Camille weighed 8 pounds and measured a lanky 21 inches.  Her  fingers and toes were perfectly formed. She had the cutest  “button” nose you’ll ever see. She had “chipmunk cheeks”  common to all babies and rolls of fat around her wrists and thighs to cushion her transition to life outside the womb. She was everything we had ever hoped for, but she was delivered dead…. stillborn to use the medical term.

We arrived at John C. Lincoln Hospital at the appointed hour – 5 AM – on August 17, 2000.  This was the day chosen to induce the delivery of our full term baby.  The first sign of trouble came when the nurse who was applying the fetal monitor couldn’t find Camille’s heartbeat. Thinking it was a defective sensor she went for a replacement. When the second sensor failed to find the heartbeat that we had heard only days before during Sharon’s last exam, an ultrasound was ordered.  The ultrasound confirmed the absence of a fetal heartbeat.  We sat in stunned disbelief.  For a moment we didn’t understand the import of the message. Our doctor arrived and within minutes confirmed that our baby was dead.

Shock is a physical reaction that shields the body from the pain of traumatic injuries. In a kind of disassociated trance I asked the logical questions – skipping over the “How” and “Why” for the moment – knowing there would be no answer to these just yet.  I assumed our dead baby would be removed by Caesarean section but was shocked to hear that she would be delivered naturally. My first instinct was that this was cruel to subject Sharon to a natural birth only to deliver a dead baby.  After explaining to us that it was the safest route for the mother, the IV’s were placed and labor was induced.

Camille was born at 2:40PM.  The nurse and I took her into the adjoining room where we washed and dressed her.  Even though our baby was dead, the nurse had such respect for Camille that she patted her bottom dry and powdered her before putting on a diaper. I took Camille back into the birthing room and presented her to her mother.

Sharon and I cried together, but spoke few words. In time we invited in our family and friends who had come to share our joy, but who were now united in our tragedy.  My 90-year-old mother Millie Lawton was the first to reach out and cradle Camille in her loving arms.  This was her first granddaughter. Ruth, Sharon’s sister was next.  We all took turns cuddling her and kissing Camille and talking to her.

Colonels Mervyn and Shirley Morehouse of the Salvation Army had come to the hospital at the first word of tragedy and stayed until Camille was delivered. Their presence was a blessing to us all because they were anchors of calm on that turbulent day.  After all had an opportunity to embrace Camille Col. Morehouse led us in bedside prayer. 

Following prayer the hospital staff presented us with an opportunity to allow parts of Camille to live on by asking if we would consider donating Camille’s organs so that other critically ill but breathing infants might have a fighting chance at life. Sharon and I did not hesitate for a moment. If this was to be the purpose of Camille’s brief existence, so be it.

We are home now. Services are planned for 11AM August 26^th at the Salvation Army Center at 1625 South Central Avenue, Phoenix. Camille will be cremated and her ashes interred with Sharon’s parents, Raymond and Anna, whose names were combined to come up with Camille’s middle name, Rayana. 

Before leaving the hospital both our doctor and the social worked gave us copies of  “Dear Cheyenne”, a  Journey Into Grief, authored by Joanne Cacciatore who on July 27, 1994 suffered the identical fate we had just experienced. This remarkable woman, age 29 at the time of her loss, turned her grief into a nationwide organization called Mothers in Sorrow and Sympathy. Known by its acronym, M.I.S.S. provides support to parents who lose a child. 

Within hours of receiving the book I read it through and contacted Joanne. Though it has been over six years since she suffered her loss, hearing the details of ours brought tears to her eyes and we cried together over the phone.  Within minutes after ending our hour-long conversation she called back to ask if she could meet with us the next day. We gratefully said yes.

Today is Saturday, August 19^th. In the past three days we have died a thousand deaths in our heart. We have asked God questions for which there are no answers. Though we asked for an autopsy our doctor has cautioned us not to expect any definitive answer.

Sudden Antenatal Death Syndrome – appropriately known as S.A.D.S. – takes the lives of 10 babies for every 1 baby that dies from S.I.D.S., the far more familiar killer of infant children.  Perhaps it’s a belief that the mother was somehow responsible for babies that die in the womb that’s responsible for so little being written about S.A.D.S.  But I’m here to tell the world that no woman could have done more for the health of her developing baby that Sharon. Camille was perfectly developed.

We are not alone in our grief. In these few short days we have been contacted by friends and family – which is to be expected – but also by members of M.I.S.S. – strangers whose only bond with us is that they shared the same grief at some point in their lives.  The hardest part of our grief is the belief that we were somehow responsible for Camille’s death. If medical experts can give us no answer it must be God’s retribution is the next assumption. Bad things do happen to good people. Reverend Schuller wrote a book about it. We have been taught throughout our lives that events have causes. But given the complexity of the miracle of human reproduction, what is surprising is that so many babies make it through to term and are delivered pink and screaming for that first meal.

Knowing it is not our fault is the first step back from the precipice of insanity that can threaten our very existence. Another important step is acknowledging that Camille is our daughter. She lived inside my heart and Sharon’s womb for 40 weeks. She kicked and squirmed and in her own way had a personality. 

Nobody takes pictures of dead people, I thought. It’s morbid. But how else was I to remember my daughter who was with us for a brief few hours on one day of our life, only to be given up to God and the hope for others in suffering. Sharon has not yet been able to view these pictures. Camille, though perfectly formed, was beginning to show the effects of her death. Her skin, though still warm from Sharon’s womb, was mottled and in places had a purplish cast. But to me she was beautiful.  You have the option to view Camille on her birthday by clicking on the links provided at the end of this page.

You may also want to visit M.I.S.S. at their website www.misschildren.org to learn more about this terrible tragedy that claims the lives of the unborn and the almost born, some as close as 10 minutes from delivery, all without any medical understanding. Of the millions of dollars spent on SIDS research, perhaps some day the guilt and shame of antenatal death will wash away and resources will be applied to find answers to the question that plagues parents around the world who lose a late-term child, “Why”?  

This has been a very hard page to write. Camille was my first child at age 60. Sharon’s first at 39.  She was the joy we had longed for. Down the hallway from my home office is a completely outfitted nursery from which a loud cry should be coming right now. Please, learn more about SADS because as many times as it happens it will strike someone close to you if it hasn’t already. The M.I.S.S. website is a wonderful resource. (In the first 24 hours after Camille’s life story was sent to M.I.S.S. members we received over 70 messages of condolence from mothers and fathers who had lost children, many in the same way and others even more agonizingly if that is possible.)

As if that were not enough to provide us encouragement, my brother Bob – who with his wife Sue had lost a 5 year old child to leukemia – appeared on our doorstep, having flown from Atlanta to Phoenix to be with us. You have only been an angel for 3 days Camille and you’re already “earning your wings” by working miracles in our lives.