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Just Remember Them..

When people ask me how many kids I have, I usually find myself strong enough to say five. It is really difficult to say anything else and I usually find myself crying or feeling sick from the guilt when I answer three.

I have two living, one stepchild, and my two angels in heaven.

When someone hears the part about my two in heaven, they usually clam up and try to change the subject. Fine, I get it.

For some of my family, it’s clear they forget to acknowledge that my two angel babies count towards the family statistics too.

Today, I feel brave enough to ask – Please don’t forget them.

I have five children.

You have five nieces and nephews.

You have five grandkids.

You have five cousins.

You have four siblings.

As my living children learn and grow, they’ll know their two angel siblings and they will learn to count them in. They will learn to celebrate their birthdays and mourn their days of passing with us as a family. I wish for our family and friends to expect this and join in with us to celebrate that those two children exist.

I know I can’t expect people to always understand my pain and grief. But I simply ask, just acknowledge their existence, count them in, recognize they are part of the family too – even in their absence.

And to the families grieving beside us – my message to you is to allow yourself to create this conversation with your loved ones if you want. Don’t feel judged or ‘weird’ for wanting this. Your children, all of them, matter. All my love.

Category : Robin , Volunteer Bloggers

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It takes immense courage to be sad

Where does one go once they’ve experienced a loss that they’re unfamiliar with?
Who does one turn to?
Is this feeling of immense loneliness normal?
Is it common to ignore the support group for everyday life because they just don’t understand your new struggle?

These questions flooded my head once I learned that my baby was lifeless within me. I had the support of my partner, who was also deeply saddened and lost, but the loneliness was astounding.

The next day I had my D&C, it felt like a blur. I was moving through my life for several weeks as if I was living outside of my body watching it all happen. I couldn’t understand my grief, therefore I couldn’t explain it to anyone – the isolation was terrifying.

It took weeks for me to feel courageous enough to share my story and find my way into a community I didn’t know existed. Miscarriage was a foreign term to me, I knew nothing about it. I just started mastering the concept of pregnancy, and then it was suddenly ripped from under me with no warning.

Now, more than four years and two angel babies later, I have found my strength and know my grief. I live within my grief and recognize its ongoing presence in my life. I do not deny that I still grieve to this very day.

I still find myself waking up exhausted emotionally, for no other reason than I am still sad. It would be a lie to say that I am okay and I have healed well. I still feel wrecked by my guilt and my grief.

A mother’s love is undeniable, but a mother’s grief is unimaginable. It takes immense courage to be sad, and this is something I still have to tell myself.

Category : Robin , 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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