Miles Wayne Anderson is our first child, and our only son. We were joyfully expecting his arrival around September 10, 2018. We were blessed with baby showers by our families, friends and coworkers. During the month of July we spent countless hours preparing his nursery. Washing his little newborn onesies, assembling nursery furniture, and just sitting in his room dreaming up everything we’d experience with our first child. We were anxious first-time parents, as most are. We took all the preparatory classes, read the books, and were waiting to see how his birth would unfold. We had a very healthy, uneventful pregnancy the first 36 weeks—until everything changed.

On August 4 th of 2018, my husband, Craig, and I sat on the couch watching Miles kick his little feet against my stomach. Little did we know, that was the last time I would ever feel Miles move.

I woke up in the early hours of August 5th with awful cramping and was concerned I was going into labor. The pain progressed, so we ended up going into Labor and Delivery triage for an assessment. Once we were settled in our room, I described my symptoms, and they took blood work for labs. The nurse had concern in her eyes as she moved the doppler all over my pregnant belly but masked it with a smile. She asked one more time, “Do you know where your little guy typically lays?” She would try again to find the heartbeat, but then excused herself and said she was going to find some different equipment. Craig and I just stared at each other and held hands, but couldn’t generate words. We held on to the normal, reassuring appointment we had had just two days prior. Within 5 minutes, the OBGYN on call was in our room, and wheeled in an ultrasound cart. She explained this was better technology and would give them a better look at Miles.

You are never ready for the unfathomable. “This baby has no heartbeat.” All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Within minutes, I was whisked away to surgery for an emergency C- section under sedation, as they realized I had suffered a catastrophic placental abruption and was bleeding internally.

Miles was born via emergency c-section at 8:10 am on August 5th and weighed 5 pounds and 7.4 ounces. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the Intensive Care Unit. Once I was assessed, and stable, and we were told that we could see our son when we were ready. The nurse wheeled in the bassinet, and there he was—swaddled, knit hat, chubby cheeks. He was very clearly given great care by our medical team at Boone Hospital Center from the moment he was born. He was perfect. You would never know he was born sleeping except for his color. That was when we were told about Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep and asked if we’d like pictures of Miles. It was hard to process at that moment, but we agreed to sign the papers and let Miles be professionally photographed.

As any loss parent knows, the immediate aftermath of such a trauma is turmoil. Holding your baby for the last time. Leaving the hospital without them. Figuring out what to do with your breastmilk that has come in with no child to feed. Picking out your child’s urn or resting place. Figuring out your communication plan so you won’t break down in public when well-meaning people ask, “How’s the baby?!” Returning to work physically, emotionally, and mentally broken.

Laying in bed with the physical ache in your heart and the heaviness of your empty arms. I’ll never forget when my husband called and said, “Check your e-mail! Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep sent the photos!” We had our own photos of Miles on our cell phones, and from the precious nurses who wanted to give us every memory we could have of him before we were discharged.

But there was something about pulling up these professional, retouched images of our son. The black and white photos came off as traditional, professional newborn photos.

The portraits looked like the ones I dreamed of seeing since he was growing in my belly. These photos saved me as I was in the depths of hell—immense grief, sadness, and overall uncertainty.

The tears streaming down our faces were heavy with grief but carried immense gratitude and love. We were given the dignity of beautiful photos to put in our home and display for our friends and family. They empowered us to be the proud new parents we were, and we felt comfortable showing people these beautiful pictures of our baby boy.

On August 5, 2019 we made it through our first anniversary of losing our son—his heavenly birthday. That same month, we found out we had answered prayers and were expecting again.

His little sister, Olivia Miles Anderson, was born on April 13, 2020. The very same nurse who took care of us in the hospital after we lost Miles walked me down to the operating room for a successful c-section. She was with me when we delivered our healthy baby girl. As I watched this nurse hold my dear daughter, I remembered what she looked like holding our son, too.

Attentive, and loving.

The first Christmas we had with Olivia, I sent our family Christmas card to our “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep” photographer, Shane, along with our beloved nurses and doctors who are still important in our lives to this very day. When I thanked him for our photos two years prior, he e-mailed me back with words of encouragement and shared his own story of grief and loss. Receiving a Christmas Card back from him remembering photographing our son, was the most beautiful exchange I think I’ve ever had with someone I have never met. I truly think that’s the foundation of Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep and why I’ll always shout from the rooftops my gratitude for this organization—giving the MOST significant, beautiful gift to people you don’t even know.

Fast forward 4 years, our daughter has grown up in a home that has Miles’ beautiful photos present throughout. Every year on his birthday, we put some of our favorite framed photos next to a birthday cake (and a candle that we let Olivia blow out) and celebrate his life and legacy.

The questions about his absence are hard to field as she gets older, but the fact that she lovingly refers to him as “My-My” or “Brother Miles” means the world to us. She knows him. She openly expresses her love for him while pointing at his pictures. He’s part of our family even though we don’t physically have him here. This would not be possible without the beautiful photographs from Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep and their healthcare partners.

If Miles’ story touches you and you’re a professional photographer, I urge you to reach out to volunteer with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep and be an affiliate for your local hospital. Healthcare workers and nurses do the best they can for families if they don’t have a NILMDTS photographer, but professional photos are invaluable. I promise you, you will never EVER be forgotten by the families you serve.

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.