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5 Key Lessons I’ve Learned

I’ve learned a lot since experiencing my miscarriages. Some lessons I’ve learned I still don’t think I can put into words. For pregnancy and infant loss awareness month, I reflected a while on listing at least 5 of the most important lessons I have taken away.

1.) Lean on those who love you. It’s hard to allow yourself to be vulnerable. As women, I feel as though a lot of the time we are expected to deal with pain silently. People expect us to pick ourselves up and move on without question. Doing this not only makes loss more painful, but it is also damaging to relationships to handle grief this way. Lean on your partner, your friends, your parents. Whoever it is you can trust, allow them to comfort you and help pick you up when you need it.

2.) Express yourself and your feelings. Don’t bottle up your pain. It is real. Let yourself feel it and talk about it to those you can trust. Do not file it away because it isn’t a topic commonly discussed. If you reach out, you will find others who can relate.

3.) Take time to care for yourself. Take some personal days. Sleep in. Stay in your pajamas all day. When I had my first miscarriage, I must have eaten over 20 tasty cake cream filled cupcakes through the week. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s my favorite junk food and in some way, it made me feel better. Indulge and comfort yourself in a way you see fit. Watch trashy TV and cry. Let yourself release all the tears you hold for your loss. 

4.) Don’t let anyone dictate how you grieve. You will carry this loss with you for the rest of your life. That’s just how it is. It gets easier with time, but you will always hold it in your heart. It’s how you handle it moving forward that can make a difference. Grieve in your own way. Honor your loss each year. Don’t listen when people tell you to get over it or move on already. Because, sadly, there will be people who say that to you. Sometimes people just don’t know what to say. And we have to take what they say and try to understand where they are coming from. 

5.) Keep the faith. It’s hard to keep faith that some higher power or someone knows why the heck this stuff has to happen to us, but it is important to focus on a belief that there’s a reason for these events. I still struggle with this and can’t fully understand why my body decided to trick me. But searching for the light gets you through your dark days. And you will have dark days. No matter how optimistic of a person you may be. Loss will bring you down in ways that you may have never been down before. But, you have to believe there is that light at the end of the tunnel. There is always hope, always a sunnier day ahead.

Category : Kate , Volunteer Bloggers


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I will never forget…

As this month is pregnancy loss awareness month I have been thinking a lot about our losses and how others sometimes seem to have forgotten that we have been through so much in order to have our daughter. 

I will never forget that my first positive pregnancy test ended in a loss only a few weeks later. 

I will never forget the moment when the ultrasound tech turned the screen away from us and told us she needed to get the doctor, after we had already seen our little one’s heartbeat twice.

I will never forget the moment that I started having cramps then bleeding while I was volunteering for a local charity.

I will never forget the moment when the ultrasound tech told us everything looked great and we were 6 weeks along, after being told we were 6 weeks along 3 weeks prior. 

I will never forget when I sat at Thanksgiving dinner knowing that our pregnancy was probably over but we had to wait until after the long weekend to have a second ultrasound to confirm our baby was not going to make it. 

I will never forget when I woke up in the middle the night with cramps and a few days later I was bleeding and knew it was the end of our 5th pregnancy. 

I remember all of those days like it was just yesterday. 

But as much as I remember all those bad days I also remember all the good ones that followed with my 6th pregnancy. 

I remember the day we saw her heart beat for the first time, the day we were told that all her genetic testing was normal, the day that I felt her kicks for the first time, the day that I could see her move for the first time, and the day that we first got to hold her and all of the days in between. 

We will never forget all that we have been through in order to have our daughter, we will never forget all of our other babies. 

Category : Amanda , Volunteer Bloggers


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Please Don’t Say…

Please don’t say it happened for a reason….

For there is no reason for an innocent child to be taken away. While good can come of bad situations, good does not rely on pain.

Please don’t say I can have another…

Because not one, ten or a million will be the baby I lost. Each life is irreplaceable, so don’t try to replace mine.

Please don’t act like this pregnancy was a mistake…

You don’t know how long we waited to see those two pink lines. You don’t know how long we’ll wait, or if we’ll ever see those lines again. We prayed, we planned, we begged God for a miracle. No matter how short, that life was ours.

Please don’t say it, if you start with “at least”…

A loss is a loss, there is no “at least” or bright side. At least I wasn’t further along? At least I got to hold her? What you truly mean is, at least it wasn’t you.

Please don’t ask why I’m still crying…

A loss happens in a single moment, but grief takes a lifetime. A child made a hole they were meant to fill. And now that hole has left an empty space, not a lifetime of tears can fill.

Please don’t tell me how strong I am…

I did not plan or train for this strength. This strength is not something I’m proud of. It was forced on me or I would have drowned.

Please don’t tell me about when I’ll be a mother…

I was a mother already the moment I conceived. I was for every second of their tiny heartbeat. And I’ll be forevermore. I’m still a mother, though my child is gone. They’ll still be my baby, though worlds keep us apart.

But please, oh please, don’t say nothing at all…

I don’t need your advice, I don’t need help finding my way out. I just need arms to hold me, a shoulder to cry on, and to hear the sweet name of my angel. Don’t be afraid that you’ll remind me of my loss. I think of her every second of every day. What I truly fear, most of all, is that her name is never spoken again.

The most comforting of words, when a heart is breaking, are the words not said by the tongue, but spoken through the heart. A tear shed, a hand held, a look that passes a sonnet. These are the words I want to hear when I want to hear nothing at all.

Category : Sarah , Volunteer Bloggers


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The Ugly Emotions We Don’t Talk About

I haven’t written lately because I have been struggling. I am still struggling with our loss. I am still struggling knowing that “Hudson” is quickly becoming a popular name and I now have to hear it and can’t say, “Oh, that’s my eight month old’s name!”

Even more, I’ve been struggling with the most recent group of pregnancy announcements and babies.  And this is where the ugly emotions come in. After my miscarriage, I did the normal grieving process. I expected that once I came to the point of acceptance that baby showers, meeting new babies, and excitement would just follow. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been the case. All I feel is resentment. It’s fleeting, but I feel it with every single announcement I see.  I realize how this makes me sound. I hate myself for even having the feelings, but they are there.

And what’s even worse, is that the latest round of pregnancy announcements have been from people who have experienced secondary fertility. They didn’t just end up pregnant the first month they tried for a second baby. It has been years for most of them. Some have gone through miscarriages themselves. So after the resentment subsides, all I feel is guilt and shame. Guilt because both of our children were conceived without trying. Guilt because even though we lost our second baby, we have a child here that is wonderfully spectacular and perfectly healthy. And some people haven’t even had the chance to bring one baby into the world.

There is certainly some resentment as well because I’ll never get the chance to have our rainbow baby. I’ll never get that healing of being able to bring another child into this world biologically. And that’s something I’ll eventually have to deal with.

I’m sharing this in hopes that if anyone is struggling with these same feelings, you will understand you’re not alone.  It’s not the healthiest emotion, but it is a valid one and it needs to be identified. And if I’m the only person who holds these feelings of resentment, perhaps acknowledging and naming it will allow me to heal even further.

Category : Jessica , Volunteer Bloggers


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A second child

I get asked regularly about more children – when are you going to have more kids? Are you going to have more kids? Won’t they be too far apart in age if you wait much longer? 

Questions like these are hard to hear. Yes we do want to have more children, at least one more, but it’s not that simple. 

When people that don’t know our journey to have our daughter I usually just say that we had a hard time conceiving her, so it’s not as easy as just wanting another baby. And I leave it at that. For people that know our story and still ask I just tell them that we have to go back to see a specialist and talk to her about the meds that I had to take last pregnancy, and the possibility of the meds working again. 

You see even though the meds helped me carry my daughter to term, they were not a cure for my losses. They were a “This might work, it helps 80% of the time it’s used for unexplained reoccurring miscarriages.” Yes that is a great percentage but I also fall into a group of couples that have multiple losses that is less then 5%, so just because the odds are in our favor doesn’t mean it will work twice. 

There is a lot to consider this time around. Can we handle another miscarriage? If we have one do we try again? How many times do you try to have another baby that we can hold and watch them grow, after you have one already? 

When we are ready we will take the steps to see what the specialist says and we will go from there. 

Category : Amanda , Volunteer Bloggers


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A Connection

My husband and I were shopping for baby furniture the other day. We have been so focused on the other parts of our new house that we had put off setting up the nursery. We finally nailed down a day to go out to start looking. We met at a store nearby and spent over an hour perusing the cribs, matching dressers, gliders, and rockers.

We spoke with a sales associate to purchase our chosen crib and dresser. We began talking with him about what we do and where we are from. He walked us over to the counter to tally up our price. As he was adding everything up, he told us a bit more about himself. He said how before working at the store he had sold car seats, now he sells furniture. He knows about all the guidelines and regulations of baby things and top brands. He told us of all the nieces and nephews he had. One would assume he had children of his own.

“My wife and I wanted kids,” he said as he wrote up our receipt. “We had about 4 or 5 losses. We tried adoption, but that didn’t work out either. So here we are. We’re happy with how things are meant to be.”

We both responded with, “Wow, we’re so sorry.” I stood there for another moment in silence, unsure of how to respond to this man’s brave honesty. I decided to respond with my own honesty.

“I had two miscarriages before this pregnancy,” I said. I felt my face get red as I placed my hand over my wiggling baby bump.

He nodded his head, “So you know how it feels. It’s hard.”

“It is. It’s really tough,” I said. “I guess we just have to keep believing someone up there knows why this stuff happens because we sure don’t. Just gotta believe there’s a reason behind it all.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s all we can do.” He said to my husband his name made him think of it. One of the losses was supposed to be named Zachary. 

Since having my miscarriages, we haven’t had an off the cuff conversation like that with a stranger. We didn’t say that much to each other. We didn’t go into detail. The understood feeling of the heartbreak of loss connected the three of us in that moment. What started as a simple trip to get some furniture for our little one, turned into a moment of deeper human connection. You really never know what others have gone through. We all have a story to tell and it makes a difference when there are people there to listen.

Category : Kate , Volunteer Bloggers


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Introducing Thomas John

In the pregnancy loss community, the term rainbow baby is commonly used to refer to a baby who is born after the loss of another, as that child is something beautiful the same way a rainbow is after a dark storm.

I must confess that for a long time, I hated this phrase. Why? I’m not really sure, but I can only assume that it’s because while I was in the middle of that storm (or hurricane, as it more commonly felt) I couldn’t imagine ever seeing that rainbow.

Now it’s here.

It is with a full heart that I introduce my son Thomas John, who was born on July 18 at 11:33am, weighing 8lb, 2 oz and measuring 20.5 inches long.

TJ (aka Goose) is actually my 2nd rainbow baby but for me, there’s something about that final burst of light that just feels special. This is the end. There will be no more pregnancies, no more losses, no more waiting. I no longer have to wonder just how many times I’ll be pregnant because now I know the answer: five. (That number still doesn’t seem real to me)

When my son Ryan was born two years ago, he wasn’t a rainbow – he was the sun and the stars and the entire freaking universe. But as overjoyed as I was, I also knew our family wasn’t complete. I knew there would potentially be more struggles and more dark days and I honestly didn’t know if I could handle that.

But I discovered I could.

Now, with my two little boys, I feel blessed and hopeful for our future together. I can finally see the rainbow.

Category : Karen , Staff/Board Members


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If you've come to this blog, it likely means you have suffered a pregnancy loss of some type. We are so sorry you have found yourself here, but hope the stories of life after loss can help you on your road to healing and recovery. Remember, we are all in this together!

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