Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness

October 15 is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day, and it falls less than a week before Grace’s birthday. Last year, we did not mark this day; I don’t think we even knew about this day. We continued blissfully through the final days of my pregnancy, waiting for the day we’d meet our daughter and hear her cries. If we heard stories about late-term pregnancy or infant loss, I know we felt sorrow and heartache, but we never dreamed that it could happen to us. Nobody does. I worried about things like whether the nursery was finished, whether I would have my bag packed in time, or if people would join us at our baby shower. Those worries seem like they belong to someone else now. The loss of a child breaks something fundamental inside your heart, something that can’t ever be fully repaired.

It’s been nearly a year since we received the news that changed our world forever. We are parents without a child. It’s rare that you’ll catch me quoting Ronald Reagan, but in 1988, he said, “When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, their isn’t a word to describe them.” I’ve struggled with this before (and written about it). Am I a mother? Is Trey a father? In our hearts, the answer is absolutely. We have made sacrifices and hard decisions for our daughter, we have given endless love, and we proudly display pictures of her in our home. But if a stranger at the grocery store asks if I have any children, what am I to say? Do I say what’s truly in my heart? Yes, I am a mother. I don’t want to have this conversation with the random stranger, peel open my private wound, and make them feel sorry for asking. But I also can’t bring myself to say, “No. We don’t have any children.” WE DO. She was real. She was here. People loved her. She had a name and a home and a family. Someday, when we bring a child home, this problematic question still remains. How many children do we have? One? Two? I can’t imagine a day when talking about our family and children will ever be easy, because our family is already fractured.

Many mothers and families who have experienced the loss of a baby find meaning in giving to loss-related charities. I know several who donate to March of Dimes (or March for Babies), but for me, I don’t know what we would have done without Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. In the hours after Grace was born, we were in no condition to be making any sort of plans or taking memories for the future. We were focused solely on holding and kissing her, and trying not to drown. It would never have occurred to me to take pictures of her, and eventually, time would have erased her face from my memory. At 5am on a Sunday, the hospital called our photographer, who arrived by 7am. He sent us 11 beautiful photographs of our daughter, free of charge. Now, I will forever remember what her little fingers looked like, how long her feet were, and how she had her daddy’s lips. The photographs are a gift that I simply couldn’t replace and have helped carry us these last 12 months. This is one of the most amazing charities I can imagine, and if you’re looking for a way to give back, I encourage you to visit the NILMDTS website.

Many news outlets have carried stories about pregnancy and infant loss today, but the most poignant one I’ve read is an article on HuffPost written by a mother named Katie. I sobbed the whole way through and saw myself in every word. “My child, my first-born, my beautiful baby who carried every dream I ever had, was gone before she even got to start. … My little family that was never going to be. My dreams were dead with my child — my sweet child who was so wanted, so loved. We held her throughout the night and told her how excited we were to be her parents. I whispered to her that I loved her and that I would miss her every day of my life. I asked her to give us strength to continue on, to make it through each minute of our ‘new normal.'” I identify with her heartbreak and confusion and anger and guilt. When I read her words and think of the women in my life who have lost children, I am in awe of their strength and courage. I don’t feel strong. I still feel weak and angry. Maybe the strength is something that comes with time.

Tonight at 7pm, we’ll be lighting a candle in Grace’s memory. Many parents around the world will be doing the same (in their time zone). The result will be a wave of light that spans the globe in remembrance of the children we have loved and lost. Actions like this always felt a bit hokey to me, but now I find meaning in any small thing I can do to remember our precious daughter. If you have lost a child or love someone who has, please join me. Light your candle for at least an hour tonight, starting at 7pm. If you have children, give them an extra kiss and be grateful for their presence and health. Remember that you are lucky.

(Read more about Grace here.)