And Life Goes On

With a heavy heart, I put him down.  His need for me to hold him as diminished.  I want to kiss his cheeks, but he is too busy with his toddler agenda.  And my mind wanders into the “if” zone.

If I had known my womb would reject baby after baby…

Would I have kissed his sweet, newborn lips more?

Would I have endured those night-time feedings with more patience?

Would I have lived with more love and less resentment?

Would I have less regrets now because I had lived purposefully and in the moment then?

I don’t know the answers.


Today marks the one year anniversary of my second loss.  Or at least writing about it.


I thought I was okay.  It’s been well over 4 months since I had my third loss, but I guess that grief is still oozing from my heart. In swells.  At first it was anger, bitterness, and so many other loud feelings.  It petered off to rejection and a forget-this-I’m-strong attitude. Now the deep sorrow has set in.  I can’t hear of another pregnant woman without waves of sadness sweeping over me.  I try to ignore it, I do, because I am very happy and excited for them.  However, my thoughts are overwhelming.  I am afraid to leave the house because little things might open the dam of tears.

Oh depression, please leave me be!


I once thought things were simple.  My life, as I knew it, was perfectly planned out.  But the physical and emotional pain over the last year threw my soul into a rather-be-forgotten rut.  No, this isn’t about detours or how God has other plans, it’s about biology and how sometimes there is no damn reason for why our bodies do certain things.  Or why, after two healthy, albeit tough, pregnancies I can’t seem to grow another.  It also doesn’t explain, well, a lot. Something I won’t go into, yet.  Too dark for a Friday.


How do you celebrate an anniversary of loss?  Right now, I’m thinking food and love.  But dear Ben has his first major exam for medical school on Monday and will not be around today, tomorrow, or Sunday.  I will be alone.  With the kids.  With my thoughts.

So we will continue with our regular routine: eat, clean, make messes, clean some more, eat, and bed.  Maybe some fun sprinkled in, but, in my current state, highly unlikely.

Happy Friday everyone.  Have some fun for me, okay?



Filed under miscarriage

22 responses to “And Life Goes On

  1. Grief seems to have a life of its own, doesn't it? Maybe that's something we should accept instead of fighting. Fighting it doesn't seem to work. In my own experience, acknowledging it and letting it be, running through its own (generally lightened) paces over time, I am better off.

    As for "life goes on," yes it does. And grateful for it, when we can see through the hazy days despite everything, knowing the bright spots beyond.

  2. Hugs. Many hugs.

    It's okay to cry. It's okay to be sad. Sometimes sadness is the only reasonable response. And you have suffered losses tremendous to bear. Not just the miscarriages, but the faith in your body and your ideas of your future. And inspite of that, you continue with grace and love.

    On my anniversary, I bought a flower for my window sill to remind me of the color of life. I had dessert. I let my tears flow.

  3. ShannonL

    Oh, Amber. I’m so sorry to hear how you’re feeling, and that this is a very sad anniversary for you. I haven’t experienced this kind of loss myself, but I’m sure that you are having all of the “normal” feelings. You need to grieve. You need time. And, yes, you need love and food! I wish I could help you with the kids, but know I am sending you lots of virtual hugs and hopes that you can make it through the next few days okay without Ben.

    I also want you to know how much I admire you on your brave and honest posts. You are an amazing woman, Amber. Don’t forget it! xo

  4. jrwahlund

    I'm so sorry. I used to commemorate the anniversary of our first loss by visiting the baby's grave, but now we live too far away so I light a candle instead. I'm thinking of you today and wishing you peace.

  5. I suffered 4 miscarriages before my 3 healthy pregnancies. I don't have any answers as to why then, just like I don't have any answers for you here, now. Just that life does go on, albeit a bit heavier.

    • Dear God, C, I've been thinking of your comment and feeling the waves of understanding coming from you and washing over me. Thank you so much for sharing your story, it seems I learn more about you through every interaction.

  6. Maybe you can do something with the babies that honors your losses? Lighting a candle, saying a special prayer, making a special meal … something that allows you to feel and acknowledge your pain while also celebrating the two miracles you have…?

    Hugs and light from me. I wish we could all be there to bring some comfort.

  7. Elizabeth

    Hugs! I'm so sorry for your losses and your sadness! I wish you were closer so I could eat some ice cream and chocolate with you! You'll just have to eat it with your kids instead! We'll be praying for you!

  8. A friend sent me the link to this post this afternoon.
    Firstly, I'm sorry you're in the multiple-losses club. It's a sucky place to be. 😦 Thank you for writing about your experiences–more people need to do this, because 1 of 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage, and we don't talk about it or acknowledge it as well as we should. I've been writing my stories for about 4 years now, and it is somewhat cathartic just to write about my angel babies. More than that though, I think that every time we talk about our angels and our experiences, it helps other women feel the freedom to be able to speak about their stories too, and that's important.
    You asked what you could do to mark the day…You could light candles, as a sort of vigil. You could hold a birthday party–with cake and everything–and remember the little one who should have been part of your family. You could make a donation to someplace that supports miscarriage or grief or women or babies–I'm part of but I have heard a lot of good things about SHARE as well (I don't know their url but you can google it). I bought an angel ornament for my christmas tree for each of my angel babies, and hanging those (along with the personalized ornaments that my living children have) is always special for me. You might consider getting some sort of mother's ring or necklace–I like necklaces with charms because it's easy to add (you never know what the future holds)–and putting on charms for your angels as well as your living child(ren). On my necklace I have angels for my angel babies, and other things for my living babies.

    • Thank you, Jenni, for visiting and for the many ideas you shared. The necklace with charms is such a wonderful way to celebrate the "angel babies" as you called them. (Peeked at your blog and saw you were a Daughters of Mormonism fan, I love that podcast so very much. It has been a beautiful experience for me to listen to the stories of the man women and their peculiar brand of spirituality.)

  9. My personal experience with loss is that it never goes away – the waves of grief become farther apart and, at times, less intense. I remember the one year anniversary of my mother's death and thinking – wow – it's just another day. I was both sad and comforted by that. I am approaching the one year anniversary of my Uncle's death and find myself in my own bit of sorrow. I have a lot going on but the 9/11 stuff on top of it all seems to have pushed me a bit over the edge. Hugs to you dear friend.

    • Cathy: Hugs to you as well. As you said, there have been many moments this past week when I realized that the days are still going on even if my heart feels broken. I am sorry, so very sorry, for the losses you have endured and the pain of 9/11.

  10. My anniversary is the day after our wedding anniversary – how sucky is that? So, one day I'm thrilled and happy, and literally the next day I'm moody and teary and just a plain mess. Though, I have those days pretty often in between.
    I don't do anything to 'celebrate' the anniversary. Other than maybe taking to my bed. This year, I got sick with a chest infection – so I spent the whole rest of that week in bed.
    Lots and lots of hugs and love to you Amber… I'm always an email away if you need to talk!

    • Oh D, thank you for everything. You have had to see me lose it over everything, in this space, and still are here supporting me. Now that's friendship. : )

  11. Thinking of you friend. Truly.

  12. I hope you were able to take some time this weekend and let yourself turn into a teary, snotty mess. Grieve, get it out, do what you have to do to get through the dark days. You are strong, and feeling the loss, the pain, the fear doesn't diminish that. In fact, letting yourself feel those things only makes you stronger. Hugs, friend.

  13. I don't know what to say, it just seems to everything I say is going to come out to be wrong. I just want to give you lots of {{{{hugs}}}}

  14. Amber, I've always thought that the unbereaved cannot understand the bereaved. For me, grief has always taken a life of its own. I don't always understand it and just recently I've stopped trying to explain it. I let it be and accept it. I hope you do that too. And feel the cathartic release from whatever way you choose to grieve. Sending you xoxo and hugs.