life after loss

Wow. Where does the time go? It has been so long since I logged into this blog, that I actually forgot how to! It took me a bit of google searching to remember, but I finally figured it out and I’m back!

Something happened in November of last year, that sent me into a downward spiral for quite some time, and then when life got better, I couldn’t find the words or the courage to share it here. I have wanted to share it, or rather, felt I needed to share it, before I could get back to routine blog posts. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it until now.

So here goes…

Near the end of November, I found out that I was pregnant with our fourth child. I was elated. I remember smiling all that day. I sent a picture of the test to my husband and a screenshot of the potential due date, which was August 1st, 2019.

We were so happy. Josh and I have always talked about wanting four children. Even before we got married. For me, it was even before I met him. I just knew that I wouldn’t feel complete, until the fourth baby arrived. For about two weeks, I would say almost every day how happy and excited I was. It felt so right. I would be folding laundry and turn and look to my husband and say it again…I am so happy.

Then one day, things started to change. At first I chalked it up to implantation spotting. No big deal. It was a good sign, right? But it continued and got worse, and I knew it couldn’t be that. My gut instinct told me something wasn’t right. I spent days worrying, praying, googling to see if maybe it could be normal and everything was going to be fine.

I called my nurse midwife providers and they had me schedule an ultrasound. With all of the symptoms that I had, the provider on call, told me to prepare myself. That the news would probably not be good. She said it sounded like I was having a miscarriage. I was numb. Then sad. I cried alone in my bathroom so many times.

I was six weeks and three days along when I went in for the ultrasound. Part of me expected to hear that there was no baby, or at least no heartbeat. Part of me didn’t want to give up hope. The sonographer didn’t seem to know why I was there and was upbeat and cheerful. She put the image up on the large screen for us to see and started measuring.

I remember her talking about the “fetal pole” and saying, “let’s get a heartrate.” She said the heart rate was 101. It sounded really low to me, but I felt a small flicker of hope inside. “You mean the baby is still there?”, I asked her. She looked at me with her head tilted and said, “Of course” and showed me the baby (fetal pole as she called it). I explained that I was there because I was having symptoms of a miscarriage. She seemed just as confused as I was and said she would be back. She had to consult with someone else. She never came back.

A gregarious doctor came in and said in a booming voice that everything seemed okay to them and from what they could see it was a “viable pregnancy.” She warned me that of course things could change, but for now, I could go and continue on as normal. Then she walked out too and left us alone. No one gave us any of the ultrasound pictures.

I didn’t know what to think. My husband and I went out to lunch afterwards and tried to process the news. We didn’t know what to believe or how to feel. We wanted to believe that it could be a miracle. But I also needed to remain cautious.

When we went home that afternoon, things changed rapidly. By the evening, I knew that I was losing my baby. I wept alone in the bathroom and tried to find the words to say goodbye to a life I was never going to know.

I had moments after where I continued to pray and cry out to God to save my baby. I would plead from my bed for him to give me my baby back. But somewhere inside of me, I knew that it was too late. I knew somewhere deep inside my baby was gone.

The physical symptoms of the miscarriage lasted for nine days after the ultrasound. When it was over, I felt another sense of loss. The baby and I were somehow no longer connected.

I began to deeply regret not asking for the ultrasound pictures. It felt like yet another loss. The only tangible memento that I could have had.

When I had my follow up visit, I was told everything was “back to normal.” But, honestly, I was not even close to normal. I didn’t know how to keep going forward.

My baby was gone. A tiny little life snuffed out before it even began. I didn’t know how I was supposed to grieve. I assumed people would expect me to be over it fairly quickly. The shorter the pregnancy, the less severe the loss I thought. But honestly, it was one of the most devastating experiences of my life. I had so many questions with no answers. And no one who shared the grief in the same way as me. Of course, my husband and family were sad, but no one felt the connection to that tiny soul like I did.

At my husband’s encouraging, we named the baby. Even though we did not know if the baby would have been a boy or girl, we each chose a name and put them together to call the baby August Ember. August was a name Josh wanted for the baby had the pregnancy continued, and since the baby was due that month it seemed fitting. I chose Ember, because it is all you have left when the flame goes out.

I was devastated at the loss, but then remembered that my husband’s cousin was a sonographer at the same place I go to for my ultrasounds. I sent her a message asking if there was any possible way they may have those photos saved and if she knew if I could get them. I didn’t think it was likely, but I had to try. She wrote back and said that she would put them in envelope and have them waiting for me in the office. It was a such a relief. I went and picked them up the very next day and then had a good cry in my car.

I spent the next several weeks in denial. I began to live like it hadn’t happened. I remember thinking, maybe I had just imagined the whole experience. Maybe I had just gone crazy and thought I was pregnant but I never really was. I guess that was the only way I could deal with the pain at that time. I stayed busy. Really busy. If I spent too much time sitting, it would consume me. I thought for awhile that I was fine. I picked up the pieces and kept going.

And a couple of months later, life changed dramatically again. I hadn’t planned it, but I took another pregnancy test that came back positive. I didn’t know what to feel. I was afraid. I was confused. I felt like I had betrayed the other baby, by getting pregnant again so quickly. I stayed detached from the new life growing inside of me. I never used the words happy or excited. I felt like those words had somehow contributed to my previous pain. I didn’t think about the future of this baby. I knew now, it could all be taken away.

I sunk into despair. It lasted for what felt like forever. I dreaded normal tasks. I dreaded everyday life. I just wanted to disappear for awhile. The numbness consumed me and I became a hollow shell. I continued to go through the motions of course: taking my kids to school, making the lunches, doing the laundry, reading the stories before bed, but I wasn’t there. I was just existing.

Finally, I knew I needed to get help. I have battled depression many times in life and for many years, so I knew the symptoms. I told my doctor and we began to work out a treatment plan to help me cope including adjusting my current medication and seeing a therapist. After about a month or so, things did start to get better. Talking to a therapist about the loss helped validate my feelings. I realized I had every right to grieve. So I grieved. Then went on with my day and grieved some more.

When I went to my first ultrasound for my fifth pregnancy, I was terrified. I imagined them telling me there was no baby or no heartrate. But as soon as I saw that sweet baby on the screen and found out the heartrate was 175, I couldn’t help but give that baby my whole heart. I couldn’t stay detached any longer.

A lot of time has gone by now. The due date for my lost pregnancy has come and gone. I spent some time grieving, praying and whispering to that baby throughout the day. I still have nights I cry suddenly and think about what could have been. I spend most days now being thankful for the time we had, however short, and knowing that someday I will meet that sweet face that I never had the chance to see here on earth.

I am grateful to have these three ultrasound photographs of the baby. I wept as I took the photographs throughout this post. A dear friend sent me a package from Sufficient Grace Ministries, that also helped validate my loss and allowed me to feel the right to grieve.

These days I can honestly say that I am so happy and excited for the new life growing inside of me. Each day that he has continued to grow has brought gentle healing. And I know there will be continual healing with his birth and watching him grow up before our eyes. He is due this October and everyone here is filled with joy and hope for his arrival.

So that’s my story. The one I’ve been waiting to tell you. I hope to move forward from here with the ability to blog again about the things I once loved sharing here: decorating, every day life and creative projects to inspire you. Life will no doubt be busy with four kiddos in the house, but it will be a dream, long held in my heart, finally come true.

Till next time…

13 Comments

  • Larissa ~ Prodigal Pieces

    My heart aches for you as I have felt that disconnected feeling when my second baby died. We had just lost our little girl at 21 weeks due to a subchorionic hematoma. We got pregnant again and didn’t make it past 12 weeks. I now have a rainbow baby with a total of 6 children here on earth. I long for the reunion one day in heaven. Praying for you, your baby, and family. God’s got this!

  • Sandi

    Oh, dear sweet Alice. My heart is with you. You know about our loss of Eden and although she was a granddaughter it hurts…every single day. We are so thankful for our rainbow grandson Liam as you are for your precious little one coming. I think I will always have a hole in my heart , wondering why. Hugs and much love! Can’t wait to meet your new little love! You are amazing and you are so loved!

    • Christine Irvine

      Alice, I am sorry for your loss and pain. I don’t have children, so I don’t understand what you have been through. Yet I often miss the children I was not able to have. I do understand depression. I’m glad the Lord has seen you through this, and has blessed you again with another child.
      I missed seeing your posts, hearing from you, and seeing your sweet family. God keep you all.

      Christine
      New Hampshire

  • BrocanteuseRose

    I’m so sorry for your loss, I know how hard it is. I have had 8 miscarriages and I know and can relate to everything you said above. I’m not going to offer platitudes, it sucks and I’m sorry. You are not alone. Hugs. Congratulations on your October pumpkin! 🙂

  • Lily Santorno

    You are absolutely allowed to grieve. A life is still a life, no matter how long it lasts; a soul is still a soul, no matter how small the one who bears it. My heart goes out to you and your sweet family. Lord, have mercy ❤️

  • Tanya Derrey Bingham

    You are so brave, my heart hurts for you and I completely can identify with you. Its amazing how healing it is to reach out for help and support and not hide what’s really going on. Thank you for sharing and congratulations as well!

  • Mary Jo

    Dear Sweet Alice, Thank you, for the update, and for letting us know about baby August Ember. When I lost my 4th baby, I wanted everyone to know he had been here for a while. Now all of us will remember your baby, with you. It’s a lovely name. I am so happy for you and your husband, to have another child to hold in your arms and heart. I will be holding each and everyone of you In the Light. Thank you, again, with much love, and many hugs.

  • Wendy

    Alice, I am so sorry for your loss. You certainly have the right to grieve. Congratulations on your new baby coming. Praying for you.

  • Kathleen Jones

    Dear Alice,
    I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. I know just how you feel.
    I lost our FIRST child just 3 weeks before his due date.
    The cause was a prolapsed cord. I had a complete breakdown
    with loss of memory, etc.
    Every year I note April 4th as Evan’s “birth” in 1965.
    Since then, I have 3 healthy boys and blessed with a daughter.
    We have 6 super grandchildren.
    There is LIFE after LOSS ! It just takes time.
    I hope that your future holds many happy memories.
    Kathleen

  • Cheryl

    I came to your site to let you know I am going feature your adorable Fall Porch on my blog tomorrow in a post titled “10 Simple Ideas for your Fall Porch” I read your post and feel so sorry, yet so excited for your for the upcoming birth of your son. Miscarriages, still births and other losses are so hard to overcome because the birth of a child is so exciting and such a blessing in our lives. I can understand why it took so long to share and you did so with such sweetness and love.
    I am using 1 picture and giving you credit as well as a link above the picture to your website.
    Cheryl
    Cheryl@homemadebycheryl.com

  • Marci

    Thank you for sharing this, Alice. I am so sorry for your loss. I was six weeks pregnant when I had a miscarriage in May, on the day we found out my mother-in-law’s cancer was terminal. She passed away four days later. It was very difficult to process both losses at the same time, and I’m still working on it, but reading your story helps validate mine, too, so I’m grateful you had the courage to share. Thank you!

  • Gail

    I have suffered several miscarriages (long time ago, i’m 61) occasionally I still grieve

    my mom miscarried and was told to wait 3 months to try again. I am the “try again” baby. Just hope you find comfort in this comment