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I was the first in our circle of friends to become pregnant. Soon after my husband and I discovered that we were expecting our first child, three of our friends discovered the same in quick succession. I rejoiced at the idea that our daughter, Eve, would grow up with the children of our friends.
And then she died.
Truly, I am the one in four. Four of us were pregnant together, but only three babies survived.
We found out late at night on November 18, 2011 – our baby girl had died inside my womb, 31 weeks along. The next day, after preparing (as much as one can) to have labor induced that evening, I voiced to my husband the question that was pressing on both of our shocked minds: “How will we stay friends with our friends who are pregnant?”
It seemed impossible. Impossible to survive giving birth to Eve’s body, and impossible to live afterward. I wondered if our friends’ pregnancies and the resulting children would be an ongoing source of pain, a continuous reminder of what had been lost.
After giving birth, after saying hello and good-bye to Eve all at the same horrible, wonderful, excruciating time, the hospital’s social worker visited us. We asked for advice on how to best interact with our friends, if it was possible to save the relationships. The social worker advised that we tackle the issue head on – to talk with our friends about it, instead of avoiding the painful subject.
The day we came home from the hospital, one of my pregnant friends visited along with some other friends. I can’t remember what we talked about, but felt anxious to follow the social worker’s suggestion and searched for the right opening, but it never seemed to come. As my friends were leaving, I thanked them for coming, then took a deep breath and turned to my pregnant friend.
“I just want you to know,” I said all in a rush, feeling so awkward but needing to get it out, “that we are still so happy for you, for your baby.”
I don’t remember how my friend responded, but it didn’t matter. I had said what needed to be said, what was still true in the face of our loss, and I am glad that I did. I did the same with the two other pregnant friends – the other local friend face to face, and one online. I spoke the truth – that I felt utterly devastated by the death of my daughter, but still glad for what we all hoped would be the uneventful arrivals of my friends’ babies.
But it didn’t make the coming weeks any easier.
As glad as I was that I was the only one of us experiencing the trauma of babyloss, it continued to be difficult to think about my three friends’ pregnancies and coming babies. It was, at times, torturous. I dreaded their babies’ births while at the same time hoping for three safe arrivals. I wondered if I would fall apart even more completely than I already felt like I had once their babies were born.
So I decided to take action. In an attempt to prepare for the arrival of these three babies that had been conceived and grown around the same time as my own, I drew near to my friends. I visited, emailed, forced myself to look at their growing bellies, and talked about labor and birth and babies and how they were doing. And they lovingly invited me to talk about my experience of pregnancy and death and birth and leaving your baby in the hospital.
It was hard – and it was healing.
Each time I scheduled a visit with one of my pregnancy friends, anxiety set it. I wondered if what I was doing was healthy, or helpful, for any of us. But every single time, the visit turned out to be a blessing. Nourishing, even. To have my loss acknowledged and validated while I was acknowledging that their babies’ lives were not diminished by my baby’s death – that was and continues to be incredibly powerful. And, in the end, it did help prepare me for those babies’ births.
But again, even though I had prepared, navigating those births was not easy.
When I learned that the first of the babies had been born, I fell into the deepest depression and panic that I had yet experienced since Eve’s death. I hated my body, I hated God, and I hated the unfairness that had taken my baby from me before she breathed. The last thing in the world that I wanted to do was to go and visit that new baby in the hospital, this baby that terrified me with how much he might embody all that we had lost.
But I did. I went, my husband by my side. I wondered, as we stepped into the peaceful gloom of my friend’s postpartum room, if I might die from grief when I looked at her baby.
I looked anyway.
I looked down at this little bundle of pink-faced, swaddled-up, newborn sweetness – and somehow, I was okay. My eyes filled with tears, because in everything I miss my daughter, but I was still okay.
And my friend, in her graciousness, supported me, as did my husband. They stood by my side and rubbed my back as I took this in, the first baby that I’d seen since the body of my own was wheeled out of my sight, and they gave me the precious gift of understanding.
In return, I could give my friend the gift of celebration. After I took in her sweet son and touched the back his soft hand just like I had done with Eve, we talked about how she was doing, about her experience of labor and birth, and about how her husband (who had stepped out) was overcome with love for their boy.
I left the hospital room that day exhausted but also victorious. I had been okay. I was going to be okay. I could celebrate these new babies while mourning my own, and that was okay.
A couple of weeks later, when I learned that my second friend’s baby was about to be born, I did not feel depressed. Instead, I felt elated. I literally danced around our kitchen when I got the news. And, buoyed by the love of that first friend and the knowledge that I could do this, my husband and I zipped to the hospital to meet this new little one as soon as we were allowed.
And this time, I held that baby. I hadn’t expected to, and hadn’t expected to want to, but my second friend, she offered and I found myself saying, “Oh, yes.” I held him – and it was okay. More than okay, even – it was wonderful. After that, I felt brave enough to hold my first friend’s baby, and that was pretty wonderful, too.
Drawing near to my friends and their pregnant bellies that turned into squirming babies, it was really, really hard. Truly terrifying, at times. But it set the stage for the rest of our lives together, however long this season of friendship might be. If I hadn’t mindfully approached my friends and talked and shared and hoped with them, I don’t think I would still be able to call them friends. Instead, I would be hiding in our home, full of bitterness and envy and fear.
I am so grateful that that is not how our story went.
When your baby has died and your friends are pregnant or are holding their newborn in their arms, it is hard – for everyone. And of course it is hardest for you, the one who is grieving and asking the hard questions and wondering if you will lose these friends, too, since it feels like your life has turned to the business of losing.
But you don’t have to. You don’t have to lose your friends on top of your child. If these friends are loving and supportive*, I encourage you to draw near. Draw near to them, even if you are scared. Draw near, even if you are angry. Draw near, even if it hurts.
It will not be easy – but I believe that it is worth it. I know that it has proven so for me.
Because there will always be babies who live, and babies who die, and shutting out the parents with the living babies will not bring our dead children back to life. Instead, it will rob us of the opportunity to share our lives with the people who remember a time when our babies were alive, and it will rob us of the chance to celebrate the fact that pregnancy does not always end in death.
I don’t know about you, but I need some things to celebrate.
*Please note – I am not advocating that you draw near to people (pregnant or not) who say hurtful things or who wound, attack, or blame you. These people are neither loving nor supportive. We all make mistakes, but if someone says something that is hurtful and will not acknowledge that hurt when you gently point it out, he/she probably is not a safe person to hang out with at this vulnerable time.
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About Beth
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Beth, This is perhaps the bravest post I have ever read. Your strength is inspiring. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your journey. May countless women be comforted and led by your example. Blessings to you!
Thank you so much, Jessica. I so appreciate that you took the time to read this. It’s such a sensitive issue!
This was a very hard subject after we lost our son. I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry every time I saw a pregnant belly. A pregnant friend came to see me in the hospital after Christian was born and I fell apart! I have a friend who delivered the day before Christian was due and I look at her son and my heart warms, knowing he is the size my baby boy would be. Your strength is inspiring!
I don’t think it’s strength, more like just doing what we had to to survive the best we could. I really struggle with seeing pregnant women out and about who I’m not friends with. I think having that gentle, loving response from a pregnant friend/friend with a baby is so important. I know that I’m lucky to have received that!
Thank you for this post. It really hits home right now. I had twin boys at 24 weeks last November. After 10 days, one of our sons passed. I have many friends/acquaintances that are currently pregnant with twins. I’m having a very difficult time wanting to be around them and by happy for them. So, I’ve found myself isolating myself and refusing to go to any social events where they will be. It’s a unique situation to be in and I hope that I can get to the point you were at and be able to be happy for them despite my grief.
Big hugs, Lara. It’s so hard. I’m sorry that one of your sweet boys died.
Beth,
You are an amazing woman! I lost my son four months ago and cannot stand babies. For the first time in my life I am jealous. Why do they get a healthy baby? Why do I have to visit my baby at the cemetery? Thank you for sharing this post. Perhaps I will have the same courage as you someday. You are truly an inspiration!
Thank you so much, Heather. That jealousy is so hard…I know it’s been a struggle for me to not beat myself up for thinking those kinds of thoughts at times. Big hugs.
Beth, this is beautiful and so inspiring. I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my son in 2010 at 33.5 weeks. I hid. I couldn’t see my friends’ bellies, or babies for a while (but also told them so). You are courageous and I commend you for your strength. They say time heals, but you pushed through the clock. I applaud you and hope your friends know how strong and amazing you are.
Best,
Kim
Big hugs, Kim. A lot of the credit goes to my friends, too. I am lucky to have them.
Wow, you are so brave. After Kerrigan passed, I felt every woman around me was pregnant. Every.single.woman! I chose a different route, not to hold another baby until I could hold my own. Less than a year later our Rainbow was born, and I received the best gift ever. I too was elated to hear of my friends’ healthy birth stories. Thank you!
Oh yay I’m so glad that you had a successful rainbow pregnancy! That is music to my ears.
I too find this so courageous. Thank you so much for sharing this. I’m dealing with the deaths of my twins girls two months ago only 3 days before their scheduled delivered. I’ve been dreading living with the others’ happy pregnancy outcomes, but what a beautiful model you and your friends offer us babylost moms and their loved ones…this is something to truly aspire to.
I’m so sorry to hear about your twins!
Beth,
I had two friends that were pregnant with me. Literally, one was due two weeks before me and one around Amelia’s due date. They both came to a surprise blessingway that my husband arranged. He literally flew in 8 of my friends from around the USA since we had moved a year earlier and I had few good friends. It was such a joyful time while we were together, celebrating Amelia’s life and talking about her death. Drawing near to those who loved and cared for me during the hardest time of my life was just as you say ~ nourishing.
Ironically, we all had baby girls. And sadly, one friend was also dealing with a devastation in her marriage. Our distance and grief made it very hard to be there for one another. We both were surviving life crises and our friendship was damaged. But despite that, the time we had together over the blessingway weekend was part of what made me feel a kind of love that I had been sorely missing since our relocation.
I have always been blessed with beautiful friendships and loosing something as precious as our relationship was an additional thing to grieve. I completely agree with how you handled yourself around your friends. In a time when you feel such a loss of control, doing the hard thing is one way to being to navigate life on your own terms again. Good for you!
Wow Stephanie I love what you said about how in a time of loss of control, you can regain a bit by doing the hard thing. Profound.
What an amazing gift your husband gave to you (and your friends)! So powerful. Good work on him. Incredible. <3
Yes. I had a good friend who was just 3 weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy. We actually had a phone date to talk the day after we found out Alexander had died. Her baby was 2 weeks old and I was a week away from my due date. I had my mom call her and tell her Alexander died because I couldn’t face talking to her right then. I felt so blessed that she cried for me. Like you I faced her baby and my co-workers new twins who were born a month after Alexander head on. It was hard but such a blessing. It felt so good to hold a little baby in my arms even if it couldn’t be my own. I held my coworker’s little boy for the full 2 hours we visited them. I just held him while we talked about her babies and my baby. It was s strange holding this little boy who was a month old but a pound and a half smaller then Alexander was when he was born. For a while I would cry and break down after I saw my friends’ babies but it brought comfort too. It makes me happy to see these little lives growing and learning and I sit wondering what Alexander would be doing right then and how he would be interacting with my friends’ children.
That sounds beautiful, Megan. Hard, but beautiful. I feel the same way about my friends’ babies — they are a comfort and a blessing, even when the sadness comes.
Beth, Thank you so much for writing this article. It’s like it was meant for me, My daughter Skylar was stillborn at 41 weeks in May. My cousin is pregnant and this article reminds me so much of how I feel right now. I am feel sad for all that I am missing out on with my daughter and sometimes angry that she gets to enjoy all that a pregnancy should bring along. I am happy for her yet I will admit it was hard to hear the dr’s think her baby may be a girl. Our daughter’s will be 6 months apart, and I wish mine was here with me and not gone. I just thought our children were going to grow up together. Your article makes me realize that I should not be angry at her because her baby will be born while mine is gone. I should be there for her and be happy for her. Thank you for helping me realize that.
Big hugs, Melissa. This road is so hard and confusing.
This is beautiful and so true! My first son Lucas was stillborn at 39 weeks. He was born May 1, 2011. I had a number of friends that were pregnant. My friend was due a week after me. It was so very hard but I got through it with God. When my friend’s son was born I was so happy and relieved. My son Jacob was born April 9, 2012. I feel so very blessed. Jacob and his older sister have an angel brother watching over them!
My rainbow is named Jacob, too! How fun. I love rainbow connections.
He’s due mid-October. Hugs.
Congratulations! So happy for you!
Thank you! Same to you, with your Jacob.
Thank you Beth. My very best friend is just 8 weeks behind me in her pregnancy. I have forced myself to still participate in her pregnancy. She is gracious enough to allow me to lead the conversation each time so as not to say something when I’m not ready. I am truly happy for her but sad that our children won’t grow up together. I am anxious about the birth of her baby girl but reading your journey has helped calm and affirm some of my fears.
Kristy, I hope that the birth of your friend’s baby is as peaceful and gentle a time for you as possible. It’s okay if it’s scary or you have a really surprising emotional reaction — ride it out the best you can and be gentle with yourself. We’re all learning as we go. Hugs.
That was the most touching thing I have read in a long time. I was so moved by your strength. I was surrounded by many expecting friends and my sister-in-law was expecting too a short 4 wks before me. We were all so excited, we met every Tuesday for coffee and talked non-stop about babies. I then lost my second angel daughter Kenley at 20 wks. Suddenly I was the odd one out~the one with empty arms and broken heart while they had huge bellies and excitement ahead of them. It took me about 4 months to be able to be around them without it eating me up but I reached that point after much soul searching. When my SIL deliverd my nephew I was so depressed, so worried how I would handle it. I met him when he was a week old. I had thought ahead and told my SIL that I really wanted to hold him for the first time in private and she was so willing to let me. But instead of feeling angry or depressed I felt so full of joy and love and happyiness that he was here and that Kenley could feel our love for her through our love for him.
Thank you for your very open view on this very touchy subject~hugs!
I’m so glad that your (very understandable) depression gave way to joy!
Beth, what a great article. I wish I had read this article two years ago when I lost my son at 16 weeks. But you give great advice, and what a way to look at loss, instead of isolating and withdrawing, we need people so much during that time, but sometimes don’t realize it. All of my closest circle of friends now have babies and it is so hard, I often feel that we don’t have much in common. While I am genuinely happy for them and their precious baby, I know that other people move on, but I just wish people would realize its a soft spot for me. Its just a tough thing, and there is no one answer to this journey. I wish none of us had to go through this, its really hard. But I appreciate reading your story and thank you for the great advice.
Thank you so much, Stephanie. It is really hard. Biggest hugs.
You are so brave!
I didn’t have any friends pregnant but the thought of going back to the hospital made me panic. Of course, there was no choice in the matter, and sometimes you have to put on your big girl pants and just do it. It was hard, and I can’t imagine ever going in that hospital again will be the same as it was before I left Bailey there, but I did it and I was proud of myself even through the tears.
For me, it wasn’t too hard being in the hospital because they had just finished building a new postpartum wing that I did not stay in for my recovery. So at least it was a different place. But for me the hard thing was the related smells. Both times I visited my friends, I washed my hands, and for the rest of the day, the [strong] smell of the handsoap was very triggering. Big hugs. I am freaked out about going back in to L&D for sure!
Beth -
Thank you for sharing this. This is something I have struggled with since losing my son Sam at 20 weeks. I am hoping to gain strength from your story and face my fears. I have a friend who delivered her daughter 2 months after my loss. I have yet to bring myself to visit her.
Thank you!
It’s so hard! Be gentle with yourself, and very forgiving. I’m so sorry to hear about your Sam. That is one of my favorite boy names.
Beth I am so sorry for the loss of your precious daughter, Eve. I am astounded at your courage to continue to be part of your friends’ pregnancies and the births of their healthy babies. I am not a grieving mother, I am a grieving grandmother. Seven months have passed and I cannot look at pictures of my friends’ grandchildren or coworkers newborns. I wish I had a friend like you. I hope your friends realize what a strong, remarkable woman you are !!!
I know that I am so blessed in the friends I have, and that not all babylost women who pursue friendship reach such a beautiful outcome. It’s so hard! I’m sorry that you aren’t receiving the support you need. Biggest hugs.
Oh, I just sobbed reading this. I can’t even relate as I haven’t lost one. I remember feeling guilty somehow with my newborn when I attended a party with someone that had recently lost an almost full-term baby. Your advice and story is so incredibly moving. Many blessings for the birth of your son. A new baby doesn’t replace one you lost but does give you a new little life to cherish.
Oh Laura, big hugs.
Yes, loving on my bestie’s baby girl who is 8 weeks older than Ramsey gives me great joy. It was a very thought out, prayed about action, but loving her baby has helped me heal. Much love to you!
I love how you put it, Kori — thought out prayed about…so necessary! Intentional is the word I kept looking for that you finally helped me pinpoint. It’s all about doing it intentionally. Hugs!
I was one of 5 close friends pregnant. I was the only one carrying a girl. We lost our daughter at 39 weeks. We were completely devastated. One friend came to the hospital and stood quite but tearful. I asked to speak with her alone. I told her in no way she should feel guilt for having her precious baby, but to do me the favor of just cherishing the gift. Our Chaplin told us the day we lost our daughter that there will be two types of people in our grief, the first stand at the foot of your hospital bed and don’t help. Then there will be the type who stand on the side of your bed, wipe your tears and do everything to help. He said do not hate those on the foot of your bed, they just have never had a loss. I was grateful my friends stood beside us. Yes, I shook when I held their babies but I just took it day by day. I gave myself a break when I couldn’t go to a party or shower. Even 4 yr and our Son later, it is still hard but like you said, I did not want to take their joy. I always honor our daughter and so do my friends. For those who didn’t, they weren’t friends we needed. I celebrate the gift of my daughter by celebrating life. Thank you for sharing.
I think that’s incredibly awesome, Patricia, and brave and glad that you were able to keep your supportive friends while also being gentle with yourself. Wise words.
After a miscarriage last year I was so thrilled to be expecting our fourth beautiful baby again this year. I had two cousins who were expecting as well as three other friends. Our baby was due last (in October) but sadly he arrived first (on ANZAC Day – April 25th) at almost 16 weeks old). Now all bar one of my cousins and friends have birthed beautiful healthy babys. Recently I attended my cousins baptism and three of the newborns were there. How left out I felt knowing I would never be a part of that group now. BUT how supportive those three mothers have been to us as well. I have cried on their shoulders, received hugs and many caring thoughts from them all. One of them had also lost a baby a few years ago so has been an incredible support for me. It still hurts to see them and hear their baby’s cries and know I didn’t get to hear my little ANZAC boy cry but their friendship is not in doubt. Perhaps it is stronger because of this. And we can all look forward to meeting my little ANZAC boy on that great reunion day when Jesus comes again. Even so Lord Jesus come.
I am so sorry about your sweet ANZAC baby. But what an amazing testimony about the power of faith and friendship! I am so glad for you that you had that beautiful community and support. Big hugs.
I love how your bravery and love helped you heal. I hope that you get to have another child someday because you have shown beautiful grace of a mother already and a child would be very blessed to have you.
Thank you so much, Noelle. That is my prayer, too.
Oh, I know just what you mean, Beth…dreading baby’s births, while at the same time hoping and praying they arrive safely and healthily. It is really hard to see anyone get pregnant these days. Because of my loss…because I cannot try again…It’s a little easier when friends who have had a previous loss get pregnant. I am truly so joyful for them, but there is still that twinge of sadness and jealousy. I hate always being the one that thinks to myself, “I wonder if that baby will even be born alive.” The sad fact is I’ve seen what can happen and I’ve seen how often it can happen.
My cousin, Daniel, was born three months after me. We were expecting our babies (Owen and Lily-also a boy and girl like we were) at the same time. They were due three months apart from each other. It was so special and sweet. We couldn’t wait for them to be best buds growing up like we always were. Then Lily died…now I too wonder if seeing him will be “an ongoing source of pain and continuous reminder of what was lost.” Perfectly stated. I realize that seeing him grow up will always bring pain because I will always think that Lily would be that age now. I will wonder how she might have been. I will miss her dreadfully. But, being near him also makes me feel connected to her…they would have been best friends after all.
I pray Owen will know about Lily girl one day…the best buddy he never gets to meet on earth. Maybe one day, when he gets old enough, I’ll tell him about his cousin. I’ll tell him all about the adventures that should have been had, the laughs that should have been shared, the joy that a sweet little girl would have brought to his life, had she lived. And maybe he’ll know her through me and she will live in his heart and bring him joy still…I wrote about Owen and Lily here:
http://www.roseandherlily.com/2011/07/adventures-never-to-be-had.html
This is such a beautiful post, Beth. I was nodding along to so many things.
Much love and hugs,
Hannah Rose
How beautiful, Hannah Rose. I’m glad that Owen is a blessing beyond being a sad reminder. I hope you do get to tell him about Lily when the time is right. Hugs.
What an inspiring attitude and a brave choice to make. I could relate to every word as I too was confronted by this after the loss of my beautiful son, 2 1/2 years ago. At times I still struggle with new pregnancies and babies amongst friends and family. I know your story will be helpful to others, as it was to me. Thank you for sharing. xoxo
Big hugs, Emma! I’m so sorry about your son.
I tried drawing near to SiL, who had been pregnant with her first just six weeks after me. Our son died at 18 weeks and on the phone the first time, I did exactly what you did–I faced it head on. Told her that I did not want her to feel like she couldn’t rejoice and be happy that she was pregnant, that I was looking forward to holding my niece or nephew, but that I preferred we be open. She thanked me and from the silence that occurred for the remainder of her pregnancy, as well as the blatant disregard for any difficulties I might be facing as a grieving mother, she took what I said as license to be self-absorbed. I had to eventually find solace in The Compassionate Friends, because family members preferred to focus on SiL’s new baby than our loss. Four months after our son’s funeral, MiL asked for help attaching pics of SiL’s belly and I finally asked her to please not send things like that any more, because it was hard for me. “Oh, are you still dealing with all that?” she asked. I think sometimes, often in fact, drawing close to people can actually bring more pain into your heart. Sometimes, the self-absorption of pregnancy (especially a first), as well as our society’s discomfort with death, can feel just bludgeoning for a bereaved mother. I am so glad that you found these experiences with your friends healing, but unfortunately, I found drawing closer just compounded my pain. I’ve heard the same from many friends, whose pregnant friends were utterly oblivious to the pain they were suffering. My own MiL asked me to go shopping for surprise maternity clothes for SiL the day after we buried my son.
I’m so sorry that your attempt to preserve the relationship with your sister in law and mother in law did not work out. How awful. I’ve heard so many stories from BLMs like this, and it breaks my heart. I am under no illusions for my own situation — if my friends had not chosen to respond with grace and sympathy to my drawing near, this would have been a very different article. I know that I am so lucky. I wish that the ones you tried to draw near to were more supportive and not dismissive of your very legitimate and deep pain. Big hugs.
I have had two miscarriages. One where I was 8 weeks pregnant and the other at 21 weeks. Three years has gone by and there isn’t a day I don’t think about the loss. I still have a hard time seeing pregnant women out there. Those questions keep coming back to me…what did I do wrong??? how come they can drink and do drugs and have their babies? But the one who has it worst is my husband because he tries to support me in every way, but I just want to be left alone and I know that’s causing a lot of problems in our marriage. He wants to keep trying, but I am afraid of happening again. We have adopted a little boy, but i still feel a little empty and angry because i cannot have my own. I am 35 years old now and have rheumatoid arthritis. Talking with other women with the same experience, might help me understand what I can do to help me inside.
I’m so sorry, Wendy. I can’t imagine the pain of not one, but two losses. I think it’s totally understandable that you have fears about trying again. It’s so unfair, and so hard.
Biggest hugs.
Thank you for your honest and sincere writing. I was in similiar situation with one of my closet friends and co-workers, our babies due just 3 weeks apart. My path to my second child had been filled with heartbreak and infertility and that unspeakable happened at 22 weeks when I went into spontaneous labor and my daughter, Hope, was born and lived for just over an hour and then passed away. I was devastated and struggled with how I could be around my friend again. She outreached by e-mail and I was able to coomunicate in writing with her and several others on an almost daily basis. I arranged with her and another friend to go out to dinner and we met in the cemetary before going. As I waited in the cemetary the rain began falling down, they arrived and we stood there together with her growing belly crying together about the loss of my daugher in the poor raining while standing over where my daughter was buried. In what I thought would have been the most difficult time in my life was one of the most peaceful. In a strange sense it was freeing. She acknowledged my incredible loss while I had joy for the upcoming birth of her son. Several weeks later we gathered again at a picnic for co-workers at her home. We had another co-worker who had a new baby and as I sat their uncomfortable as this was the first time seeing many of my co-worker since my daughter had died, my friend brought the new baby to me to hold. As I held this little girl, the first baby since I had held my own daughter before she died, I cried. Not in dispair, but in the beauty of how this friend knew enough about me to share in the joy of this sweet baby. Theses situations helped me in the immediate after time to heal. It will be two years since my daugher was born and died this Thursday. There are still times when I cry over the loss of my daughter, but those times are less than the happiness in my life. I continue to spend time with my friend and her son and continue to have such happiness in my heart when he is around.
My sister was due within 3 weeks of my last miscarried baby (our fourth miscarriage). I lost the baby at 15 weeks after everything looked fine with that pregnancy. It took us three years to conceive and get to be that far along. I love my nephew SO very much and in many ways it’s healing to hold him, but it also subtly breaks my heart to remember what we’ve lost and I feel myself gasping for air and wondering if I’ll ever hold another one of my own.
I needed to read this. Just 3 weeks ago, I lost my baby at 16 weeks pregnant. It was a perfectly healthy pregnancy, and then there was no heartbeat. I delivered the baby, said hello and goodbye all in one heartbreaking night. My sister is expecting her first baby and ours would have been 3 months apart in age. We are close, and so were so excited to be pregnant together and to have our babies so close in age. My sister’s baby shower is this Sunday and I am determined to go and support her in her joy, but I am also just terrified about having to see all the little newborn items she will be receiving and find myself in tears just thinking about it. But I also feel so angry that my baby was taken from me, and now my close relationship with my sister (including getting to share in her excitement about her pregnancy) could also be “taken from me”….so I am really inspired and reassured by your experience. It helps to read your story and see myself in parts of it, and also to know you were able to salvage your friendships with your friends even though they had babies when yours had died. I am so very sorry that you had to go through this at all, but thank you for sharing it in this article. It was just what I needed to read.
Beth, thank you for this inspiring post about a step in your and Eve’s journey. My coworker and I were three months apart and loved sharing our pregnancies. At 30 weeks my daughter, Grace, was stillborn, just 2 weeks after my coworker delivered a healthy baby boy. A few weeks later she invited me to breakfast and your post gave me the strength to ask her to bring her son. I couldn’t wait to meet him from the time he was ten weeks and that shouldn’t be different just because my girl wasn’t here. Yes, it was hard. I cried seeing him and cried a long time when I got home but still was overjoyed to meet this new little human. I’m glad I did it. Seeing other babies is hard but it also makes me feel closer to my girl. I think these little ones have a way of “talking” to each other between worlds and was comforted in seeing him and asking him to tell her hello. Thank you for encouraging us.
Thank you for writing this. I miscarried at 12 weeks in February. My sister and I were due 4 days apart this August. The thought of watching her pregnant belly grow, hearing the well wishes of strangers and friends (we live in a small town) and the thought of her delivery are so painful to me. I am just not sure how I will ever have the strength to get through the next 6 months. Let alone having a living reminder of what I no longer have. I find myself pulling away from them, friends and other family. Yet I very happy for them and excited to be an aunt for the first time. Very confusing to have such conflicting emotions.