By Brianna Scoggins
Mommy to Gavin, stillborn in 2020
and rainbow baby, Halyn, born 2022
On July 5, 2020, I went to the hospital just looking for reassurance. I hadn’t felt Gavin move, and I was hoping the doctors would calm my fears.
Instead, I was told he no longer had a heartbeat.
I was scheduled for a C-section, and I wanted my doctor to be the one to deliver. So I was sent home that evening and told to return the next day. On July 6th, I delivered Gavin. His birth was silent and tragic.
It was also the height of COVID. I was terrified no one would be able to meet him—and that this would be our only chance. Thankfully, the hospital staff broke the visitor rules under our circumstances. They made sure some of our family could come and meet Gavin.
Shortly after I got back to my room, a photographer from On Angels’ Wings arrived—completely arranged by the nurses. Honestly, I don’t even remember much about the photo session. Between the grief and the surgical medications, it’s a blur. But I do know this: if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have any photos from those first precious hours. Those images are everything to me.
We had about 12 hours alone with Gavin in a cuddle cot after the photos were taken. Eventually, we had to say goodbye and leave the hospital—with only a box of mementos and memories to carry home. We had so little time with him, and I’m forever grateful to the OAW photographers who arrived so quickly to capture what they could.
About six months after losing Gavin, we felt this sudden urge to try again. I don’t even know that we made a conscious decision—we just trusted the universe and moved forward. We’d always known we didn’t want Bryson to grow up an only child here on earth. So, trying again was always in the cards.
My pregnancy with Halyn was perfect physically, but emotionally, I was constantly holding my breath. The anxiety of carrying a baby after loss is something no one can prepare you for. I was terrified to tell anyone I was pregnant. It felt like the more people who knew, the more people I’d disappoint if something went wrong again. (Looking back, I know that thinking doesn’t make sense—but in my post-loss pregnancy brain, it made all the sense in the world.)
I had incredible care—weekly appointments and constant monitoring—which helped, but didn’t fully ease the fear.
We held a small gathering to tell our close family that we were expecting a girl. Beyond that, we kept the pregnancy very quiet—even from people who saw me every day. Halyn came into the world 18 months after Gavin, and when she was born screaming instead of silent, we finally got to breathe again.
Her birth was healing. It was everything we hoped it could be. Every second of her pregnancy felt like we were holding our breath—and finally, we could exhale.
We continue to honor Gavin every single day. He’s part of our family. We talk about him openly. We have his photos (many thanks to OAW) up around the house. The kids both know they have a brother in heaven and aren’t afraid to tell people about him. We say he’s just on vacation, but we all know he’s with us.
Every year, we run a fundraiser in Gavin’s name to support On Angels’ Wings. This year, we did a virtual 5K—and the turnout was amazing. We’ll always find ways to keep his memory alive.
We live as a family of five… but a party of four.
I tell everyone: always trust your instincts. Stillbirths are often preventable, and if you ever feel like something’s off, go to the hospital right away.
I wouldn’t have any photos of Gavin right after birth—before everything started to change—if it weren’t for OAW. Because of them, we have those memories frozen in time.
We participate in every OAW event we can—grief recovery, the gala, the October remembrance event, Santa visits. It’s powerful to be around people who just get it. Because no matter how many times you try to explain your grief, there are people who could never even begin to put themselves in your shoes.
Most other support has faded over the last five years. But OAW has never gone anywhere. Even when we haven’t used every single resource they offer, just knowing they’re still there has meant the world.
And honestly, most people aren’t even in a place to think about photography services when they lose a child. That’s why I’m so grateful to the hospitals and nurses who handled everything for us—so we could have those photos of Gavin when we never would’ve thought to ask for them ourselves.
