My husband and I began trying to conceive about six months after we got married. Coming from large families and with no known health issues, we never imagined we’d face infertility. Sitting in my OB’s office that day, hearing the word “infertility”—the inability to conceive after a year—felt like our world had collapsed. But giving up was never an option. We underwent every test, every exam, desperate to understand what was happening. The journey was exhausting and emotionally draining, yet it forged a strength in us neither of us had expected. We knew that if we could navigate this together, we could overcome anything life threw our way.
After 1.5 years of trying, enduring horrific odds from specialists, and countless negative pregnancy tests, blood draws, and screenings, our moment finally came. From the instant I knew our baby was growing inside me, I was filled with love and anticipation. At eight weeks, hearing that tiny heartbeat was nothing short of magical. I will never forget my husband’s eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree as he watched our little bean wiggle on the screen. That day, a dream long deferred finally felt real. Everything seemed to be falling into place, and for the first time in what felt like forever, we allowed ourselves to hope.
But at 11 weeks and six days, on a flight home to Indiana for my sister’s high school graduation, I noticed something was wrong. A little bleeding, some discomfort—but nothing to panic over, I thought. Yet cramping followed, growing stronger as the plane continued its two-hour journey. I told Ben something felt off, and together we prayed, clinging to hope that this was just a false alarm. Miscarriages were a possibility, but I had never thought it would happen to us.
By the time we reached our hotel, the bleeding worsened and the cramping intensified. I tried to rest, to sleep, praying that morning would bring relief. But at 3:00 a.m., harsh contractions woke me in panic. Gushes of blood confirmed the worst. Alone in the hotel bathroom, shaking and whispering, “God, please…save my baby,” I felt my body begin to push despite my desperate pleas. And at 3:45 a.m., our beautiful little boy was born. Tiny, perfect, and so loved, yet gone.
Calling Ben through my tears, I watched the heartbreak in his hazel eyes as I whispered, “Our baby is gone.” We sat in that bathroom for hours, holding each other through the unimaginable grief, bleeding, and loss. Ben’s voice, calm and tender, reminded me of our strength together. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get through this. We’ve been through tough stuff before.” And then, softly, “I’m so glad you got Mother’s Day. I wish I could have had Father’s Day… but I’m glad you got Mother’s Day.” In that moment, I loved him more than ever.
Two days later, my 12-week appointment confirmed what I already knew. The ultrasound showed an empty uterus. “You most definitely had a miscarriage,” my doctor said gently. It was a bitter reality. Miscarriage is common, he assured me, and it wasn’t my fault—but all I felt was failure. My body ached, my heart ached, and the sense of loss was overwhelming.
In the weeks and months that followed, the grief did not fade. Contractions continued, and the pain of loss lingered. I felt isolated, ashamed, and exhausted. Society expects a timeline for grief, but ours was ours alone. People assumed time would heal everything, but the raw ache for our son remained. It was complex, deep, and unrelenting—and it was okay that it was.
We named our son Noah Amos. Noah means “rest,” and Amos means “carried by God”—both perfectly reflecting the love, loss, and hope intertwined in his brief life. Naming him gave us a sense of closure, a way to honor his significance. Noah will always be part of our family; we will never stop remembering him or sharing his story. One in four pregnancies ends in loss, and that conversation must be normalized.
Today, my husband and I focus on healing and cherishing the life we have. Our two dogs bring joy to our days, and we hope to grow our family in God’s timing. We’ve learned to recognize the blessings in our lives, even amidst heartbreak, and to trust that life unfolds as it should. Noah Amos will always hold a place in our hearts, a reminder of love, loss, and the extraordinary strength that comes from walking through the hardest moments together.
