Miscarriage: The Grief That Dare Not Speak Its Name

Baby Loss Awareness Week 2018

Packing away your dreams

How do you dismantle a future you had imagined with your much-longed for and loved baby? You pack away dreams of birthdays, school plays and holidays along with tiny sleep-suits. What do you do with the pushchair, lying in the room that will no longer become your baby’s nursery?
What about the photographs like this one, ready to announce a baby that will never be held in your arms? Do you keep them, even though it’s painful to look at them? Do you delete them, even though they are evidence that your baby did exist for a short while? Or do you create a folder for them on your computer that you rarely have the courage to open? 


How do you grieve for a child whose gender will always be unknown? Whose face you never got to see?

How to honour the memory of the child your body failed to protect, when people would rather you didn’t mention them?

How do you square the uncomfortable truth when you look into the eyes of your rainbow child and feel that fierce rush of love, and know that he wouldn’t exist if you hadn’t miscarried your first baby?  

Grief isn’t linear.  

Two years on, I still struggle to accept the loss. I’ve been told to move on. That a miscarriage isn’t as bad as losing a child who was born. That it is worse to lose a child you’ve held in your arms, than it is to lose a child you’ve never held.  

You cannot dial down grief.  

From the moment you see the two lines on the test, you become a mother. Boy or girl?, you wonder. Will they have your eye colour or their father’s mischievous smile? You daydream about walks in the park on blustery Autumn days and the thrill of seeing Christmas as a child again, full of tinsel and magic.   

Then, in one stomach lurching moment, it’s ripped away from you. The life you were nurturing, cherishing. It’s gone.  

“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat”, the words you pray you will never hear.   

I tortured myself with questions. Had I been asleep when our poor baby silently slipped away? Did they feel pain? What sort of mother was I? How could I not have known? Why us?   

I will always wonder who you would have been.


If you have been affected by this post in any way, please know that you are not alone and support is available. 
You can also watch my video on ways to honour the loss of your child here.
If you know someone who is trying to cope with baby loss, please take a few minutes to read this post so you can support them. 

The Wave of Light

The Wave of Light is an opportunity to join in with bereaved parents, families and friends around the globe to commemorate all babies who sadly died to soon. It takes place at 7pm local time on Monday 15th October 2018. 

To join, simply light a candle and leave it burning for at least an hour. This can be done individually or in a group, at home or in a communal space. Wherever you do this, you will be joining a global ‘Wave of Light’ in memory of all the babies who lit up our lives for such a short time. 

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