Telling my daughters was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. My husband decided to tell them the truth out of concern for me. My 4-year-old has been begging to be a big sister and he was afraid that in my fragile state, her relentless requests would be to torturous for me to endure. I think we should not of told her. My 4 year old took it especially hard. She is devastated. All I can do is cry.

The morning of my D& C, I awoke at 3:30 A.M. My 4 year old woke soon after and wanted to say good-bye to the baby. She put her arms around me and whispered quietly to my belly, “good bye, baby. I love you!” Then she begged me to get a photo of her baby for her. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Then she looked up at me and said, “ Maybe if I knew the baby was in your tummy I could have loved the baby more and he wouldn’t have died.” I whimpered, holding back the flood of hurt and pain that wants to come crashing out and consume the entire world. I have failed her and cannot give her what she’s wanted so badly.

5:30 am May first, 2012. It was a warm Tuesday morning. I walked into the hospital feeling lost and discombobulated, in a fog. We slowly made our way to the registration desk. It all seemed otherworldly, like it was a bad dream and wasn’t really happening but I couldn’t make myself wake up.

After what seemed like an eternity they called us back to prep for surgery. All I could think of we’re my children; my oldest trying to understand and comfort her sister, my youngest mimicking my inner breakdown, completely distraught that the baby was dead, and my baby who I loved so desperately but would never have the chance to hold, to look into his/her eyes, to kiss and nuzzle their tiny head.

Everyone was extremely kind to me that morning and I will always be thankful for their kindness. The kindness of strangers has truly helped me to survive the last few days. I’ve realized that sometimes its easier to speak to those who don’t really know you because they can offer an empathetic kindness and understanding unlike those who love you and have known you your entire life, because they are too vested and behind their love and support, you can see the pain and heartbreak they share with you and sometimes the burden of causing that pain is too much to bear.

The doctor arrived and I told her that I needed one last ultrasound to be certain there was no heartbeat. I.! There was no heartbeat only a beautiful, perfect baby with a profile that reminded me of my oldest. I was thankful for one last look and asked for the ultrasound photos so that I could grant my daughter at least this one simple request. I did not get overly emotional. I did not cry. I had my photo. In had my proof. Proof that my baby ever existed.

The procedure was explained to me in ad nauseum and I was reassuringly told that it would be over in ten minutes. I found that to be the most unsettling thing of all that my entire life could be altered, my baby’s lifetime of promise and all of our hopes and dreams completely gone in a matter of ten minutes.

Tuesday morning my life was changed forever. I am not the same woman I was yesterday or the day before. She is gone. I am part of a new club, the saddest club ever. The one filled with all the mothers of the world who never got to meet their babies. That morning, one of the worst of my life, I met 4 of the kindest nurses I’ve ever met, 3 out of the 4 had experienced miscarriages. Each time they offered their sympathies and shared their own loss, I found myself feeling overwhelmed by my sadness for their loss.

I feel like a raw open wound and the wound is my heart and I’m not sure it will ever truly heal. I feel like I am on an emotional rollercoaster in hell and I cannot get off and I so desperately want to. I just want my mind to quiet and my heart to stop hurting so badly. I just want to survive. A quote was sent to me by one of my readers and it made me cry but I think it is beautiful, so I am sharing it here.


An angel in the Book of Life wrote down our baby’s birth and whispered as she closed the Book: “Too Beautiful for Earth!” ~Anon 

It ‘s beautiful to think of it that way but it doesn’t stop the pain. I hope someday, I will meet my baby again and get the chance to hold him/her in my arms, kiss her upon her cheek and be his Mommy.

*This and the previous post were written in my notes on my phone, as I was experiencing the hell of this week. It was written in a very vulnerable state and it may not make sense, or there may be misspellings or grammar issues, or jump all over the place because it’s hard to write logically when your world is falling apart and you can barely see to write through the tears and swollen eyes.