A Vast and Sudden Sadness

Clark was nervous. "I remember standing outside the door before I went in and I prayed," she says. "I wanted to make photos they would cherish." She also remembers a sense of peacefulness as she worked. It was a sacred time, and she was buoyed by the gratitude shown by Tom and Melina. But she was also profoundly saddened. At times, she had to put her camera down to wipe the tears from her eyes as she captured the images. Amy touching Ella's fingers. Mae, in her pink-and-yellow kitty-cat pajamas, a pacifier in her mouth, peering at the baby's face. Jack, who had accompanied his mother to every doctor's appointment. Tom and Melina looking at their daughter's face.

The next day Tom carried his daughter to a hospital exit next to the ER, far from the place where new mothers are wheeled out with newborns in their arms and smiles on their faces. A mortuary attendant strapped Ella onto a gurney and drove off in a big white van. In the weeks after Ella's burial, Melina suffered both physical and emotional pain. Her breasts had to be bandaged to stop the milk from coming in—a poignant reminder of what should have been. Pregnant women brought tears to her eyes; new babies made her think about the milestones she was missing with Ella. But tangled up in the sadness was the conviction that Ella needed to be remembered. Clark's images allowed Melina to savor a face that was fading from her memory. And the Andersons' tributes to their daughter now assure her a constant place in the family. On the first anniversary of Ella's birth, the Anderson family held hands at her grave and sang "Happy Birthday." Then they went out for dinner and shared a birthday cake.

When Clark first heard about Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, she felt a powerful urge to participate, but she never imagined that she'd find herself on the other side of the lens. Last year Clark was overjoyed to discover she was pregnant. Her first three babies were healthy. This time, Clark's fetus was diagnosed with trisomy 18, a genetic disorder so catastrophic that less than 10 percent of babies make it to their first birthday. The Clarks, devout Mormons, never considered terminating the pregnancy. Above all else, they prayed that their little boy would be born alive and that he would live for some time—hours, days, weeks, maybe even long enough to go home.

Connor Clark was born on Dec. 22 at 5:54 p.m. For just over an hour, his parents, his siblings—Ellison, 10, Sydney, 7, and Hayden, 2—his grandparents and some of his many aunts and uncles held him, talked to him, rejoiced in him. Two photographers from Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep shot the sobbing and the smiles, the kisses, the hugs, the gentle cradling and the embrace between Jennifer and her husband, Spencer, when they realized they were losing their son. At 7:20 p.m., Connor took his last breath. At his funeral service two days after Christmas, the Clarks showed a powerful video compilation of black-and-white photographs set to music for their family and friends. A life deeply mourned, a life lovingly celebrated.

To learn more about Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, visit their website . For additional information on stillbirth and to find support resources for families, visit the M.I.S.S. Foundation and First Candle. And for more on research conducted by the National Institute of Child Health and Development, you can visit their site .

With Andy Murr

© 2009