When my husband and I lost our daughter, so many other couples disclosed their own experiences of miscarriage and infant loss so that we knew we were not alone. Knowing there was a community of parents who had experienced pregnancy and infant loss and who were not afraid to speak up about their experiences helped me to push through my own grief. If they could survive, so could I.
My body may not have lost a baby, but my brain did -- and no amount of scientific research can argue with that. When I saw the positive tests, I began planning for a new baby. In two days, I reimagined bedroom arrangements, sorted through summer plans to accommodate a newborn, and mourned the loss of future sleep. I saw a future life with three kids.
For some of us, the month recognizing pregnancy and infant loss is a sad but distant reminder of another mama's reality. For others, October marks a much more personal and profound grief -- the remembrance of littles we have loved and lost too soon.
While it's not something particularly pleasant to consider, I firmly believe that we have an obligation as parents to teach our children how to mourn as surely as we teach them to ride a bike.
The thought of my children growing up and not really being impacted by his life makes me sad. So, I am a mom on a mission to keep my dad's memory alive for my children. Here are some ways you can do the same.
But if you know anyone who has suffered the loss of their mother, or a child, or infertility, be gentle and be compassionate. If they don't want to attend church or Sunday brunch, bring Sunday brunch to them. Remember, some of us can't help the tragedies that have befallen us. We have to cope with deep wounds through no fault of our own, therefore, a hug and an understanding heart is always appreciated.
As I watched the monitor and Dr. S. moved on to Baby B, I remember feeling an immediate sense of dread, just knowing that something was wrong. The change on his face confirmed it. His voice choked up: “That baby is dead.”