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Getting Over It

Several years ago, I had a mother request a Comfort Kit for her daughter who had just lost twin babies. Upon receiving the confirmation email that noted the package could take up to 2 weeks to be delivered, she contacted me saying to cancel the request. She didn’t realize the delivery timeframe could be that long and her daughter would be over it by then.

Every fiber of my being wanted to write back and say “Are you kidding me? Over it in less than 2 weeks?!” but naturally I didn’t. I don’t remember what my exact response was, but I honored her request and did not send the kit. But this story has clearly stayed with me, and from time to time I ponder what “getting over it” even means in relation to pregnancy loss.

Do our bodies physically get over it? Usually, but not always. In some cases it takes much longer than expected. After I had a missed miscarriage in 2015, followed by a D&C, it was discovered that I had experienced a partial molar pregnancy. As a result, it took months for my body to return to normal – long months full of constant monitoring and tests. And a worry about cancer, as molar pregnancies, although typically benign, can become cancerous.

In the end I DID get over it and soon after went on to finally have a healthy pregnancy.

But emotionally? I’m not sure that’s something most people ever truly get over. Does it eventually stop consuming all of your daily thoughts? Sure. But does it ever completely leave your memory? I don’t know how it could.

I can’t tell you how moving it is when I see a new comment on our Wall of Remembrance honoring a baby who would now be older than I am. That child is loved and remembered even all these years later. In my mind, getting over it means forgetting, and in that case, I’m ok with never getting over it. Because I never want to forget the children we didn’t get to bring home.

I hope that in 40 years I remember them the same way I do now – with love and with a bit of pain and sadness in my heart. They are part of our story, part of our lives. And in my opinion, there is no getting over it – and I sincerely hope no one expects me to.

Category : Karen , Staff/Board Members

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I choose better

I am not okay. I am struggling right now in my spirit. For 6 months I have been in lock down because I am doing my part, making the sacrifices, and compromising my life to help eradicate COVID19, but it is NOT making a dent in this pandemic as the community infection rates rise. Prior to COVID19, I had a plan. After years of contemplating going back to school, I took the leap of faith, submitted my resume and accepted a new position. I was able to finally enroll in an online Masters degree program I have contemplated for a few years now. I felt at ease with my youngest son turning one and my oldest son in Pre-Kindergarten, things were moving along as planned with the goal to finish my program in the spring of 2021. And then COVID19 hit our country. And now I am scrambling to keep my work, family and school obligations from crashing down on me. This is not fair! I feel like no one cares nor is listening to me.

Similarly, I know that many came into the new year with plans to start a family or resume fertility treatment or try again after a pregnancy loss. Many of these plans have been placed in jeopardy or on hold because of COVID19. For many who were due this year, added stress of the unknown caused concern about pregnancy and delivery care. And for those who went through a pregnancy loss, the isolation added more weight to the loss without the comfort of friends and family. Too many unknown variables contributed to anxiety and depression. My mental state is fried. When I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel, it turns out just to be a firefly and I am still surrounded by darkness. One day its like this country takes one step forward to then takes five steps backwards. It is infuriating. It maddens me.

When the anxiety is too much and I have exploded in complete delirium, when I finally am able to calm the rage inside my spirit, the compassion and love for my family and friends resurface. I recalibrate because when one goes through pain and suffering we are never the same coming out of the fire. The hope is that we are refined, made better because of the pain. For me, this life season is hurtful and I want to change and be a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and neighbor. I want to be a better global citizen. I truly hope that as a country we can empathize with each other and not only help each other up, but carry the burden because the struggle is real. The pain is real. And it is how we come out of the fire that will redefine us as a country. How you come out of your pain, your struggle, your loss will set the course we walk down and hopefully it will be for better days.



Category : Tracy , Volunteer Bloggers

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For this child, I have prayed…

I am not even remotely religious. Neither are my parents or my wife. I have rarely been to church. I have never formally prayed. If you asked me, I’d probably tell you I’m an atheist, though admittedly an agnostic-leaning one.

So why then, at nearly 26 weeks pregnant with a child I could only describe as a miracle, do I fixate on the Bible verse 1 Samuel 1:28 that begins “For this child I prayed…”?

Is it because after 4 miscarriages and countless medical procedures, somehow (there, but for the grace of God?) it feels like I magically willed this baby into existence? Is it because of the triteness and hollowness of language like “It was worth the wait!” and “This was how it was meant to be” just don’t ring true for me? I will never believe that suffering begets joy, or that things needed to be this way. I will never accept any conception of God that would allow innocent babies to die just to teach me some sort of a lesson in patience and virtue.

Instead, I think of all of the nights I lay awake sobbing without a sound. Of walking deep into the woods and screaming out in painted tears when no words would come. I think of the moments I silently bargained – and yes prayed – for a higher power to end the pain and give us the baby we longed for. Perhaps I don’t steadfastly believe in the God I reached for in those times, but I wished I had faith to carry me through when I couldn’t walk any longer. In desperation I mouthed the words over and over. Please. Help. I yelled in anger. I cried in despair. I hoped, oh, I hoped. And I prayed.

I tried to be a better person, more deserving. I tried to be an awful person, someone deserving of the terrible hand I’d been dealt. And all along, I pleaded. To be wrong. To be right. For a sign. For an end. For resolution.

I may be an atheist, but I prayed for this baby again and again. Out of desperation and fear, and also hope and even, maybe, a glimmer of faith. “For this child I have prayed” captures the rawness I felt, and often still feel. It also captures my relief and gratitude at this answered prayer… wherever it might have come from. And when I see or hear those words I feel at peace, content that the miracle growing (and growing, and growing!) inside me was hard fought and hard won. Thank you for this child.

I will probably continue to pray.

Category : Meredith , Volunteer Bloggers

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Our Baby Boy

On May 2nd at 6am we arrived at the hospital and by 6:35 our son had arrived. While he came very quickly once we got to the hospital, the last couple months of pregnancy seemed to drag on forever.

While staying at home and keeping up with our 3 year old was physically tough, the anxiety of getting closer to his birth was weighing on me emotionally. Giving birth during such an uncertain time in the world caused me more anxiety than last time, but in the end, it wasn’t as hard as I thought.

Our hospital experience this time around was very different then last time. After our daughter was born, most of our immediate family was at the hospital within an hour of her being born, and no one came to the hospital to see our son. This time I stayed in the hospital alone, while last time my husband stayed with me almost the whole time (although part of this was due to our daughter being at home).

As much as I mourned the absence of my family being with us shortly after birth, it ended up turning out okay in the end. Our daughter rushed to the door as soon as we came home from the hospital and asked to see baby right away. She asked, “Where’s baby?” before I even got through the door. She has fallen in love with him and shows it everyday since he came home.

We spent a few weeks at home by ourselves before any of our family was able to meet and hold him. When they finally came over and met him it was wonderful, so much joy and happiness.

Having what most likely is our last child home with us has been both amazing and sad. Our journey to have children was a lot longer, and way harder then we expected it to be, and because of this we are probably ending our journey on expanding our family here. This is hard for me because I always imagined myself with a larger family of three or four children, but most likely the right decision going forward.

The pain of 7 losses over the last 7 years has definitely taken a toll on both my mental and physical health. I wish things would have been easier and starting a family didn’t take so long.

We are extremely lucky to have two beautiful children who are healthy and happy. Even though our journey here was tough, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Looking into my son’s eyes and watching my daughter dance around brings me so much joy.

Category : Amanda , Volunteer Bloggers

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Charlie’s Story

My story begins in July 2019, when I learned I was 6 weeks pregnant with my first child. My now husband and I were beyond excited for this little new addition. We soon learned that our baby would share a birthday (03/05) with my mother who had passed years ago. It seemed like a good omen.

The world where it was just the two of us was soon to become a whole lot bigger. Our mindsets changed from where we would travel for vacation to how many diapers a newborn goes through in a day, week, and month.  The months went by and all the joys of pregnancy were celebrated. At 20 weeks we found out we were having a baby boy! 

I spent an exhausting amount of time researching the best diapers, the best non-toxic plant based toys, the best stroller and the best swing. I spent months researching sleep training techniques and the best formula that mimicked breast milk (just in case). He deserved the best and I was committed to providing the best money could buy. My Google searches were flooded with questions about the birth process and what to do with a newborn all day. I ate well, exercised and sought Reiki for a sense of calm and healing. With our unusual work schedules, we coordinated child care early and put a deposit down for September 2020. We checked off every item on our “to do” list and then some. 

At 6 months pregnant we began constructing the nursery. We refinished the hardwood floor, put the crib together, and diligently stocked every drawer and every shelf. I stocked the baby bag (that I just had to splurge on!) with every essential item he may need. Every book was carefully placed. Every onesie and every blanket was washed with baby laundry detergent that I spent weeks researching. Every night I would turn on the air purifier, sit in the nursery chair, and prepare for his arrival. I wanted us to have a routine.

At my 37 week ultrasound I recall telling the ultrasound tech that he wasn’t as active as he had been the week prior.  She told me that he probably didn’t have much room left to move. She handed me a 3D photo of the baby and I waited for my regular appointment with my doctor. As I waited, I took the ultrasound photo and sent it to my family and friends. It’s strange how a single moment can truly change the course of your life. That moment happened when the doctor told me that my baby died. That his heart stopped beating. That I had to deliver my full term baby who had died days ago. 

I couldn’t believe it. I had just been given a great photo- everything was fine. Why would she give me a photo if the baby had died? Five months later and it is still the most frustrating memory that replays on repeat. I had two weeks left until my scheduled delivery. I was almost there and then I wasn’t. 

Thursday, February 13th marked the worst day of my life. On Friday, Valentine’s Day, we arrived at the hospital and our baby was born (still) on Saturday, February 15th. An eerie silence fell in that room. We all drowned in the silence when he was born. There was no cry, though I still expected to hear one. The only cries heard were those of other babies in other rooms with other mothers. We named him Charlie. He was really something special, even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. He had gorgeous full lips. I like to imagine that he had inherited his father’s green eyes. We spent time with him, we took photos of him and said goodbye to him later that night. We were handed a memory box that now sits on a shelf in his room. We were given a “Certificate of Birth” which is quite different from a Birth Certificate. It was like receiving “honorable mention” when all you wished for was “first place.” We framed it and put it among his belongings. 

So that was it. We walked out of the hospital, just the two of us. A couple passed us in the street; the woman was going into the hospital to have her baby.  I hoped the best for them and I hoped the worst.

I thought losing my mother at 23 years old was bad. This was far, far worse. When the autopsy results came back for Charlie we learned the the umbilical cord suppressed blood flow and caused a neurological stroke- something so rare there were only 6 documented cases the maternal fetal medicine doctors could find. Imagine that. I still can’t. 

So that’s where my story begins. It is isolating. It’s crippling. It’s lonely. It is unlivable. I have more bad days than good. I’ve thought every thought you’re thinking. Most of the time I just sit and stare at nothing, think about nothing, and feel absolutely nothing. It’s whatever you want to call it: complicated grief, depression, PTSD. Yet still, somehow, I remain hopeful. I’m trying to reroute and reset the best I can. I haven’t found the magic that will wash away the grief and sorrow, but I’m trying to just like you. 

Category : Andrea , Volunteer Bloggers

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The Isolation in Grief

I always thought I was an introvert, but dealing with this pandemic has shown me how much I really need and desire the friendship  and support of others. As a “high risk” person, I have only left my house for doctors’ appointments and to take walks in my neighborhood.

I used to not have a problem with isolation. I realize now that this was my choice, not something forced on me.  I remember coming home after my open-heart surgery exactly five years ago. While I was elated to be home after my seven-week ordeal in the hospital and rehab, I was not expecting the sense of loneliness and aloneness that eventually crept in. Once my husband went back to work, the days seemed to drag on forever. I was blessed to have visitors, but they were few and far between.

Now, as we must socially distance, I again feel this sense of loneliness. While some places have opened up, I am very hesitant to go out. I would love to go out to eat or even go to a store, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk. And I anticipate it will be this way for a long time. At a recent appointment with my cardiologist, I asked if he thought I could plan a trip to Walt Disney World in February to participate in a 5K. He just looked at me and shook his head no.

Grief also brings these same feelings of aloneness and isolation. I remember feeling so alone when we lost our grandson Liam. It was like my heart had been ripped out of me. I felt unmoored, unsure what to do and how to help my son and his wife.

Tentatively, I reached out to people and shared my loss. I was floored by the number of women who said that they too had suffered a miscarriage. They understood the pain and suffering I was going through.  I didn’t feel so alone.

Miscarriage had always seemed like the elephant in the room. Seen, but not talked about. In recent years Beyoncé, Michelle Obama, Carrie Underwood, and Meghan McCain have all spoken publicly about their miscarriages, in hopes of breaking the culture of silence.1 This openness and sharing can only help us deal with the pain of loss and with the devastating psychological effects. A recent study published earlier this year found that 29% of women suffer from PTSD after a miscarriage, 24% have anxiety, and 11% experience moderate to severe depression.2

Know that you are not alone in your grief. Reach out to others so they too can not feel alone.


  1. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/breaking-the-stigma-surrounding-miscarriage-jamie-stelter-dr-tara-narula/
  2. https://www.today.com/parents/lifting-stigma-miscarriage-one-voice-time-t173533

Category : Deb , Volunteer Bloggers

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Welcome, Zachary Jr.

Amidst the uncertainty and fear in the world today, we welcomed a new beacon of hope on May 28th. Our son, Zachary Jr., pushed his way into this world on May 28, 2020 at 1:14pm. 

We arrived at Lankenau hospital Wednesday night so I could be induced. We entered through the Emergency Department because we arrived late. We were screened for any coronavirus symptoms and then we were ushered through empty back hallways to the labor and delivery unit. The atmosphere was quiet and sort of eerie. It was so different from when we were there for my daughter’s birth just nineteen months before. 

Once we were checked in and set up in our room, the troubles of the outside world seemed to melt away. We felt so safe and comfortable. The previous few months were shrouded with anxiety. I had put aside my excitement and let the fear of the pandemic overtake me. Being in the hospital calmed me. I had made it. The baby, me, and my husband were safe and healthy. We were here to complete our mission of meeting our new addition.

The following day at 1:14pm our son was born. People had asked me a lot if I was nervous about having the baby during the pandemic. My answer was, “My plan is to get in there, pop this baby out, and get right back home.” And that is exactly what we did.

When my daughter was born, she had a short NICU stay, so we spent 6 days in the hospital. This birth was the complete opposite. We were in and out in 42 hours. Thankfully, everything went exactly as planned. For the past couple years, things going “exactly as planned” wasn’t something I was used to. After two miscarriages and a health scare with my daughter, my husband and I were accustomed to things not going perfectly.

My son is one month old now and I still can’t believe how smoothly it all went. I spent so much time and energy worrying about what it would be like and worrying about catching the coronavirus. I had seen so many reports on the news about pregnant women getting the virus, having emergency c-sections, and being quarantined from their newborns. I worried about bringing him home and how our families would react to us not wanting anyone coming over. Everyone has understood and everyone has agreed to our precautions.

Baby Zach has met both sets of grandparents safely in person and the rest of the family has met him through the window. It’s not the picture perfect introduction that we were accustomed to, but not nearly as stressful as I made it out to be in my head. Looking back, I wish I had spent less time worrying and more time enjoying the last few months of my pregnancy, but hindsight is 20/20.

Category : Kate , Volunteer Bloggers


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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