What do you say to the mom who just lost her baby?

Loss of a baby is so unique. To grieve for someone that I never knew, but deeply miss. To survive the physical pain while simultaneously working through the complex emotions of loss. What do you say to that mom? The woman whose emotions are so raw that a lingering look or deep sigh encompass a thought too deep to delve into.

Since losing our baby, I've read about many women's struggles of loss. Women who were quickly able to return to "normal" and women who spent years trying to forge a new pathway they weren't ready for. It's heartbreaking. It's inspiring. It's an opportunity to support one another.

Have you read that popular quote from Mr. Rogers?

When  I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping'. 

Through the loss of our baby, I discovered the truth of that quote. When I couldn't carry the burden of grief myself, others came alongside and helped. No two people handle life's struggles the same way, so there is no "thing" to say to this broken-hearted mom, but perhaps you can find a way to come alongside her and show your love and support in the most simple ways. I remember an especially meaningful pat on the back. A message someone sent months later, just saying she remembered. A little item to hold dear. A kiss someone blew me in the hallway. The meals, oh thank you for the meals. The thoughtfulness that came before receiving a text that a kind friend was pregnant, allowing me to be a part of the joyfulness while giving me space to breathe through my own thoughts.

Share the burden. Sometimes in life, the burden is heavy, but simply knowing that others are walking alongside you and helping to carry your burden can be inspiring in a time of sadness.

 It's not what you say, it's how you care. <3

To our sweet friends, family, neighbors and anyone who is a part of our little village. Thank you.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

My first pregnancy, I was a worried mess. I knew every statistic, I knew what was developing when, without a second thought I knew which fruit correlated to the age of my developing baby. By our third pregnancy, I had a new train of thought. I realized that if I could get in and out of the parking garage in 30 minutes, I wouldn't have to shell out the $4 for parking and could get a gorgeously smooth Vivace' decaf coffee instead. Thus, the challenge began. Now, I never rushed the doctor, as I am innately a worrier, but I did get excited when I noticed that I might make it! Just to add to the challenge, my doctor's office is on the 11th floor and I had to work around wheelchairs and all sorts of  medical personnel, while trying to maintain a look of normalcy.

Appreciate this crazy kid!

It was quite a challenge. Achieved only 1 time. This third baby had been a true blessing to us and we were very excited. I was looking forward to one more baby to snuggle through those middle of the night wake-ups. Unfortunately, as life often does, we were thrown a curve ball or a bad pitch or whatever the worst baseball metaphor you can think of is.

Peter and I were headed to our 20 week ultrasound. I did the typical rush around to get ready, but took time to change out of my flipflops. (Because I'm sure the doctor would have noticed my unsupportive shoe choice...)  My wonderful babysitter dad got there to watch the girls with plenty of time and we were off.  We had the typical, pre-ultrasound discussions on the way.  Boy or girl? Any good names? Why are people driving so slow? We have an important appointment!

When we got there, we actually had time to grab a coffee before heading in (caffeine free, of course). I was feeling pretty high on life...80 degrees in Seattle with my fabulous husband. We had even planned a romantic lunch date after the appointment. I had some important decorating ideas to discuss.

And this one.

As we headed back to our exam room, my thoughts were of prior ultrasounds and what new memories we would make at this one.  The smiling ultrasound tech made some small talk about guesses between a girl or a boy as she was putting the ultrasound gel on my bulging belly. I said something about how now that I'm older I know that this ultrasound is a big deal, more than just a gender reveal.

Then she just looked over at me, any sign of her previously pleasant demeanor completely vanished as she empathetically said, "I'm so sorry, but there's no heartbeat." I looked closely at the screen, searching for something to point to, showing that my baby was actually alive. I've seen my baby! Not once, but 2 times kicking around in there with nothing out of the ordinary. Not a single red flag. Of course, there was nothing there. I could see the outlines of a little one, but none of that magical color we had seen with the girls to indicate the heart beating and blood flowing.

Time did that whole stand still thing; the minutes felt like uncomfortable hours as we just sat there in that dark, silent room, the technician taking some measurements.  Then a doctor appeared to make the official declaration. They left us in the room for a minute and we just looked at each other. What do you say anyway.

The whole experience was one that I know will, unfortunately, be seared into my mind. The doctors were all so kind. They didn't make us sit in any waiting rooms, but whisked us to wherever we needed to be.  (I can't imagine it's good for business to have our red eyes sitting in a room full of emotional pregnant women, but whatever the reason, I'm grateful for those individual rooms).

This is the message from a very sweet student,
after she found out I had lost the baby.

The whole physical process is a horrible thing and I fearfully imagined how this little babe was going to come out, but, of course, that part is nothing compared to coming to grips with our new reality. Retraining my mind not to protect my belly when my big girls start to tickle me, trying to get rid of all the baby reminders so I'm not caught off guard and telling our very excited 4 year old that actually there isn't a baby anymore while she asks why it still "looks" like I have a baby.

The view that was 3 kids is 2. People tell us "Oh, you know you'll have another." Seriously? I'm feeling pretty confident that I don't know anything anymore.  I thought I "knew" we were having THIS baby.  I felt this baby.  Laney talked to the baby every night and gave it kisses first thing every morning. We prayed for it's healthy delivery.  I never met this little munchkin, but as so many mommas know, the connection you feel with your baby comes long before their delivery date.

I have learned much over the last week.  Many things that I would rather not have firsthand experience with, but some that have altered my perspectives in good ways. As for what to say if you see us, it is true, just say, "I'm so sorry". So am I.

I also read something recently (lots of middle of the night google searching going on over here), a parent never forgets, if you mention a loss to a mom, you're not actually reminding her because she hasn't...can't forget.  If you say something, it's okay. It's good.  There is, of course, the risk she might shed a couple of tears, but don't worry, they probably won't be the sobbing tears of the first week or the late nights and she'll actually appreciate that you thought of her and her baby who was so very real.

Our thoughts are with those who have been through similar life circumstances. We truly send our love. We did not get to know yours and you didn't get to know ours, but those little babies are so very real and so very unique and so very special. <3