"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for...."

" The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof...."


It's hard to believe that almost 3 month ago, I was waking into my doctors office getting ready to hear my little one's heartbeat.... Like the other significant events of my life, it seems like yesterday and it seems ages have passed...

I’ve healed a lot during the couple month, physically and spiritually, thanks to the love of my family and friends and some significant amounts of dark chocolate, pizza and running...My running shoes have honestly been the best listener...

The truth is, I’ve had a really hard time writing this, partly because it’s sad and I didn’t know how much to share and partly because for the first time in my life...I didn't have the words.  These are some personal observations I made following my miscarriage. Some of them are blunt and raw but I included them because I've learned quite a few women I know ran into these situations and words after miscarriage. Hopefully, including them here will help us all to be more thoughtful about how powerful our words and actions can be when directed toward a person who has lost someone they love....

I discovered that the “silent pain” of miscarriage is silent for several reasons. Sometimes, it’s easier to just put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Less messy. The pain of losing a child is deep and personal and almost too physically draining to discuss. Second, there is no ceremony, no ritual that marks the passage of an unseen child which would make talking about it seem normal and offer people the freedom to offer their condolences without wondering if they've crossed a line. Lastly, an unborn child is held inside a place of blood and water inside a woman's womb, a topic that seems to be kind of taboo in our culture...

Without a funeral, grief feels illegitimate within a very short time. We’re supposed to put on our happy face and act like we feel better already even though we actually feel like our lives have hit a brick wall and you are left sitting dumbfounded while everyone keeps moving around us. I felt self conscious writing about this again. What would people think? Should I be over it already? Stop feeling sorry for myself?

Even though I said I would allow myself to grieve, I soon discovered it was harder than I thought... The common greeting, “How are you?” usually asked in a social manner, became difficult to answer. A few people asked with genuine interest but most expected the typical “Good.” Especially when the latter was expected by people who knew what I'd been through, I felt like saying, “Let's see, my baby died and I feel horrible" Of course, I clung to the social norm, looked at them with my polite smile and asked, “How are you?” I found that most people wore the all to familiar face of relief...it's not their fault really...They are just as uncomfortable discussing an event that you yourself can't even put into words...

After awkward moments like this, I was even more grateful for kind friends. The best friends didn’t just say, “Let me know if you need anything.” That’s so difficult when you’re usually an independent, strong woman. How does one ask for help? I felt relieved and thankful when friends went out of their way to call me and ask how I was doing, bring a meal, or just grab my hand unexpectedly and give it a squeeze...there were many texts messages telling me "Have a good day"..."I love you"...and the best texts were from my friends who knew me best saying "Have a great day Hot Momma"...They will never know how much that meant...

Some other people in my life tried to “fix” what had happened by offering words they probably hoped would diminish my chances of depression... While I understand their intentions and appreciate that they meant well, their comments still seemed to minimize the grief I was feeling. Some were probably trying to be comforting while others were just uncomfortable with what had happened and didn’t want to talk about it or didn’t know what to say. These kinds of comments often came from the people closest to me - but I realize they were just at a loss for how to help.

“Thank God you’re ok. Now you can just move on with your life and focus on the beautiful children you already have.”

“Well, the important thing is, you’re ok. Now you can just move on with your life.”

"These things happen for a reason..."

"At least it happened really early..."


Catching a theme here? I’m sure these people were just saddened by what happened and wanted to save me from depression by pointing me to the wonderful things in my life. But, I needed a moment to catch my breath and grieve for the dream of the sweet baby I had lost. The truth is, an event like this becomes a part of who we are. I am so thankful for Khristian and Bailey and the Joy They bring to my life daily...But, I loved this baby. I dearly wanted this baby...and when I think about my children as a whole...I will think about this baby...because for a brief moment in time...it was a part of our family...There was a heartbeat....There was arms and legs...and he lived below my heart for 11 weeks....I know at first I was in shock and thought about how we would take care of him... but in the end...I already loved this baby.... And he or she will always occupy a place of love and grief in my heart....he's a part of me now...

Someone said to me, “I know you don’t want to hear this but you’re now a statistic.” You’re right. Didn't want to hear that. But...

This event connected me to a new group of people who have lost children. After my first post, an incredible number of women contacted me with their own stories of loss and grief. Their words were a balm to my heart as I realized I really was not alone. I cherish every message....every story....every single broken heart that that understood and let me know I was not alone...

I kept having this dream...over and over again...this dream would keep me awake at night the first month...not so often now...but every once in a while it will still creep in and steal sleep from me...

This last couple months have seemed so long and so short. I learned a lot about life and myself I didn't realize I needed to learn. While I have felt the normal sadness, anger and depression that comes with loss, something else has taken over my current mood....Hope.  I woke with a hope in my heart that sort of squashed that sad/numb feeling that had previously surrounded me. It was strong enough for me to choose to smile through my tears...

The reason? I know 2 wonderful couples that have suffered loss and disappointment...and more heartache that should be allowed. Both of these couples are getting a sweet sweet baby soon....and it does my heart so good to be able to watch them on this journey. I know its sounds strange...but in a sense watching their joy has diminished my sadness. I couldn't have my angle for whatever reason...but they will....If you are reading my blog (and I know you are)...Thank you...Thank you from the bottom of my heart...and I promise you, the day you hold that sweet baby...I will cry those tears of joy with you....

I still have sad moments and I’m sure they will continue to come at times but for now, I’m willing to take the pain along with the joy...I hold my sweet bailey a little closer at night...I hug Khristian tighter and cherish those sweet peeks on the cheek....and I know there is a sweet angle in heaven that is waiting to meet me one day...and because of these things...I smile.