Waiting rooms and doctor’s offices always bring her to mind – my first baby. They remind me of the hope and anticipation of my first pregnancy, and of the tiny life I never got to hold in my arms but will always hold in my heart. It was in the hospital that I learned the heartbreaking truth: I had lost my baby. The doctor walked in, and with a calm but matter-of-fact tone, said, “Yeah. You definitely had a miscarriage. It happens to one in four women.”
Those words broke me.
For something the world might view as common, my heart shattered into a million pieces in an instant. It didn’t feel common at all. The pain was raw and consuming. I cried constantly. I was physically weak and sick for days. I didn’t want to speak or do anything. Guilt weighed heavily on me for feeling so devastated, for not being able to just ‘move on.’
Looking back, I realize the hurt doesn’t truly disappear. Many women go on to have more children, and of course, we love those babies fiercely as well. Some women are still waiting for that joy to come. Others may have many children. But no matter what, our hearts always hold a sacred space for the child we lost, our little angels in heaven. Each pregnancy, no matter the outcome, leaves an indelible mark.
If you encounter a mother who has lost her baby, please remember to offer love first. Don’t say, “You’ll have another one,” or “At least it happened early.” Don’t urge her to just ‘get over it.’ Instead, say, “I’m here for you.” Say, “I’m so sorry your baby died.” Ask her if she needs anything. Simply love her.
Understand that a part of her heart feels missing. She’s trying to move forward, but a piece of her is forever elsewhere, wrapped in grief and memory. She’s trying, and that is enough.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. It’s a reminder not to take our babies for granted. Don’t assume that the woman quietly sobbing in the corner of a hospital or doctor’s office is ready to ‘try again.’ She is navigating a cloud of grief and needs support, compassion, and space to mourn. She needs to know it’s okay to feel, to cry, and to honor her loss.
Even now, when I enter a doctor’s office alone, flashes of that day return – the fear, the grief, the emptiness. But I also find peace knowing my baby is safe in the loving arms of Jesus. If you are walking through loss right now, know this: it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to think about your baby. It’s okay to hold them in your heart forever. They changed us, and our hearts carry them always.
