Step 39: Crash into the anvil
A big part of why my illustrated autobiography got stuck for a six months is that I did not know how to write about my stillborn son. His name was Teifion Llewelyn Rhys Gill. Teifion is an uncommon Welsh name that means anvil. He died a couple days before his birthday.
Teifion came along too soon after Boyo (Internet nickname). We weren’t ready for another child. Christine was still dealing with post-natal depression. But we decided he was a gift and began to be excited about him. We discovered that he had stuff wrong with him after Christine’s first sonogram. His brain didn’t develop right. Neither did his circulatory system. It was a big messy web. He had a cleft palate.
The doctor told us after the autopsy that it was just one of those things that happens by chance to one in every 10,000 people.
We were unlucky.
Poo poo occurs.
Except it wasn’t supposed to occur in our lives. I am the son of a pastor. I was a youth pastor. I was in a church that taught that God heals people. I believed that God was working actively in my life to make awesomeness happen. And why not? My life was dedicated to God. If anyone was a candidate to have their kid get a miracle healing it was me. That is what Christine and I and my parents and our whole church were praying for.
We got no miracle.
We got reasons. Reasons why it didn’t work out this time are a lot easier than questioning your beliefs. When it isn’t your kid that is dead, it is really quite easy to come up with reasons and move on. That is what our church did. Christine and I did not move on so well. Her world fell apart instantly. Mine was dismantled slowly. In some ways my dead son is still causing the dismantling of my life.
Teifion died and was born eleven-and-a-half years ago.
