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Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, miscarriage, pregnancy loss

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Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day so, I want to share my story. I wanted to remember my Declan, who I never got to hold in my arms. I don’t get to celebrate his birthday or his milestones. Instead, I mark time by mourning what could have been on what should have been his due date and on the day we lost him. I know it sounds morbid but these two days are all that I have. I don’t even get to talk about him. I’ll never have a picture of him on my wall or get to hear him call me “mommy.” I was robbed of all of it, even though I desperately wanted him.

I lost my third child on May 1, 2012. That day is seared into my soul and the wound is still as fresh today as it was that morning as we drove to the hospital. I was sitting there in the car with my husband but I felt more alone than I’d ever felt before. That day changed everything for me; not just my perspective of the world but who I was and how I would move throughout that world for the rest of my life. I’m not the same woman I was before that moment I was told that my baby no longer had a heartbeat. It’s not an easy story to tell, but I think it’s important. Maybe you’ve been through something similar, or maybe you know someone who has. Either way, I hope sharing this helps in some small way.

The Day It All Fell Apart

It was a Monday morning. April 30, 2012. Just another day, right? Except it wasn’t. I was 10 weeks and 4 days pregnant, and I had a routine ultrasound appointment to confirm everything was okay because I had some slight spotting. No big deal, I thought. I’d done this before with my other pregnancies. But the moment I saw the tech’s face, I knew. You know that feeling when your heart just… drops? Yeah, that. I wanted to disappear and stop everything.

I didn’t want to hear whatever they were about to say. I knew. She didn’t even have to say the words. But she did anyway. “I’m so sorry, we couldn’t find your baby’s heartbeat.” And just like that, my world imploded.

The Aftermath

You know what’s weird? How the world just… keeps going. There I was, my entire existence shattered into a million pieces, and outside that window, people were still walking their dogs, grabbing coffee, living their lives. It felt so wrong. Nothing felt alright. I didn’t even recognize myself. The grief and sadness were primal.

I remember sitting in my car afterward, just… wailing. I’ve never cried like that before or since. It was this primal, gut-wrenching sound that I didn’t even recognize as my own voice. And then, because life is cruel sometimes, I had to pull myself together to pick up my daughter from preschool. Can you imagine? Pretending everything’s fine when your heart is breaking into pieces? Even speaking was nearly impossible, the lump in my throat was choking me. How was I supposed to survive this?

The Silence That Followed

We hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy yet. You know how it is – that fear of jinxing it. So when we lost the baby, it felt like this secret engulfing grief. Like I was carrying this enormous weight that no one could see.

I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know that my baby existed, that he mattered, that I loved him fiercely even if I never got to hold him. But instead, I was quiet. Because how do you even begin to explain that kind of loss to someone who hasn’t been through it?

But this was too big to keep from those who mattered; those who loved us and would want to help shoulder the pain. I sent a text to our family and my closest girlfriends and told them the news. I dropped this catastrophic bomb that had just blew up my entire life and asked them not to contact me because talking to anyone, forming words and making sound, was too big an ask for me in this state.

Breathing felt like a privilege that I didn’t deserve. How could I go on living when my child could not? You’ve not known survivors guilt to this magnitude until you’ve had to go on living in a world where your beloved child cannot exist.

The Physical Reality

Let’s talk about something that people often gloss over – the physical aspect of miscarriage. It’s not just emotional pain; it’s physical too. I remember begging my doctor, “Please, get him out of my body.” I know that sounds harsh, but the thought of carrying my baby, knowing he was gone, was more than I could mentally bear. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I was existing in feral and  primal mode. I just wanted to disappear from everyone and everything I’d ever known.I felt shame for my body failing my child. I know, rationally, that it wasn’t my fault but when you are desperate for answers to why something so heinous happens, your mind can go to dark places.

The next morning, at 6 AM, May 1, 2012, I was at the hospital for a D&C. It felt so final. Like I was saying goodbye before I ever really got to say hello. My heart was broken wide open and I was hemorrhaging every rational thought that I had ever had. I was so detached and in so much mental anguish that I couldn’t even muster enough care to even ask my husband how he was feeling. I didn’t have the bandwidth to care about anyone; I was just trying to survive the most traumatic event of my life.

The Lingering Pain

Here’s the thing about losing a baby – it doesn’t just go away. Even now, 12 years later, I can feel that lump in my throat when I think about my Declan. That’s what we named him. He existed. He was real. He was loved. He was going to be Declan Wayne, carrying on his father’s name, as is the tradition in his family.

I still get angry sometimes. Why us? It’s not fair, and it’s okay to feel that way. Healing isn’t linear, you know? Some days are easier than others, but that dull ache? It’s always there. My arms are always just a little empty; my heart always holding space for our little boy. Every happiness is tinged with a little sadness because he should be here to celebrate with us. I don’t think there will ever be a day when I don’t feel this loss; this longing for something that’s missing. 

Finding Light in the Darkness

I won’t lie to you – this journey is tough. There were days when getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. But here’s what I’ve learned: we’re stronger than we know. Somehow, we keep going. We bend, but we don’t break.

You know what helps? Talking about it. Sharing our stories. That’s why I’m telling you mine. Because maybe, just maybe, it’ll help someone else feel less alone. And that’s something, isn’t it?

A Message for You

If you’re reading this and you’ve lost a baby, I want you to know something: Your baby mattered. Your grief is real. Your feelings are valid. And you are so, so strong.

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to laugh and then feel guilty for laughing. All of it is okay. You’re navigating something incredibly difficult, and you’re doing it the best way you know how.

Moving Forward, Not Moving On

People talk about moving on, but I don’t think we ever really do. Instead, we move forward, carrying our babies in our hearts. We find ways to honor them, to keep their memory alive.

For me, writing helps. Sharing my story helps. And on October 15th, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I’m lighting a candle. It’s a small thing, but it matters. It’s my way of saying, “You existed. You were loved. You are remembered.” Our Declan, he is at the top of my Dia de Los Muertos ofrenda. This is a sacred place of honor to me and when anyone comes to my house, they see his ultrasound scan. The one I insisted they take that morning before my D&C. The only tangible proof I have that he ever existed to the outside world.

A Final Thought

I know this is heavy stuff. But I’m glad you’re here, reading this. Because it means we’re in this together. We’re part of a club no one wants to join, but here we are. And you know what? We’re going to be okay. Not the same as before, but okay.

So, if you’re struggling, reach out. To me, to a friend, to a support group. Don’t carry this alone. And if you know someone who’s lost a baby, just be there. You don’t need to have the right words. Sometimes, just sitting in silence and acknowledging their pain is enough.

Remember, your story matters. Your baby matters. And you, my friend, you matter too.

Take care of yourself, okay? And know that you’re not alone in this. Not ever.

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Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, Miscarriage, loss, grief, the truth about motherhood, stillborn, infant loss, pregnancy loss, angel baby

International Pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day is a day of reflection for many parents. Sadly, there are so many parents who have lost infants and suffered a miscarriage that the frequency with which it happens is staggering.

Never heard of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day? That’s ok. I wish no one was having miscarriages or losing infants. It’s a day of remembrance for parents who have suffered miscarriages, delivered stillborn babies, sudden infant death syndrome victims and other causes of child loss.

“National observance of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month … offers us the opportunity to increase our understanding of the great tragedy involved in the deaths of unborn and newborn babies. It also enables us to consider how, as individuals and communities, we can meet the needs of bereaved parents and family members and work to prevent causes of these problems,” Ronald Reagan.

Before we lost our baby, I never knew there was a Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I had no idea knew that 1 in 4 pregnancies ended in miscarriage.

But once I miscarried, everyone I knew had a story. It’s something that happens to a lot of us that none of us talk about. It made me sad to know that all of these women were walking around the world with their hearts broken in a way that brings a pain and anguish that only losing a pregnancy or a child can bring.

The grief is one that you cannot get passed. Time can make it easier to survive, but you never get over losing a baby.

According to United States estimates, roughly 15 to 20 percent of all American pregnancies end in miscarriage in early pregnancy. Miscarriage is defined as the loss of a fetus before the 20th week of pregnancy.

More than 80 percent of these losses happen before 12 weeks. Mine happened during week 10.

READ ALSO: All I Can Do is Cry

I don’t talk about my miscarriage very often anymore. It’s like reopening a gaping wound in my heart to remember too vividly. But it remains, right beneath the surface, like a ghost haunting me. Today, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day,  I want to talk about it.

My pregnancy was unexpected. It wasn’t planned. We were living with my in-laws, waiting for our house to sell in another state. The Big Guy and I had been living apart for 2 years because of the Big Guy’s job. It just wasn’t doable anymore.

The Big Guy and I wanted another child. We’d planned on another child, after Gabi. When Gabi was almost 2, the economy was terrible and the Big Guy had to work out of state. We only saw each other on weekends. We had to shelve the idea of baby #3.

2 years later, living in a bedroom at my in-laws’ house, we were pregnant. Feeling every bit of the scrutiny and judgment one feels when, as an adult, living in someone else’s house with little kids. There were stepping on toes and disagreements on child rearing. It was a lot of good intentions gone awry. Mostly it was a lot of biting of tongues and hurt feelings.

I found out that I was pregnant at quite possibly the worst timing ever. Especially since there was such a lack of boundaries that things like, “ I hope you guys don’t get pregnant. We can’t fit anyone else in this house,” were tossed around, half teasingly and half-truth.

There we were holding this secret. We were excited about the secret baby of ours. More than anything, I was thrilled to be able to give our Gabi the one thing she was asking for, a baby brother or sister. I could stomach all the rude comments just to know that on her birthday, I was going to surprise her with the one thing she wanted most.

READ ALSO: Mommy, I want another baby

It was hard walking around a house, where it had openly been said that another child would be an even bigger imposition than we already were. It was hard keeping it hidden with extreme morning sickness and trying to appear as normal as possible when keeping the biggest secret I have ever had; the most amazing secret.

A few weeks before my big planned reveal at Gabi’s 5th birthday party, I began to spot. It was week 10 and 4 days. I had spotted with both previous pregnancies. I wasn’t worried but I called the doctor anyway, just to be sure. Then, it happened. My secret miracle was lost.  I had a miscarriage, all the world receded to the background and all I could feel was the loss.

It felt like I had been betrayed. I felt guilt for being scared when I first found out that I was pregnant; shame that I had let their words weigh on my heart. It felt like somehow, I was responsible. Did I allow it to happen? Like maybe if I would have spoken up at the time and told them I was pregnant and demanded they accept it, maybe my baby would still be alive. But that was all lies that my broken mind told my shattered heart to survive; to make sense out of one of the most tragic moments of my life.

What was going to be a pregnancy announcement turned into a miscarriage announcement. I felt compelled to let everyone know that my baby was here. He existed. He was loved, even though he was now gone. It was, thus far, the worst moment of my life. I was wounded irreparably and I have never completely healed.

My baby would be turning 6 this November 24th. I have friends who have children who are 5 and 6, who I completely forgot that were pregnant at the same time as I was because the year of 2012 is a complete blur of sadness and grief to me. All that I can vividly remember is the excruciating pain I endured. The millions of tears that I shed. Little voices, hugging me tight and offering me love and acceptance while I mourned the loss of their baby brother/sister.

1 in 4 women experience this kind of loss and the mind-breaking grief that so often accompanies it. It’s unimaginable and unfathomable the pain the human heart is capable of experiencing until you do. Then nothing else seems quite as relevant.

So many mothers and fathers walking around the planet surviving the pain and loss of their children. Let today, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, remind you to be kind to each other, every day because you never know what someone is going through. It could be the worst day of their life or the anniversary of their loss. You just never know.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, Miscarriage, loss, grief, the truth about motherhood, stillborn, infant loss, pregnancy loss, angel baby

READ ALSO: When a Tattoo Heals Your Heart

Somedays I feel strong and like I’ve made major leaps to move on through my grief and loss and other days, I feel like my heart is held together by a stick of chewing gum and a prayer. I am surrounded by what might have been all around me. It hurts because my miscarriage robbed me of that. Still, I try to take joy in the little time I did have; the all-consuming love that I had for my third baby and that has to be enough for now.

Do you know anyone who has suffered a loss?

Please remember to keep them in your thoughts and treat them with extra kindness today, October 15, on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and on all days.

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