What I know about Loss
There we were, anticipating the first visual meeting of our second child with no doubts and little fear about the outcome. That’s the tricky part about “silent” miscarriages. Your body continues acting pregnant even after your womb has become a tomb. There has been nothing more traumatizing to me than seeing darkness in my womb when it should have been filled with light. After our first pregnancy ended in loss, I assumed it would be the last time we would experience something like that. Now, I recognize that loss might just be my cross to bear in this life. This time around, I had my Faith established (something I didn’t have to rely on as much with our first loss.) I told myself that this one would be a bit easier to overcome than that one. In some ways, it has been. However, it has come with unexpected emotions and feelings that are different than the first time. All while having a deep trust in the God that gives & takes away, I still experience all of the stages of grief.
I believe the grief of miscarriage is heavy because it’s one we feel we experience alone even when we know 1 in 3 pregnancies ends in loss. Our mind can try to do everything to suppress the grief, but the thing about a baby in the womb is that our body knows. Our body knows that it was designed to nurture and protect that life for the rest of our lives. So, when that life is gone too soon, our body carries grief until the end of our days, just as it carries the unique DNA of that child forever. It is the reason I’ve had 50+ yr old women with several children weep to me over the losses they experienced years ago. I know it is something that I will always carry with me. In some ways, I’m grateful for that because it is proof that child once lived within me even when no one else can see.
So, what have I learned? I’ve learned a whole lot through this season of my life, but I want to share the most important thing we can do to support loss moms. Here’s a list of things you can do when someone shares that they miscarried:
Tell them their loss is devastating and that you are or will shower them in prayers. Knowing someone is praying over your lost baby and your womb for future fertility is so comforting. For me, I temporarily lost my ability to pray for myself as I was in a state of pure devastation and grief. Knowing that someone else is praying over you when you can’t come up with the words for a prayer of your own is everything. The acknowledgment that loss is devastating is also helpful, because someone experiencing loss might not feel like they’re allowed to express their devastation. This gives us permission to grieve.
Ask if they named the baby or previous babies they’ve lost. This is something I had never thought of. The first time someone asked me this, I was taken aback because even though I knew I lost a child, it was the acknowledgment I needed from someone else to validate my feelings of true loss and that my baby was a human soul deserving of a name. I immediately went and discussed baby names with my husband and now we have the peace of knowing our babies in heaven more intimately.
Encourage the mom to celebrate their lost baby’s (or babies’) birthday every year. This is something that one of my fellow parish women shared with me. She shared that every year since her losses, she bakes a cake on the day of their original due date. Her Earth-side children loved knowing they had siblings in heaven to advocate for them and what kid (or adult for that matter) doesn’t love a reason to eat cake while celebrating the existence of someone who meant so much to them?
If they’re religious or spiritual, tell them to consider asking their priest for a blessing. During our most recent loss, I decided I was going to wait for my body to catch on and miscarry naturally at home. This gave me time to set up a meeting with our Priest who ended up doing a conditional baptism for our baby. This gave me so much peace that my body finally decided to let go the next day.
Just show up. Don’t ask if you can. Show up and drop off a meal or treats (dessert or coffee), flowers, or, at the very least, emotional check-ins. I remember every single person that showed up for me in any big or small way. Some provided whole meals or treats, some sent flowers, some checked in consistently. I will say that I struggle when people ask me if they can do something for me. I don’t want to feel like a burden to their time, nor can I identify what it is that I need or what would help, so it’s best to just do rather than ask.
When we first found out about our loss, our OB shared with us that she had been through three similar losses. It is comforting to know when someone has been through the same type of loss and now has three kiddos. We realized later in life we want a big family, so this provided a lot of hope! She also said it made her a better provider. The joy she still feels to this day when she knows one of her patients has experienced loss and then gets to see them hold their rainbow baby on their chest for the first time after loss is something that other providers might not truly understand if they’ve never been through this. As a doula, I felt this in my soul. I have stepped into my own little corner of every birth room and had myself a happy cry every time I have had the blessing to see another baby born.
So many women are silent about their losses. By sharing my own experiences, it has allowed God to use me through my own experiences with loss to truly walk with those who have experienced loss. It’s now a deep understanding of shared grief that allows me to (hopefully) be a helpful presence as women face difficulties with fertility and loss. Something I think is important to share is that women so often start trying to blame something. Due to our own bodies being the vessel that carries life, we often start trying to identify how our body failed us. It’s important as an outsider to reiterate that it is not the body failing, but a true DNA incompatibility or issue. I had a friend once tell me that a baby who is meant to make it Earth-side is often insanely resilient, meaning that nothing I did or didn’t do could have led to the result of a lost life in the womb.
From a religious perspective, I’ve learned to stop questioning God. It’s so easy to ask “why me?” or “is this a test?'“ or “what am I supposed to learn from this?” This implies that God is the reason for our loss, which is not always helpful. Losses happen as a result of so many spiritual complications we can’t fully process or understand. Thinking that every tragedy is some kind of test is counterproductive and often leads to an overwhelming urge to try to figure out what we’re supposed to be doing with our tragedy. It’s okay to say “I don’t understand this now, but maybe I will later.” That is the kind of Faith we need to have in God’s plan, and that should be the extent of it as we are experiencing loss. Once I get further away from the loss and through the processing of it all, I can often identify how God has taken something tragic in my life and then used it as a way to help others. This is what I try to hold onto rather than questioning every little detail of the loss.
Regardless, I always have hope after loss. It’s so important to keep trying, even if we feel like maybe it’s not our time. God has always asked us to be open to life and we can do this by remaining freely intimate with our husband without trying to force any outcome. With Natalie’s pregnancy and birth, I have so much faith in knowing that there is always a Rainbow after a storm. God will provide what we ask for, we just have to be willing to release our expectations for any kind of outcome and let God’s will be done. We can’t wait to see what beautiful things God will do in our lives soon. In the meantime, I will celebrate the fact that I now have 3 beautiful baby souls in Heaven with Jesus to help pray over our family and advocate for us. I have faith that one day I will be greeted in heaven by these little babies who are waiting for me. That’s peace enough for me.
