June Guest writer:
Scott Thornton

Deborah Lynn

In February of 1984, my wife gave birth to a beautiful little girl. We named her Deborah Lynn. During the pregnancy everything went well. My wife’s prenatal appointments were all normal. We had a 2 year old son, born in January of 1982, at the time so this was not “the first one.” Like her first pregnancy, my wife was experiencing morning sickness and generally being miserable for the first trimester. Even with being miserable she wanted a daughter, and she was certain it was a daughter. She had the name, Deborah Lynn, picked out from the start. For our two year old son she only ever had a boy’s name. No girl’s name ever came up. She just knew.

About a week before the due date my wife went in for her regular appointment, the last of her prenatal visits before the delivery. Everything was routine so she went by herself while I was at work. I was in the military at the time. During the visit the doctor found that something was wrong, and he had someone call my unit and asked that I come to the hospital. When I arrived, the doctor told me and my wife that he couldn’t find a fetal heartbeat, only the heartbeat of my wife. He wanted to do another test to be sure so they inserted some kind of probe to the top of Deborah Lynn’s head that would detect the heartbeat or maybe some other sign of life. The results determined that she had died in the womb.

On top of the shock of learning Deborah Lynn had died, my wife still had to go through labor and delivery of our daughter. She was admitted to the Labor and Delivery ward and labor was induced. Just like every mother, she endured the pain of going through labor and delivery, but this time knowing that there would not be the sound of a newborn’s cries at the end. When Deborah Lynn was born the staff took her, cleaned her up and wrapped her in a blanket and put a cap on her the same as they did for any live birth. My wife and I got to hold her for a while before they finally took her away. We never got to hear her cry, or see her eyes looking at us in that confused way babies do, she never held our fingers with her tiny hands. She was warm to the touch but her skin was slightly blue.

Sometime during the pregnancy, Deborah Lynn, who was a very active baby, had managed to wiggle her way through her umbilical cord tying it in a knot. Just before her due date she managed to snug the knot down resulting in cord compression, which basically cut off her supply of oxygen and life support. She died in the womb. The autopsy showed that she had been a completely normal little girl.

You never expect to plan for your child’s funeral. That was of course the next thing we had to do. The military hospital had an outreach program to assist us, my wife’s parents lived in the area, and my wife’s Priest was there for support. We selected an inexpensive casket for her which we wrapped in one of her baby blankets for the burial. My brother carried the tiny blanket wrapped casket from the car to her grave. Deborah Lynn was buried in the cemetery of the small church where her mom and I were married. There was a short ceremony and I am sure the Priest said something about God’s plan and the resurrection. I don’t really remember what he said.

After Deborah Lynn’s funeral a case worker in the hospital contacted us and suggested we go to a grieving parents group. We were reluctant at first. We were still lost and grieving in our own way. After about a month we decided to go and see what this group was about. The name of the group isn’t important to the story. What is important is how the group helped.

The first meeting we attended probably had ten couples or so. The facilitator made introductions and we introduced ourselves. There were a few of us who were first time visitors but most of those present had been coming to meetings for a while. The visitors that had been coming for a while would usually start by telling the story of their loss. This would make you realize that you were not alone and that others had similar, and sometimes totally different experiences. This would make the telling of our story easier when it was our turn. Hearing the stories of accidents, or sudden infant death, or other tragedies was heart-breaking and healing. Every story was different, and every story shared a common thread, the loss of a child. Even though you may have felt alone, you were not alone. There were many, many people who had lost a child and had survived with the support of strangers that became friends.

My daughter died 37 years ago. Even though she never took a breath, or looked into my eyes, or held my fingers with her tiny hands, she still lives on in my heart. Every time I meet a young lady that was born in 1984 I see what Deborah Lynn might have been.

PS: My wife and I had a son in 1986. She only had boy’s names picked out. She just knew.

Scott is the owner of a firearms training company in North Texas with a background in juvenile corrections, law enforcement, and military service. In the last 20 years, he has trained over 2,000 women in the safe and correct use of firearms for self-defense.

He is also a Teaching Artist with Dancing Classrooms, teaching 5th graders to be ladies and gentlemen through ballroom dance. He has been a member of Toastmasters and Optimist International, having held offices with both organizations.