Tearful joy or joyful tear? When a baby’s first cry marks a mother’s last breath

I still don’t know what to call it, a joyful tear or a tearful joy. How do you describe a moment where life begins and ends at the same time?

The moments that marked October 25, 2023, became the darkest of my life, maybe they always will be. But in the shadow of that day, I had almost forgotten to notice the light that kept blinking, faint but steady, at the end of the tunnel.

On this day, my world turned dark, shone a light, and then it went back to darkness again. The death was losing my beloved wife, Zipporah, as she gave birth to our daughter. The light was Jannelle Zaria, our daughter, my daily reminder that even in grief, life finds a way to shine through.

The moments are surreal.

To this day, the number of women who die from pregnancy-related complications sends a cold chill down my spine because my wife died while giving life.

Kenya records 355 maternal deaths 100, 000 live births, which translates to 6,000 women annually.  About 2,500 to 3,000 women die from excessive bleeding after birth, known as Post-Partum Haemorrhage, every year.

This loss is silent, swift, and largely preventable. That single event in the hospital changed our lives forever. Becoming a single dad overnight was the last thing I expected.

Death is cruel. 

Death is a monster. 

I celebrate the family and friends who wiped my tears, held my hand, and stood by me when I could barely stand on my own.

“Sorry… we tried, but we couldn’t make it.”

These chilling words, said so callously, broke my world into a million pieces.

In one moment, my world shifted completely. I lost Zipporah, a wife, a friend, a childhood sweetheart, a classmate, all while she was bringing new life into the world.

We have a crisis of maternal deaths in Kenya.

The recent announcement by the Gates Foundation prioritizes innovations that aim to avert the death of pregnant women and their lives, especially those in low- and middle-income countries like Kenya. 

The landmark announcement by the Gates Foundation of $2.5 billion through 2030 will accelerate research and development (R&D) in women’s health areas, including in maternal and child health, to end preventable deaths of mothers and babies.  This is also a chance to bring the men and communities to the table, to understand the urgency of maternal health, and to act swiftly when warning signs emerge.

Studies have found that developing countries such as Kenya bear a significant burden of global maternal deaths, and men’s roles in raising awareness in preventing these deaths have been shown to influence health outcomes in these regions. 

Male involvement fosters holistic birth preparation and readiness, including recognition of danger signs. The males will also support their pregnant women to attend antenatal clinics for a successful pregnancy and support arrangements for Skilled Birth Attendance at a health facility.

Male involvement prevents delays in accessing care, which in turn decreases the risk of developing complications and also averts maternal deaths. This is a clarion call for men to be included in maternal and child health advocacy campaigns. Here is my short story, my reason to lead this movement.

 I took my beloved wife, Zipporah, to the hospital for an elective C-section on 24 October 2023. She was healthy, jovial, full of life, and all smiles as she awaited the arrival of our daughter. She had no idea she would never get to raise this little girl she had so looked forward to meeting.

Indeed, we might not live to be part of the future that we strive to make better.

We arrived at the hospital around 4 p.m. A series of tests were done to confirm her readiness for the delivery. She was later allocated a bed to rest for the night. I left the hospital around 7 p.m., after sharing some bright moments, laughter, jokes, and a long conversation about baby names. We were ready to celebrate the next day.

When I arrived home in the evening, I warmed the pilau she had lovingly prepared for me and the kids before she left for the hospital and sat down to eat dinner. I called her before retiring for the day to wish her a good night.

“Babe, ukikuja kesho nibebee my pillow now that hizi zenye tumepewa huku ni ngumu.”

Those were her last words to me that night - soft, ordinary words - and yet now they echo so loudly in my mind.

The next morning, my wife called around 9 a.m. and told me she was next in line for surgery. I wished her a safe surgery and told her I’d be at the hospital within the hour with our sons, Jeremy and Jayson. Since they had completed their school exam, they had insisted on coming along to meet their new sibling and see their mum. She was so happy about that, like she hadn’t seen her boys in years.

Jeremy, Jason, and I arrived at the hospital shortly after 10.00 a.m. As we walked into the ward my wife had been in, a nurse approached us, holding a beautiful baby girl. It was Jannelle, our newborn daughter.

Jeremy, Jayson, and I were all overjoyed to meet her. We were asked to wait for their mum as doctors had not finished with her in the theatre. Time ticked on. An hour passed. Still no news. I became anxious and followed up with the nurses.

Eventually, I was taken to the theatre, where I saw my wife in a mask, struggling to breathe. The doctors told me they were working on her.

I went back out, waited, and waited. It felt like forever. I returned to the theatre, only to be met with the crushing words: “We tried our best to save her.”

That life – Jannelle - changed everything. My entire perspective on life, on love, on fatherhood. She came into this world bearing both the weight of loss and the promise of hope.

Since that day, my children have been my source of strength. Every morning, I stand up because of them.

Today, I choose not to mourn, but to celebrate.

I celebrate Jannelle, my lovely daughter.

I celebrate my sons, Damien, Jeremy, and Jayson.

What matters most, for me, is how I choose to rise from this shadow. My dedication is to work with the families and fathers left behind. 

As a father, my focus has been on providing for my family and caring for my newborn daughter. Bringing up this baby presented a profound challenge. The children miss Mummy, and they will more often bring her up, remembering the days when she brought smiles and joy every day.

 I received much-needed help at that time from my aunt, whom I call my mother. She moved in with us at my house, and for a whole year, she helped me care for Janelle. After one year, she had to move back to her home.

As I write this, Janelle is a beautiful and healthy eighteen-month-old toddler,  growing up in a home full of love. Her brothers adore her; however, they still long for their mother.  I have been thrust into the role of being both the mum and dad for my children. I carry that weight every day, holding it all together for us and for my dear wife Zipporah, whom I miss very much.

Beyond this, I am committed to working with men, families, and communities affected by the loss of a pregnant wife, mother, sister, or daughter during delivery.

We can show up, hold it together, and guide our children through the storms; with love, with strength, and with unwavering presence.

With PPH being the top cause of death in pregnant women, join me as I RUN FOR HER on September 28 during the second PPH Run in Nairobi as we raise our voices about women’s health being a critical area of investment. 

We seek greater commitment from our leaders, governments, funding agencies, and stakeholders to deploy new technologies, including Artificial Intelligence (AI), to transform women’s health outcomes across Africa and prevent any pregnant woman from dying from preventable causes. 

We can do it. Let men, father, as pillars of the families, stand up to lead.