Laura says, “I was expecting that the other twin wouldn’t last very long, but I was always hopeful. When we went in for the ultrasound, I was still very much in shock - it had still been less than 24 hours since I walked in to our appointment in Springfield thinking everything was fine. But when the tech put the ultrasound on my belly, we knew before they said anything. We could see that there was no heartbeat on two of the babies. After the tech scanned the twins, she moved the wand to the singleton. We saw his strong heartbeat and we both burst into tears. He became the survivor. At that point the doctor came in and confirmed what we already knew- that we had lost the twins but that the singleton looked good. The doctor was very compassionate, but I do remember him saying that from a medical standpoint, this was probably the best outcome. He told us that while emotionally it’s not a great outcome,  it gives your survivor the best chance to make it full term and you the best chance to have a healthy pregnancy. This was the start of people trying to find the best in the situation- trying to help us to focus away from the loss and on our baby who had survived. 

“In that moment, we hadn’t even processed the loss yet. It had still been less than 24 hours and we were discharged from the hospital in New York and had to drive ourselves home to Massachusetts. In the car, we looked at each other and were like, ‘What even just happened?’ It felt like our whole world had changed. Everything we were planning for was based on the fact that there were 3 little boys: we were going to have a full basketball team! We had this exact idea of what our family was going to be: suddenly that was gone in an instant. When we got home it felt like there were logistics to take care of, but our heads were still spinning. We had to go back into the registry and reduce the quantities from three to one. It was the most surreal and awful experience”. 

Along comes Empty Arms

“Before the twins died, we were anxious, but our anxiety was centered around what ‘could’ happen. We knew that there were risks, but all the testing was coming back good, so there wasn’t something specific we were afraid of. Our fear was theoretical. After the twins died, the fear of losing the third became very real. It just seemed like nothing was guaranteed. I became much more aware of feeling movement and was much more anxious.” This is the point at which Laura found Empty Arms. While she hadn’t delivered yet, she had already lost two of her triplets. She had a healthy baby continuing to thrive in her womb, yet she knew that his outcome was not yet set in stone. Laura explains, “There were times where it was hard for us to even remember that there was a baby coming. For the whole pregnancy we had been expecting triplets, and now there were no triplets. Sometimes we would forget that there was still this little survivor, amid the grief for what had been lost. It took a long time for the excitement to come back”

At Empty Arms, our first goal in supporting Laura and Evan before their babies were born was just holding space for their loss, and the resulting anxiety they were feeling. During frequent phone calls, I can recall saying to Laura, “I feel as if I’m holding a space for you that is at once the bereavement group and the subsequent choices group. You are feeling all the emotions that I typically associate with people who are pregnant again after a loss, except that you are still in that pregnancy where your babies died, waiting for your survivor to be born”. The emotional journey of this pregnancy was enormous. Laura shared, “I was still carrying all 3 babies, I would still deliver all 3 babies when I went into labor but only one of them was living. I was in an in-between space - in limbo. We were grieving the loss of our babies, but we still had one living baby to care for and prepare for. It was such a weird state of mind. You feel all of that at the same time. It’s hard to describe. I don’t think that there are a lot of situations like that”. 

Our second goal in supporting Laura and Evan was to gather information to help them to feel prepared for their birth. By the time their living baby was born, it was possible that their twins would have been deceased for two months. We wanted them to have as much information as possible to be prepared for what that would be like, and in order to do that we had to reach out to our national connections. Never in the history of our organization had we met someone in this exact situation: but we knew those people were out there. Fortunately, our connections we’ve made through the Perinatal Loss and Infant Death Alliance proved priceless: within a few days of reaching out, we not only had several anecdotal stories of families who had experienced losses in multiple pregnancies that we could share with Laura and Evan, but also a detailed statement put together by one of the leading Perinatal Loss experts in the country specifically for their situation. While Laura and Evan were not sure yet whether they would want to see the twins, they certainly knew that without a good sense of what that situation might be like they would be unable to make that decision. We were grateful to be able to do this for them so that they would be capable of making an informed decision. 

The Babies Arrive

While Laura was scheduled for a c-section at 37 weeks, her water broke at 34 weeks. Fortunately, there were no complications with the delivery, they performed the c-section that day, and when her living son, Quinn, was born, Laura heard the cry she had been longing to hear and fearing she wouldn’t. “When he was born, they had the sheet up so I couldn’t see him but I heard his cry: I just started crying-- he’s breathing, it’s the first step!” While Quinn did need to go right to NICU, they were able to stop and let Laura see him on the way out. Quinn was stable and thriving, and Evan accompanied him upstairs to the NICU. 

Of course, at that time they also delivered the twins: at that point, Laura and Evan hadn’t decided whether they wanted to see them. Laura shared, “Carol really helped us think through this part. I wasn’t sure what they would look like, and I had memories of them from ultrasounds and remembered feeling them move, and I was worried that if I saw them and they looked really bad that it would disrupt those memories. But I also wanted to see them. They were our babies. So we were both really torn. We didn’t see them right after they were born, but the delivery team knew that we were undecided so one of the nurses wrapped them up, and put hats on them and kept them safe for us so we could decide later.”

Lisa Hamilton from Empty Arms came the next day. Throughout the last month of Laura’s pregnancy, Lisa had been texting and calling with her, so she was very familiar with Laura’s story. Also, like Laura, Lisa had experienced the loss of a multiple and waited to deliver-- she knew well the feeling of delivering one living baby when more had been expected. Laura shared, “Having Lisa there was so helpful --  to have someone who knew and understood our story, and how we were feeling. It was obviously in our charts and while we were there, everyone who came in would start off saying, “I’m so sorry about what happened” and while I appreciated it, it was almost constant. We also had a couple of people who came in and wanted to make a connection by sharing their own story of grief: one nurse had lost her brother not that long ago, and somebody else’s mother had passed away. They wanted to share those stories with us to connect, and I understood it, but I also felt like they didn’t understand how we felt. Being able to talk with Lisa meant we didn’t have to worry about somebody who’s just learned our story and is feeling a lot of sympathy for us. We didn’t have to take care of Lisa or hold the weight of her story, yet we knew that she had gone through something very similar. She felt like a breath of fresh air.”

“When Lisa came she brought with her three stones from the beach, which she said made her think of us, that was very meaningful to me. Just knowing that another person was thinking of our triplets-- our whole family-- and having something physical to represent that with the three stones”. The other thing that Lisa did which was very helpful to Laura was to go in and spend some time with the twins, taking photos and making mementos such as footprints for Laura and Evan. Laura says,”That was really helpful because I was able to get her opinion on what they looked like to help us decide. That was really weighing on me. We were still in the hospital, going to NICU, trying to figure out breastfeeding, but there were my twins who we hadn’t met yet. Hearing Lisa share what she had seen with the twins really swayed us to decide to see them. She didn’t say “I think you should see them”, she just said, “Here’s what I thought when I saw them”. So that really helped us to decide to see them. I decided that while I might regret seeing them, that would be better than regretting not seeing them.”

And so, later that day, the nurses set up a private room for Laura and Evan to meet their twins. The babies were wrapped up nicely in swaddles and Laura remembers that “just immediately I could see how they looked like Quinn. They had dark hair, and they were bigger than I expected them to be-- they could have been born and survived. We both started crying and we talked to them. We didn’t stay too long, but it was enough. We were able to say goodbye. And then, we went immediately to Quinn in the nursery. We didn’t get to see our triplets all together, but we did see them back-to-back. So while it was hard to see them, I’m really glad that we did.” 

Support after going home….

Quinn was in the NICU for two weeks, and while he was in the hospital Empty Arms helped Laura and Evan to make arrangements for their twins with a local funeral home. Laura shares that at this time, the Empty Arms website was very helpful, particularly in determining how to tell their families what they needed. They shared the website and links to family and friends which offered them guidance as to how they could be helpful to Laura and Evan. 

When Quinn came home, Laura-- like every mother-- was totally consumed by life with a newborn. A few months later, when Lisa called her to let her know that Empty Arms was going to be holding a group for families who had experienced losses in a multiple pregnancy and were parenting survivors, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to attend. She says, “Support groups are not really in my comfort zone, but I thought it might be helpful to carve out time to do some reflection. I was still thinking about the twins, and I didn’t want to just move on. I wanted to have time to really think about them, and reconnect with that grief, honestly. That was what pushed me towards joining the group.” 

 Laura shares that having this dedicated space to check in with herself, to process the feelings that come with parenting a survivor, keeps her going to group month after month. She shares that hearing other parents worrying and feeling some of the same things and having similar experiences helps her to feel she is not alone. Struggling with difficult emotions, such as those that come when she hears that someone else is pregnant with twins, makes her feel less lonely. 

This month, Laura and Evan sadly marked the 1 year anniversary of the loss of their twins. Laura shares that being able to connect both with people who are also coming up on their anniversary, as well as hearing from others who are a few years out and can help to teach her of the ways to keep their children in their lives, is really helpful. She shares that speaking with  these other parents helps her to understand which parts of her emotions are just normal parenting emotions, and which may more likely come from her experience of loss. She shares, “I don’t always get to talk about the twins and how I’m feeling. Partly just because it’s hard for people to understand. You have that moment of connection in the twin loss group. It really helps. It’s very validating to hear that you're not totally out there in your thinking. 

One year after the triplets were lost through the death of the twins, Quinn is a joyful, happy, smiling baby who was born just two months before the whole world went into lockdown. At 10 months, not only does he not have his brothers, but he is living in the midst of a global pandemic that has isolated his family. Laura shares, “Now, as Quinn gets older, there’s a new grief where I feel so sad that Quinn doesn’t get to know his brothers. Through this quarantine he hasn’t played with any other babies or kids. He hasn’t gotten to meet them except across safe, socially distanced space. So I think about how I feel sad for him that he doesn’t have his brothers to play with. He has a loss too. He’s becoming his own little person and I’m feeling that for him.” We feel that for Quinn, too-- and for his parents, who watch him happily playing by himself but know that his joy would have been multiplied by the companionship of his two brothers. We have been grateful to see Laura, Evan and Quinn through this journey so far-- and look forward to the future, where their family will always be seen as one including three boys, and where Quinn is always viewed as a triplet-- the lone survivor of a much wanted pregnancy in which all three boys are honored and loved. 

A Valuable Life

Empty Arms offers more than bedside support: we become a trusted community resource and a reliable source of help. One time, we even saved a mother’s life. This is the story of one mother and two baby girls, and it is one I will never forget. 

Renee arrived in Western Mass from Jamaica to work at Six Flags in the late spring of 2018, not knowing she was pregnant. Instead of finishing out the season and returning home to Jamaica to give birth to her baby, Renee went into premature labor at 23 weeks gestation and delivered her daughter in mid-September. This tiny girl fought a royal fight, clinging to life for 16 days in the NICU. Renee was by her side constantly, keeping vigil, hoping beyond all hopes that her tiny daughter would survive.

Renovian was the first living baby I ever had the honor of meeting as an Empty Arms Peer Companion. Renovian was like a living doll: she weighed only 1 pound, 4 ounces. I met Renee the day before Renovian died. The doctors had seen signs of Renovian’s tiny body failing for several days, and they could see that the end was inevitable. Knowing that Renee had no family support, they asked us to come and sit with her to talk through some end-of-life options. Early on the morning of September 26th, Empty Arms arrived at the NICU to sit with Renee and Renovian for several hours. I could not take my eyes off this baby. She was so, unimaginably tiny, but so vivacious. Her tiny hands waved around and she swatted at the lines and tubes that connected her to life sustaining machines. Her tiny head turned and her deep brown eyes opened and closed. It was, right before my eyes, the miracle of life and science and technology unfolding.

But all those advances of science could not save this baby. The next morning I received a text from Renee saying, “She died just now”. My heart broke for the two of them, this tiny, invisible family unit, so far from home. I went to the hospital and held her hand, and Empty Arms was able to help Renee to get some mementos of her sweet little daughter.

What greater privilege is there to meet someone who is here for such a brief time? What greater privilege is there to be invited into the last moments of a baby’s life, and then to sit with that baby and her mother and carefully capture moments so that she can somehow stay in that mother’s heart and memory forever?

For the first several weeks after Renovian died, Renee was allowed to continue to live in the Ronald McDonald house, where she had been staying during Renovian’s hospitalization. However, she had lost her apartment when she left work and now had nowhere to go. As the months went by, Renee and I stayed in touch. She spent time visiting cousins in New York City, Georgia and Florida, and as she grieved and tried to determine what to do next, I was on the other end of the phone, helping her to understand that her deep feelings of obsessive longing for Renovian were normal grief feelings and creating connections over the phone. There is a universality to grief and it is striking. I had been a married, white, settled middle class homeowner when my first daughter died, and she was a single, black, immigrant who was roaming the country with no permanent residence -- yet we spoke the same language when it came to our daughters and our grief. I was starkly aware, however, of the advantages I held compared to her in our life experiences. Little did I know how that would play out in the year to come. 

After about a year of intermittent communication our texts together died down. This is common-- people often lean on their companions heavily in the beginning, and then establish other sources of reliable support within their own communities. I thought of Renee often, and of Renovian-- after all, she was the only baby I’d ever seen alive. And so it was with incredible joy last June, during the first few months of the COVID pandemic that I received a text from Renee that came along with a photo of herself with a brand new baby girl: Re’niya had been born June 12th, but the announcement came with a terrifying next text: “Question: do you know how I can get help? I need to go to the ER but they won’t take me with the baby. My heart hurts. My feet are swollen and my heart aches. I went to the hospital but they refused to let me enter because I have the baby”. 
I immediately recognized the signs of severe postpartum hypertension. If left untreated, this condition can be fatal, and from what Renee went on to describe to me, I recognized that she was in a very dangerous place. What she was experiencing was quite literally a direct path to her own death. She was single, alone and with a 10 day old newborn. She had only returned to Western Massachusetts recently and she quite literally did not have anyone who could take her baby for her. Hospital policies across the region had strict policies in place prohibiting anyone other than the patient from entering the hospital. She didn’t know what to do. 

Renee explained that when she had presented at her doctor’s office only a few days after Re’niya was born by c-section, they assessed her symptoms and told her to go right to the hospital. However, when she arrived there, having spent the money on an Uber to get there quickly, the hospital turned her away because she had her baby with her. At that point, she says, “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My heart would skip a beat at times and it hurt so bad”. She was sent home, which with no viable alternative, she did. Several days later, her symptoms worstened and so she went again, thinking that as things were worse, they couldn’t refuse her this time. Yet once again she was denied entry because of her baby. How was she going to save herself? 

A few days after that, she developed a severe, unrelenting headache. She says, “I had a crazy headache, heartache and crazy heart pain.” She called 911, described her situation, and the ambulance arrived. However, despite a blood pressure reading over 200, Renee was not allowed to bring her baby into the ambulance. Unable to leave the newborn alone, Renee-- who was quite literally dying-- had to sign paperwork indicating that she had “refused care”. 

These words make my blood boil. Renee did not refuse care-- these words are categorically untrue. Renee was refused care by our system, which did not have a space in it for under resourced new mothers like herself. What was she to do? 

I picture Renee, asking herself, who is someone I can trust? Who is someone who is well resourced and can get me to where I can get the care I need? That is when she texted Empty Arms-- specifically, me. It was 10 pm on a warm summer night, and I happened to glance at my phone on my way to bed. Immediately, alarm bells started going off in my head: this woman quite literally might not make it till morning. We had to get her into the hospital IMMEDIATELY. 

My first thought was, I will go and watch the baby. I’ll drive forty-five minutes to where she lives, throw them in the car, get her to an ER and I’ll keep the baby. But then I thought better of it: what kind of a healthcare system separates a 10 day old baby from her mother? What kind of a healthcare system does not re-admit mothers who are experiencing postpartum complications? In addition, as a loss mom myself, I did not want to separate this mother from her baby, knowing how traumatic this might be for her. So I decided to do a bit of work before I rushed in. 

Thankfully, Renee was right: due to my work at Empty Arms I am well resourced, and at my fingertips I had the number of an OB/GYN who worked at Renee’s local hospital. Crossing my fingers that she’d still be awake at this late hour, I sent her a text, explained the situation, and asked: could she help? 

And she did. She helped immediately and completely. Within the hour, a plan was in place: Renee was to call her OB, ask for the doctor on call, and report her symptoms. Our Empty Arms advocate had herself just spoken to that doctor on call and had explained the severity of the situation. As soon as Renee called, she was instructed to come to the Emergency room and was told that a doctor from the obstetrical floor would meet her there and escort her and Re’niya up to be admitted. 

Thank goodness they did. When they arrived, Renee’s condition was grave. Her heart had been hurting for a reason: she was in stage 3 hypertension. Her heart was working way too hard to supply blood to her body. She was in immediate danger of stroke, heart failure, and kidney failure. She was immediately placed on an IV and given the right medications to help to begin to lower her blood pressure. The first medication she was given caused her heart to race and she coded. Her lungs had fluid in them. Renee, a young black mother, was in extreme danger of fulfilling the terrifying prophecy that threatens every black mother in America. She might not make it out of this alive. 

But she did. Somehow, her body rallied, and today she is alive and well. Nearly five months later, I quite honestly think of this near miss almost every day. Renee and I still text often. She is healthy, she has a job, and Re’niya is thriving. She and I have open conversations about the unfairness of this world and how she bears the burden of that system. We talk about how close she came and how grateful we both are that we knew each other and we could get her what she needed. She told me, “Thanks to you I’m here today with Re’niya-- I just want to thank you so much for helping me when you did.” 

Renee was exactly the type of person that our healthcare system misses. She is a young black mother, under-resourced and single. Our healthcare system is not set up to accommodate her, yet because of Empty Arms, Renee had someone to call. We were able to network her, and it made me feel like we had accomplished so much as a reliable resource to know that when Renee did the thinking of “who can I trust?” we were the ones who came to mind. 

Yet, relief is far from my primary emotion when I recall this situation. It is outrageous and unfair that Renee was not admitted without question when she was clearly dying; it is outrageous and unfair that any medical professional did not immediately bend the rules to save her young life. There is so much work that our society needs to do to make certain that every person who needs health care can access it. There is so much work we need to do around caring for young mothers who may not have the resources they need to fit into the protocols that hospitals set. And of course, there is much work to do around the racism that persists in our culture and may have played a role in Renee’s horrifying experience. Yet in the midst of the undeniable reality that we live in a world where that is possible for women like Renee, I am grateful that we could help. 

Never the same... and that's okay.

By Tierney Sodders, mother of Ronan Charles Sodders, 2/1/2018

Before Ronan, I was quiet and shy "ambivert," who heavily leaned towards introvert. I did not want to step on people's toes. I tried to stay out of the way. I didn't want to ask too many questions, for fear of inconveniencing someone. I had dreams of volunteering and taking college classes, but I had written them off as pie-in-the-sky because I was shy and would be too busy with a baby coming home soon. 

And then Ronan didn't come home. 

The moment I got home from the hospital, I started researching therapists. I started asking for help. Luckily, I found Empty Arms. I was able to connect with Carol in those first few days postpartum. The conversation we had was the affirming push I needed to keep going. 

When I first came home from the hospital with instructions to suppress my milk, I felt conflicted. I had planned to breastfeed. Was my milk really going to have to go to waste? Wasn't there something else I could do with it? I got the crazy notion of donating my milk instead of suppressing it. But it didn't feel crazy anymore. It felt right. Old Tierney would not have had the hutzpah to even call someone to ask about the idea. She would have given up. New Tierney was different; she had Ronan whispering to her, telling her to try. 

My love for Ronan combined with the support I felt from Empty Arms, gave me the courage to connect with Vital Milk and Mother's Milk Bank Northeast. I found a postpartum doula/lactation counselor, Helen Korczak, who, when she found out my circumstances, drove to my house in a snowstorm to help me pump, for free. In the end, I donated over 125 ounces. 

I still remain that respectful introvert, but one who asks more questions and is more involved. I have seen a difference in my medical care because the type of providers I have sought out since Ronan was born are ones who understand my unapologetic need for care, support, and answers. Ones who don't label him a "fetal demise," "unsuccessful pregnancy," or "stillbirth," but who instead say his name and acknowledge him as my son. 

Instead of letting all my free-time haunt me, because I don't have the baby that I expected to fill my days with, I started volunteering. In memory of Ronan, I have volunteered at places such as Empty Arms, It Takes A Village, Community Network for Children, Northfield Elementary PTO, MASFAA's FAFSA Days, and the local libraries. I even took a college class - Intermediate Spanish (and got an A+!).

Ronan fueled me with love - a new thread within that encourages me to step out of my comfort zone, in his memory. Empty Arms made me feel supported through conversations with Carol, monthly support group meetings, and connections with other bereaved parents (Hi, Katrina!) that let me know I was not alone. The combination has made me feel the most at peace and confident I have ever felt in my entire life. I love you, my tiny best friend. 

Thank you to Ronan and Empty Arms for watching me change and encouraging me every step of the way. I will never be the same, and that's okay. 

Emily, Mom of Sebastian-- one year out.

I’m writing this on the one year anniversary of Sebastian’s death. He lived 11 minutes short

of a full 15 days. On the day he died, he weighed about 1 lb 4 oz. Sebastian was the most

peaceful being I’ve ever been fortunate enough to know. I miss him every second of every

day. My body physically aches for him.

Time is an interesting concept in the world of grief. This past year has been both the

fastest and slowest of my life. It’s strange the way an hour can seem to stretch across days,

but also be over in the blink of an eye. How every moment is spent living in both the

present, past, and future.

When people suggest I take it one day at a time...well, I assume those people have never

experienced loss this great. I remind myself often of what Sebastian’s doctor said to me

two days after he was born: “Take it moment-by-moment. There will good days. And some

days, only good moments.” This bit of advice has helped tremendously this past year. Truly,

there aren’t many good days. But, there are moments in each day that are absolutely lovely.

Like the times when people who know Sebastian died walk up to me with there babies and

ask if I’d like to hold them. Or when I walk in the living room and my daughter is holding

her brother’s earn and saying “I love you, Bash.”

A year ago, I thought there was no getting better. I was absolutely lost and broken. I

wouldn’t say things are better now, but they’re easier. I am able to live with my grief and

manage all the different aspects of my life. I’ve started a business and returned to school

full-time. Somehow, I remember to feed myself and my living child every day, shower, clean,

breathe deeply. I didn’t think returning to functionality was possible immediately after my

son died, or ever six or eight months after.

I hope at this point next year I am able to manage time better. I’d love to have enough

space in my brain to plan some kind of memorial for Sebastian. But, I won’t beat myself up

if I’m still not there. Because this is all so painful. Terribly freaking painful. And time is not

linear. I’m proud of myself and how far I’ve come during the absolute worst year of my life.

I am not okay.

When I say, “I’m doing okay”, I wish you could understand that I don’t “feel” okay and that I struggle daily.

By Emily Collins

Multiple times daily I’m asked the question “How are you doing?” My answer to this

question (an odd question given my circumstances) is almost always, “I’m doing okay.”

People love this answer, especially when asked of someone they know is having a hard

time. As a society, we’re content with okay. It’s interesting how we so quickly accept “okay”

when, by definition, it is simply satisfactory, not good.

A year after my 15-day-old son, Sebastian, died in my arms, I look like I’m doing pretty darn

well from the outside. I started therapy and medication within a week of my baby’s death. I

am actively and consciously parenting my living child, Coco (now 8). I’ve started a business,

entered and exited homelessness, and enrolled fulltime in school. I show up to parent-

teacher conferences, dance performances, baby showers, and birthday parties. We adopted

a kitten and put our Christmas tree up the week of Halloween. I cry so little in front of my

daughter, that she often asks if I’m forgetting Sebastian, and if I’m even sad?

Honestly, I’m worlds away from okay. What I wish so deeply others could see is the agony I

live with daily. The reality that grief does not know time, nor does it care about deadlines

or schedules. I still sleep only with the help of prescription medications. I wake up every

morning with a bit of a start before remembering I don’t have a baby to care for. My body

aches nonstop; from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes. I now suffer

from migraines, short term memory loss, severe depressive disorder, and PTSD.

Unfortunately, not being a productive member of society or an active parent simply aren’t

options. I was given permission from the outside world to fall into my grief for only a short

period of time. I feel a sense of obligation to everyone in my life to get myself together! To

snap out of my grief, put a smile on my face, and live like I did before Sebastian died. Yet, I

repeatedly fall short of this obligation.

I am NOT okay! My heart hurts. My entire being aches for my son. There virtually isn’t a

moment of any day that I don’t think of him. Where the very unnatural reality of living

without one of my children is not at the forefront of my mind. There is nothing right about

parenting a dead child. And I wish people would understand that I will never be okay. For

the rest of my life, Sebastian will be dead. And there is nothing okay about that.

My Gratitude

I suppose it was five years ago that on a cool November day I met Sarah Nichols outside my Friday job (not Empty Arms) and took a walk with her; what was meant to be maybe thirty minutes and ended up being hours of collar-turned-up, bracing the cold because the conversation was too great to stop walking. Sarah was interested in our work both as a women’s health advocate, but probably more so because she herself was a surviving twin who had lived a life that was shadowed with baby-loss grief. Sarah came on first as our intern, and was then hired as our Project Coordinator, a specifically vague title which essentially allowed her to be the supporting body behind all of the work we do at Empty Arms. As the fiercely-multitasking director of this nuanced organization, I have never felt so grateful for a persons’ organization, steadfast communication skills, and deep, careful thinking. With Sarah in the co-pilots’s chair, we were able to accomplish so much: from bringing in new, and very helpful grants, to producing robust written materials, and solidifying our companion program.

But all the while that she worked for us, Sarah’s clock was ticking. From the beginning, we knew that Sarah would leave us to pursue her dreams of becoming a nurse midwife. Knowing how enmeshed we were as a working team, Sarah and I worked thoughtfully to think about her transition out of her position and to plan an long, thorough overlap with the person who would succeed her.

Here is Sarah pictured with her wonderful father, Jack Nichols, who is of course also the father of Sarah’s identical twin sister, Emily, who died at age three weeks.

I put so much thought into who on this great planet could possibly step into Sarah’s shoes. I harbored great anxiety about the balls that might be dropped: picturing Sarah’s gentle reminders that kept me on track, knowing the great initiative she took that was the result of her incredibly thorough knowledge of our work. How would we find someone?

Advertising didn’t seem sufficient, and there wasn’t someone who had been helping our organization who was in the position to take on 20+ hours of work per week. So I began to think, and one day, out of the blue, a name and a kind, beautiful, gentle face popped into my head.

This face belonged to a woman who would give you not just the shirt off her back, but her socks, hair tie, and cell phone too. I knew from a past experience of coaching several teams with that she was supremely organized, put in 150% every single day, and was full of really contagious energy. Beyond that, she was also a person who was a certified death doula: meaning that she was hired to spend time with individuals at the end of their lives, and to honor their passage out of this world. Perhaps she could be the one? I sent out an exploratory email… which turned into a coffee date… where I made a profound discovery.

Not only was this woman comfortable with death, and was she able to have conversations with me about caring for the dead, and honoring grief while making direct eye contact, but she herself had experienced two pregnancy losses. One, a miscarriage near the end of her first trimester, and the other the loss of a twin baby girl while pregnant for the fourth time. Her eyes glittered as I told her of the systems and programs we’d built at Empty Arms, and her hand moved furiously over the page as she took page after page of notes as we talked. By last March, we had a plan in place: this woman would begin working for us part time in April, and by late May would be full time, overlapping with Sarah, until Sarah left in August.

Ladies, Gentlemen, and EveryPerson, let me introduce you to Lisa Hamilton, for whom I am beyond grateful.

Here is a beautiful photo of Lisa!

Lisa has proven herself to be an absolutely fantastic, dynamic part of Empty Arms. She has come up with dozens of new ideas for us to pursue, she is 100% capable of keeping me on track, and her history as a bereaved parent has given me a co-conspirator who can step in and work with families in a way that I’ve never experienced thus far at Empty Arms. The overlap with Sarah was a beautiful thing to watch, because not only did Sarah gently, carefully and thoroughly hand over the reigns to Lisa, but the two of them became great friends in the process.

I am so grateful to have both of these women as part of the Empty Arms team, Sarah as one who has created a legacy for herself in terms of carving out a position at Empty Arms, and Lisa who has stepped gracefully into this position and kept the ship not just sailing, but is charting her own new and successful course.

Thank you to Lisa and Sarah! I love both of you and I’m so grateful that Empty Arms has had you to help our growth and sustainability!

Champion nurse: Amelia Jayne

These days, it’s a rare occurrence for a family at Cooley Dickinson Hospital to not meet Amelia Jayne if they experience the loss of a baby, and anytime I’ve ever offered a training in that hospital she has been there to learn more. I sat down to talk to Amelia to find out what it’s meant to her, as a nurse, to have Empty Arms there to support her in the past five years since our companion program started.

Amelia has been a nurse at Cooley Dickinson for 8 years, and initially learned to care for bereaved families during her clinical rotations at nursing school due to good timing and a generous mentor. Amelia explains that in nursing school, during her coursework “absolutely nothing was taught about babies dying”. Though typically student nurses are not involved in clinical bereavement care out of respect for the family, Amelia was fortunate in that her preceptor in her clinical rotation in labor and delivery took the initiative to give her a crash course. One night, a baby was born so early it had no chance of survival-- yet it was still alive. The nurse she was mentoring explained to Amelia the importance of giving this family skin-to-skin with their baby until she died, and then set about organizing to make a memory box for the family with Amelia by her side. Being included in that care and having the nurse teach her all the important reasons why families need time and mementos set Amelia on a course to provide similar quality care to her patients. Further work with perinatal and pediatric hospice once she became a licensed RN care firmed up her commitment that while the work is hard, bereavement care is an enormously important aspect of nursing care and a way in which Amelia can have a great impact on a family in need.

As one of a small group of nurses at CDH who feel very comfortable offering bereavement care to families, it has offered Amelia reassurance to know that Empty Arms is there to support her work both when she is there, and when she’s not. “I know that not all nurses have that same level of comfort and confidence”, she shares, “and before Empty Arms I used to have the hospital call me when I wasn’t on shift to come back so that I could be sure that every family would get the same loving care”. Amelia is careful to explain that some nurses just “can’t get over the scariness of” taking care of a baby who has died, and simultaneously supporting and guiding their shocked and anguished parents. “Other nurses are saying to me, ‘how is it possible for you to just hold that mother and her baby… and I tell them, I’m sad, but I’m comfortable.’” It is nurses like Amelia that Empty Arms is most grateful for.

“I have faith in the companions’ ability to be loving towards the parents and baby no matter what the circumstances,” Amelia shares. In addition, she notes that working with Empty Arms has allowed her, as a professional, to become more knowledgeable about what the experience of baby loss is like, which further improves her ability to care for families. “The volunteer companions are a wonderful resource because they are further from their trauma and you can ask them for advice about things… You can ask them about their loss and get information that will help you take care of the family… and you can ask advice of how to work with the patient. You can bounce ideas off of the companions in the midst of taking care the family. And the best part is I just know that no matter who it is, anyone I call from Empty Arms will be completely ready to embrace any mom and any baby, no matter what”.

 The last piece that Amelia stresses is how helpful it is to have a second team of people available for emotional support for a family so that the nurses are able to have some time to focus on the mother’s physical health and also the paperwork involved in handling a birth and a death. “Depending on the circumstances, there can be a lot of overwhelming work-intensive medical and paperwork responsibilities that don’t even include dealing with the emotional well-being of the mom. For example, it’s not uncommon that the baby is dying because the mom has pre-eclampsia, so the mom is also at risk of dying. The pressure is on you, as the nurse, to make sure the mom’s physical well-being is prioritized. That is so much work and then you realize oh, did I even talk about what we’re going to do with the baby? When Empty Arms is there it allows me to have the time and space to focus on the mom because I’m fully confident that Empty Arms can take care of the baby. It gives me the ability to leave the room when I otherwise might not have the ability to do so. I never, ever want to abandon the patient in that incredibly difficult time”.

 Amelia may be grateful for Empty Arms, but we’re grateful for Amelia and all the other nurses out there who have made it a commitment and a priority to take care of families well when their babies die. Talking to a nurse like Amelia re-confirms our commitment to keep our companion programs flourishing in all our hospitals so that all nurses can feel as supported as Amelia does, and so that all families are receiving first rate care.

 Will you join us today and make a donation to support the Empty Arms companion program?

 https://emptyarms.z2systems.com/np/clients/emptyarms/donation.jsp?campaign=20&&test=true

Nurse Champion: Dawn Seymour

Dawn Seymour is a champion of bereavement care at Mercy Hospital’s Family Life Center, and she knows from the heart how important it is to care for families tenderly and with skill when a baby dies. “I found my own path because of my own personal loss, having lost twin boys in my first pregnancy in 2002. Something like Empty Arms didn’t exist back then, so we just had to figure everything out ourselves with the help of the staff that was there. Right after it happened to me the first thing I did was reach out to people in my own life who I remembered this had happened to-- I was burning the phone up, alone at home, not knowing what to do. All I wanted to do was talk to people who had been there. People love you and want to help you, but they don’t know what to say or what to do. I remember two specific people who had experienced a loss deep into their pregnancies and I reached out to them. I just knew they knew, and that’s all I needed to know. If we had had an organization like Empty Arms, I just can’t imagine how life changing that would have been.”

 Dawn describes herself as a person “happily addicted” to her work as a nurse, and though it’s hard to imagine how she managed, she returned to a labor and delivery floor as soon as she was physically able to after the loss of her twins. She explains that while she was relieved not to be housebound, there were some difficult moments as she adjusted to being around healthy newborns and happy new parents. But there was something else that Dawn soon realized was a new strength. “It didn’t take long for me to realize that these horrible things that had happened to me were a gift as well. When the first patient came in with a loss I realized that I knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling, and I remember sitting next to the patient and holding her hand and saying, I’ve been here myself.”   

In addition to clear and coherent emotional support, Dawn explains that a great part of how she supports families is knowing how to coordinate all the different family members who don’t know what to do. From grandparents to even the father of the baby, some people are able to find purpose in the midst of a crisis if they have a “job to do”. Dawn herself remembers, “I sent my mother in-law out to buy things for my sons when they died, I didn’t have anything for them to wear and she was so thrilled to have a job to do”.  From funeral arrangements to running errands, Dawn helps to make sure that all the support people who are present at a loss feel purposeful.

Dawn explains, “It’s my role as a nurse to do whatever I can for families in my shift, but it’s segmented. It’s not organized, and loss is only a tiny portion of what we do. A loss encompasses so much more than delivering the baby. You can’t duplicate what Empty Arms is doing, in terms of offering long-term and really focused emotional care. It is an absolutely needed program that you don’t know you need until you do. Most people don’t think about baby loss until someone very close to them goes through it, and then they are ever so grateful to have something like Empty Arms available to them.

“As a nurse, Empty Arms takes what’s in my heart and expands it 10-fold. You guys are doing all the things that I want to see done for patients and what I would have loved to have had done for me. Like the castings, and the photographs- I would have loved to have that. Your ability to model for a family what is socially acceptable when a baby dies is beyond value”.

Dawn may feel grateful for us, but we feel exceptionally grateful to have nurses like Dawn as part of our team. Her deep, ingrained understanding of how important quality bereavement care is means that not only is she giving it to the families who need it, but she’s modeling it for the nurses around her who may not yet share her passion of caring for the bereaved.

We hope that you will feel moved to contribute to Empty Arms this June so that we can continue to bolster and expand our companion program. Thank you!

 https://emptyarms.z2systems.com/np/clients/emptyarms/donation.jsp?campaign=20&&test=true

Meet Julia and beautiful baby Lila...

 Julia had done everything right. 

She had practiced safe sleep for Lila, but what the doctors hadn’t told her was this: even if you do everything right, sometimes babies still die. Julia kissed her baby goodnight, apparently healthy, and in the morning she was gone. How does one ever rebuild?

Will you donate this weekend and have your funds doubled to offer Julia the support she deserves and needs? Please help us meet our match!

If you met Julia, you would love her immediately: she has a twinkly smile and, despite the circumstances under which I met her, laughs easily. But the most beautiful thing about her is how enormous her love for Lila is. It is palpable in the room when Julia is there, this huge, beautiful love that cannot be extinguished. When she talks about Lila, Julia’s face lights up. She speaks enthusiastically and with passion, and the room gathers around to get to know this little baby through her mother’s words.

Living in the world as a bereaved mother, Julia feels like she is living a dishonest life.  “I want to be honest, but I feel like I’m making other people so uncomfortable if I tell them my story. I feel like I have to protect the people around me by not talking about her”.  Julia explains that when she does decide to tell someone that she had a baby who died, “ I have to be dishonest in my reply back and act to them as if I’m more okay than I actually am… Infant loss is almost stigmatized. It’s just such an awkward thing to talk about.”

This situation that Julia finds herself in is one that has been shared for the past 12 years over and over in the Empty Arms support group circle. To tell, or not to tell? And where does the line lie that falls between your own discomfort of lying to protect someone else, versus the struggle of living a lie just to make everyone’s life easier?

Will you donate this weekend to help Julia have a safe space to be herself? 

Fortunately, Julia has found a place where she can truly be herself-- and where she never has to lie about how she’s doing, what she’s feeling, or how hard it is to just “be” in the wake of such an enormous loss. Julia’s family found Empty Arms on the day that Lila died, and Julia came to her first meeting with her parents only two weeks after Lila’s death. As the three of them tearfully shared the unbelievable reality they were now facing, they felt support coming from around the circle. What had been too hard to say in public, was now able to be said. They have not missed a meeting since.

“I feel so much more genuine and real at the group. After a meeting is over, we always feel a sense of relief. Even though sometimes I find myself reluctant to go because I know I’m going to face difficult feelings, once I’m sitting in there it is incredibly healing and helpful. For those 2 hours of the month I can just let myself feel sad, and feel the feelings and show how I feel. Empty Arms is my two hours a month that I can unleash everything that I’ve been bottling up for the past month. Its a true relief because it’s like a weight lifted -- you are literally lighter, you’ve passed the weight of your grief on.”

We are so grateful to be able to offer Julia and others like her a space to be themselves. It has been our experience that with a place to truly feel, bereaved parents are able to weave their babies into their lives in positive, sustainable ways, allowing them to grow and thrive. Please help us to continue to offer this opportunity to people in the Pioneer Valley!

Please click here to donate to our June Giving Campaign.  We have a generous donor, grandparents Norman and Jeanne Reynolds, who have offered to match our next $1500 raised! This will bring us close to 3/4 of the way to our $10,000 goal! Please join us to make our dreams of helping all SIDS families come true.