tami norgard unexpectedhealing

story by | patricia carlson

She walks quietly into the birth center room, her thick, brown hair pulled into a ponytail; a camera hanging loosely from a strap around her neck, she’s anxious to get this newborn photo session ‘just right.' She scans the room, recognizing its contents: a bed with whisper-thin sheets, a chair slept on by too many people, a muted television, and a man and a woman, cradling a swaddled baby. The baby doesn’t make a sound. His small, round head is covered with a knit cap. His tiny, wrinkly hands are tucked under his chin. His eyes are shut, as if asleep. But she knows better. She knows all too well that this baby won’t ever open his eyes. And, so, giving his parents a comforting, compassionate smile, she reaches out, squeezes the mom’s hand and says, “Hi, I’m Tami. Tell me about your baby.”

Tami Norgard has always felt in control of her destiny, her future. That quality helped her excel while growing up in western North Dakota, pushed her through a pre-law program at the University of North Dakota and helped her nab a spot in the prestigious environmental law program at Vermont Law School. It also attracted her husband, John Zasada, also an attorney, whom she met while studying in Vermont.

In 2008, the couple had two beautiful kids, Avery and Sebastien, and Tami was balancing the demands of motherhood, civic involvement, teaching at NDSU and her career at Vogel Law Firm, where she is one of the managing partners. “I always have a lot of things going on,” she says. “That’s my personality—over-involved!”

But the couple longed to expand their family and finally they felt the time was right. “John and I talked on and off about having another child and after a while we decided it was time,” Tami explains. Avery and Sebastien, ages 9 and 6 at the time, were elated to have a baby. “At those ages, they were very aware of what was going on,” says Tami. “Seb really wanted a boy, Avery really wanted a girl.”

The Day

It happened on a Wednesday afternoon. As Tami was sitting in a meeting, her mind drifted toward her normally quite active baby. “At some point, I realized I hadn’t felt the baby move for a while,” she says quietly. Hoping to quell the fears fostering once again in her mind, Tami texted her husband who was at hockey practice with the kids, and told him she was going to the doctor’s office just to make sure everything was alright. The nurse listened for a heartbeat. “She was trying to be so nice saying something about the placenta possibly being in the way and she needed to go get the doctor,” Tami recalls. “It was pretty clear to me what was going on.”

There, sitting alone in a curtained-off room, staring at the clock on the wall, Tami knew her worst fears were about to be confirmed. Their baby—due in just 3 weeks—no longer had a heartbeat.

“It was just...very sad,” she says, her voice trailing off and the tears she’d been trying to hold back, finally spilling down. Tami called John. “I had the kids in the car heading home. Everything just stopped,” he remembers.

“It didn’t seem real. I will never understand it. I knew life had changed for the four of us.”

The next few minutes were a blur for Tami. “You’re just told that your baby has no heartbeat and they’re asking ‘what funeral home would you like to use, do you want a death notice or obituary in the paper, are you going to have a burial or cremation?’ And I’m sitting there going, ‘Five minutes ago I just heard there was no heartbeat.’ And now I’m faced with a bunch of horrible decisions I have to make.”

The doctor handed Tami a packet of information, with everything from advice on funeral arrangements to an organization called ‘Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep’ that takes infant remembrance photos for parents of babies who are stillborn or who have an illness or birth defect that would make life outside the womb impossible.

Not one often at a loss for words, Tami for once didn’t have a response. “They asked me if I wanted to deliver the baby or have a C-Section.” Maybe in shock or denial of what just happened, Tami remembered thinking, “I have a big hearing tomorrow morning. Delivering a baby was not part of the plan.”

She couldn’t get her brain to keep up with her broken heart. But somehow she pulled it together long enough

Early the next morning, Tami had a C-Section. “Soon after delivery, I heard a strange noise, which I soon realized was my husband sobbing,” remembers Tami. “This is a guy who doesn’t cry. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen or heard him break down. I hope I never hear that again.”

Their baby was a boy and they named him Beck. Doctors to plan a C-Section and a photo session with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep [NILMDTS] early the next morning.

The Sadness

Tami drove home in a daze. “It rocks your foundation,” she says. “It changes who you are for a while. How you view life and the people in your life. It was a very isolating feeling. I just didn’t know how to react.”

Tami and John dropped the kids off with a friend and tried to figure out how to tell them there would be no little brother or sister joining the family after all. They shared the news later that night.

“It was like a part of them died as soon as they heard,” John recalls. ”The look on their faces I will never forget.” later determined this very active baby had tied a knot in his umbilical cord and cut off his blood supply as he moved around.

Tami and John took some time alone with Beck. They rubbed his wrinkly, pudgy feet. They touched his tiny hands. They soaked in every inch of his face, his eyelashes and brows, button nose, cupid’s bow lips. They held him close and cried.

Tami’s parents drove through the night to stay with Avery and Sebastien during the delivery, and brought them to the hospital. “It was the most painful thing to watch,” recalls Tami’s mom, Carol. “Tami and John for one thing, because they were so devastated, but also just knowing that there was nothing I could do to make it better.”

Tami and John gave the kids the opportunity to hold Beck. “We tried to be careful about the introduction. We wanted them to see and hold him, but we didn’t want to traumatize them either,” she says. Sebastien was nervous at first, but eventually he and Avery took turns holding him.

Carol describes her husband as a very quiet person who doesn’t show emotion a lot, but seeing Avery with her baby brother was heart wrenching for both of them as well as Tami’s brother Mike. “Watching Avery hold the baby with tears running down her face rocking him in the rocking chair, was absolutely…I don’t have words to even describe how I felt,” Carol recalls.

A few hours later, there was a knock on the door. A woman with a camera slung around her neck walked into the room, glanced sympathetically at Tami and

John holding Beck, and introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Brandi Spray with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. Is this your son, Beck? I’m here to take his pictures.”

The Goodbye

Brandi Spray is one of a handful of photographers, both professional and amateur, who volunteer with NILMDTS in Fargo and Grand Forks. Last year alone, Brandi shot 21 sessions for NILMDTS. In all, photographers volunteered to take pictures for more than 35 families who suffered infant loss in Fargo and Grand Forks.

“I could tell right away that Tami was a very strong person and she kept a brave face as all the commotion was taking place,” Brandi says. “One would be surprised at how strong women can be. That’s what has surprised me most through NILMDTS, is how families are able to survive through unimaginable pain.”

As an amateur photographer, Tami spent part of the session watching Brandi work, taking mental notes about poses and lighting and lenses. Even through her despair, or maybe because of it, Tami welcomed the distraction and ability to see Beck through someone else’s eyes. And she took comfort in knowing that she was not alone. “I was using Brandi as a means to find out if this happens to a lot of people,” Tami remembers.

After a brief 7 hours together, Tami and John said their final good-byes to Beck. “We knew our time was limited,” says Tami, “and we tried to burn every detail of him into our memories before we had to let him go. After a few days passed and the crispness of our memories began to fade, I really realized how valuable those NILMDTS photos were to our family.“ the bond

The days after delivery were a difficult time for Tami. She couldn’t distract herself by going to work. She was sad. She was angry. She felt isolated, like no one could really understand what she was going through.

“She was in a daze. No energy. She was a different person,” recalls John. “We sat at home for days and talked about Beck and the kids and the enormous sense of loss. Our mourning went on for months.”

Friends and co-workers brought meals to the house for weeks. Tami valued the conversation and friendship. Yet there came a time when Tami felt there was nothing new to say about the situation. “I kept feeling like I didn’t want to burden my friends,” she says. But those who also had experienced the loss of parents, siblings, or children offered solace. “I was really thankful that some of my friends could talk through the grieving process with me.”

In a tragic twist of fate, Tami met a close friend, Holly Klinnert, during this time. Just a few weeks before Tami’s loss, Holly delivered a full-term stillborn son, named Beckett.

“It was on Halloween night that I heard from a neighbor that a friend of theirs had just delivered a baby boy that was stillborn. The odd coincidence was they also named their son Beck,” remembers Holly. “I immediately felt a bond with Tami before I even met her.” In another coincidence, Tami and Holly’s sons were assigned to the same hockey team the following week, causing them to meet.

The two would email back and forth often, divulging their latest feelings. “I am a little embarrassed to admit I would compulsively check my e-mails looking for a message from her,” Holly confides. “I felt so lonely in my grief, but I definitely felt Tami understood and could commiserate with me.”

Weeks went by as Tami and Holly’s friendship deepened through email and coffee-shop ‘therapy sessions.’ “I cherished those times, sharing our latest feelings with one another, our dreams about our boys, and giving each other perspective on the situation,” Holly says.

“I often feel an instant bond with women who have experienced a late-term loss.” says Tami. “It’s remarkable how similar the stories and feelings are.”

The Support

As time passed, the family tried to find their new normal, which meant going back to work for Tami. It offered her a chance to re-connect with her co-workers even if they didn’t know how to approach the loss of Beck.

“We have glass walls without curtains in our offices and the first day I was back only one or two people stopped in. I watched people walk by without daring to look in, like no one really knew what to say or how to say it,” remembers Tami. “Frankly, I didn’t really know what to say myself.”

The following afternoon, one of Tami’s partners—a man in his 50’s—walked into her office. “He came in and just gave me a hug and the tears started rolling down his cheeks. I knew so many people cared, but couldn’t find words. That’s one thing I’ve taken from this. I try not to avoid difficult subjects. I call. I reach out.”

John also felt the healing power of someone reaching out. About 2 weeks after losing Beck, he was sitting in a coffee shop when a woman came up to him and asked if he was Beck’s dad. Stunned nearly speechless, all he could mutter was, ‘Yes.’ She said she was sorry for his loss and that his son was a beautiful boy.

“I got really choked up, knowing no one would ever refer to me as Beck’s dad again.” The woman was Brandi from NILMDTS.

Before leaving the coffee shop, John slipped her a note thanking her for calling him Beck’s dad. “The fact that this person volunteered to take pictures of my son Beck commented that with a 30% miscarriage rate, what would be the likelihood that we would all be delivering in December?” Tami miscarried at 11 weeks.

Certainly, a miscarriage was another heartbreaking setback. “But it was a whole different experience that time,” she explains. “If the order was reversed and I’d had a miscarriage first, then lost Beck, maybe it would’ve been different. I think we went into that pregnancy with our hearts hardened and our expectations low. At that point, we decided to give it one last shot.” and came up to me the way she did, I will never forget it. It meant so much to me.” Brandi still has John’s note. the journey

Three months passed since Beck’s death. Tami and John tried to identify who they were without him and if his loss had changed their ideas on expanding their family. Tami says their answer was a resounding ‘no.’ “If anything, we decided the only way to make sense of this is to have another baby.” The couple found out they were pregnant in April.

Surprisingly, so was Holly and another friend who had suffered a similar loss and joined them for their coffee-talks. “We all announced we were pregnant, five days from each other, all due around Christmas,” says Tami. What should have been a happy time for the women, turned into a cautious waiting game. “I

Tami and her family found great comfort in looking at Beck’s pictures, taken by NILMDTS. She felt she had the skills to provide the same experience Beck’s photographer, Brandi, gave her family. She applied to be, and was accepted as a photographer with NILMDTS. She is the only local photographer in the organization to have suffered an infant loss herself.

“On the one hand, I’m giving to them,” says Tami of her experiences photographing other couple’s babies. “But it’s also a way for me to reconnect with Beck. I don’t relive what happened in a sad way. I feel empowered that I can honor his memory by helping other people who are like me and help them feel that they are not alone.”

Tami doesn’t share her story with every couple she meets. “It depends on how they’re doing and if I think it will help. I encourage them to spend as much time as they can with their baby. And I might say ‘You won’t regret seeing your baby more, but you might regret not seeing your baby at all.’”

Brandi says Tami’s unique perspective has helped her bond with other NILMDTS families. “I think it’s probably easier to walk into the room with true empathy for a family versus just trying to be sympathetic, she can really feel what they feel.”

John says he is amazed by Tami’s strength and her willingness to help other people who are hurting. “It takes a special person to revisit that hurt and do something nice for other people in such a difficult situation. I could not do it.”

The Wait

Three months after miscarrying, Tami and John began another nervous pregnancy journey. “We were pessimistic,” says John. “We were not at all giddy with excitement. We weren’t going to go there. We just wanted to somehow get through the minimum amount of time necessary for the baby to be born.”

Soon the family found out they were expecting a baby girl. “We were anxious given the history of losses and the fact that we decided this would be our last attempt,” says Tami. “It was agony waiting for her to arrive.”

Tami rented a hospital grade Doppler, saw a Perinatologist often and had numerous 3D ultrasounds. They didn’t buy a thing for a nursery and there was no baby shower. “I just focused on getting her here,” explains Tami. “I tried to harden my heart in preparation for the worst. I just thought, ‘I can’t go through that again.’”

Holly, who had delivered her baby by then, tried to help Tami any way she could. “I knew that once she held that baby girl in her arms her heart was going to feel like it exploded. Unlike the silence that nearly kills you when they pull your dead child from you and the only cries heard in that delivery room are the sobs of agony and pain, hearing your baby’s first cry is intensely emotional. I knew Tami would feel the same way.”

And Tami did. Seventeen months ago, a ray of sunshine named Piper burst into their lives. She arrived 3 weeks early, at Tami and John’s request given their history. Piper spent 10 days in NICU further developing her lungs, but otherwise she was a beautiful and healthy little girl.

Then, just like that, “some of the sadness was gone.” John says. He believes Beck had something to do with it. “Beck is part of Piper in our eyes. There is something about her personality that we attribute to him. There will always be a void, but Piper has changed the four of us and our perspective is different now.”

“She is the happiest, sweetest little baby,” says a gushing Tami, “She doesn’t replace Beck but she’s brought light and life to our lives. Looking at the three happy faces around our breakfast table, there’s no room to feel sorry for ourselves. This is our family, our new normal, and we feel incredibly blessed to have these three children.”

The last 3 years have taught Tami the future isn’t guaranteed and there are no absolutes. And in that time she has felt compassion, anguish, love, anger, friendship, heartache and joy at levels never imagined. While it was a difficult situation, Tami says, “The true tragedy is how common this story is. I want to do what I can to help others through it.” From behind a camera lens, capturing a family’s infinite love on the darkest day of their lives, Tami has found a hidden gift, an inner strength…an unexpected healing.