When our daughter Nora was stillborn in February 2022, my husband Vincent and I were gripped by a crippling fear that somehow her memory would slip away from us. When the life of a child you hoped and prayed for is so tragically brief, there is an impulsive reaction to gather any tangible evidence of it – hospital bracelets, swaddling blankets, footprints, paperwork bearing your child’s name. The feeling of such desperation is a deeply unsettling experience, and something we continue to struggle with as time passes since her birth.

Nora by NILMDTS Affiliated Photographer Sarah Love

What resulted from our efforts is a beautiful collection illustrating a life well loved, no matter how short. Our home is quietly littered with pieces of Nora. On the mantle above the fireplace, an ultrasound photo accompanied by a cross bearing her name, handmade by the same Trappist monks who crafted her casket. In her little brother’s nursery, a frame of pressed rose petals – taken from the arrangement on which she rested at her funeral Mass – hangs above the crib.

Her dad never leaves the house without donning the leather bracelet bearing a charm of her footprints, and the letters spelling out her name live permanently on a gold chain around my neck. Regardless of where we are or what we are doing, there is no question that Nora’s eternal presence follows us, lingering just over our shoulders. In these ways we honor her, continuously acknowledging and celebrating the fact that she lived, if only in my womb.

Nora by NILMDTS Affiliated Photographer Sarah Love

The photos we have of our daughter are among the most precious pieces of this collection. Very few of these are ones we managed to take ourselves – no one tells you that it’s okay to take pictures of your deceased baby. The way we are conditioned to behave around the dead, it feels wrong, almost disrespectful, to do so. This is all compounded by the fact that a grieving parent has no instruction manual for how to navigate the nightmare that is leaving the hospital with empty arms. For this reason, we are incredibly grateful for Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep and our photographer, Sarah Love. Without an external force normalizing the experience of memorializing our daughter, despite her fragile physical condition, I fear we’d have next to no photos of her precious features.

A beautifully bound album of Sarah’s images – along with those taken at Nora’s burial service that she so graciously added – is a permanent fixture on our living room coffee table.

As our Earthside child continues to grow, my husband and I feel compelled to share with him the memory of a sibling he will never meet. This realization has added another layer to our already complex grief, feeling sorrow for our own loss as parents, but also deep anguish knowing memories made with his sister will be at the cemetery instead of at the park or on family vacation. In the face of this heartbreak, we are determined to build a family dynamic in which our living son feels the loving, eternal existence of his deceased sister.

The photos we received through the generosity of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep stand as undeniable proof that she was in fact here, she was profoundly loved, and will always be a part of our family and our story.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, a dedicated 501(c)(3) non-profit, offers families experiencing pregnancy and infant loss with complimentary remembrance portraits, capturing precious moments with their babies. Your generous donation can help us extend this heartfelt service to more families in need. Please consider supporting us here.