A Personal Note on Pregnancy Loss

Trigger warning: discussion on my own pregnancy loss and grief

Today is 4 years exactly since my last miscarriage. I can still remember viscerally what it felt like to see my tiny baby and hold her in my hands - so tiny at just 8.5 weeks old. And yet, I saw her eyes, her little arms and legs, even her feet and hands. 

She was and is my daughter, whom I think of often. 

I remember after she died, but was still in my womb, how I wanted to keep her and hold her near. My mind and my body didn’t want to let her go. My body held onto her for weeks after she died. 

One night I stayed up, swaying to Taylor Swift’s, Bigger Than the Whole Sky, while staring into the fire. I stayed up most of the night, grieving, letting my body know it was okay to let her go. 

The next morning, I caught my placenta and much of the tissue I was passing in a mental strainer over the toilet. 

I remember searching for her and wanting desperately to find her. 

I noticed a fleshy colored blob in a pad I was wearing. Someone had sent me a website that had picture of babies that passed at different stages of gestation. I found myself hopeful that this might be her. I gently rolled the blob over and saw two little eyes. 

I immediately screamed for my mom and husband. I dropped to my knees and held her in my hand. 

I remember the sound and words that came out, “My baby! My baby! No! My baby!” My heart was shattered. Though I had prepared myself for this moment over the previous few weeks, I wasn’t quite prepared for what I experienced - the level of grief that came with losing a baby at just 8.5 weeks old. 

I was completely devastated, but for me, faith got me through. I realize not everyone has faith to lean on, but that’s what brought me through. That and fully leaning into the grief. I let myself feel the loss fully. 

I knew as a therapist the dangers of circumnavigating the grief. 

I fully learned in. I chose to feel it all, no matter how painful. I’m a sensitive, deep feeler, so I’ve learned that avoiding emotion typically doesn’t go well for me. 

We had a very challenging time finding somewhere to bury her, but eventually found someone. We had a little ceremony for her. My husband and I each wrote her a letter and read it out loud. As we did and as we placed her in the ground, butterflies landed right next to her grave. They were tiny and light bluish, purple. For me it was a sign, she was okay and we were all going to be okay. 

In the weeks following, butterflies came to visit me, right in times when I needed a sign from my baby. They came as late as the end of November and my son interacted with them too. It felt like the most beautiful gift - reminders of my daughter and the gift of seeing my children interact. It wasn’t what I ever expected or saw in my head, but it still brought me peace. 

A friend from high school whom I had not spoken to in a very long time recommended the book Signs, which made my grief all the more meaningful. 

And I would ask my son, do you ever talk to Baysie? And he would nod. One day I asked him, what does she say? He said, “I love you.” In the tiny voice and the mispronounced way of a toddler. I found this profound because he had never said the phrase and didn’t say it again until about 2 years later. He was a late talker. 

Some may say, I made these things up to comfort myself. And it’s okay if you believe that, but what I’ve found is that making meaning is an essential ingredient to grieving. Without meaning, we feel hopeless - loss feels meaningless. 

Our culture doesn’t do grief very well. We often don’t have rituals and others can be very uncomfortable with supporting grief - especially pregnancy and infant loss. 

No matter how long it’s been, I’d encourage you to look for reminders of the baby or babies you’ve lost, it can help you feel connected to them. It can have a spiritual meaning or it can simply be a reminder, whatever fits with your belief system. 

And it’s never too late to have a ritual to honor your baby or babies, no matter how short their lives may have been. 

I want to invite you to lean in. Let yourself feel and process your grief. When we don’t, it haunts us. 

If you need support, I’m here. I see clients in SC and TN.