The grief of due dates—remembering my miscarried baby

My baby’s due date is coming up—but no baby will be born.

My little one was miscarried.

When you’re pregnant, your growing belly is an obvious indicator for the people in your life to check up on you. How are you feeling? Getting any sleep? Are you ready?

But when you lose your baby, there’s no easy way for those closest to you to remember an important day is approaching.

I remember taking the pregnancy test at my parent’s house. I was dropping off my kids so my husband and I could go on a quick weekend getaway. I was bouncing around the bathroom just feet away from my entire family trying to keep quiet while I waited.

I remember smiling after registering the pink plus sign, and then feeling so proud of myself for keeping it a secret from my family while I said my goodbyes before heading out to pick up my husband from work and hit the road.

I didn’t tell him the entire three hour drive. I thought about it a million times, but this was pretty big news and I honestly wasn’t sure how he was going to react. The last thing I wanted was for him to drive off the road. While we had been talking about baby number three for a little while, we were intending to wait until our other kids were a bit older.

I remember his reaction when I turned down a margarita (my favorite) when we went out to dinner later that evening. I told him to drink up, because he was set with a designated driver for another nine months. He laughed. He asked if I was kidding. Then he shuffled between excitement and panic throughout dinner before settling on genuine happiness. It didn’t take us long to start throwing out baby name ideas.

I remember the first time I woke up and ran to the toilet to vomit. Just like my two other pregnancies, morning sickness came early and aggressively. I quickly got back on my anti-nausea meds that I was all too used to and settled into a routine of puking and rallying to head to work or chase my kids.

I remember my neighbor coming over after work with her two kids so that our children could play together and she could supervise while I lay on the couch trying not to throw up on myself. I was so happy that I had someone I could count on when my husband wasn’t home.

I remember when I stopped being able to make food for my family because the odor was unbearable for my pregnant nose.

I remember thinking it was amazing that my husband had to take care of our kitties’ litter box. It was a small consolation prize for all of the vomiting I was doing.

I remember when I called to make my first doctor’s appointment and found out that they no longer accepted our insurance. I was incredibly frustrated. This was my third child. The last thing I wanted to do was start over with someone new. What choice did I have?

I remember the doctor’s appointment like it was yesterday. It was my first time at a new OBGYN. It was supposed to be a 12-week check up. I was feeling pukey, but fine. Within the first few minutes of meeting me, the doctor had to give me the worst news of my life. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I felt worse for her or me.

I remember thinking how crazy it was that my husband had made accommodations at work to be at that appointment with me. He went to maybe three other appointments between our daughter and son, and most likely just for the ultrasounds. But for some reason, he was with me to receive the devastating news. I remember being so thankful that I didn’t have to sit in the room by myself. Or drive home.

I remember struggling to decide if I wanted the baby to pass naturally or if I wanted to have the procedure done. How was I supposed to decide something like that? What way would you like to lose your baby? Quickly or slowly? Risky or messy? I remember thinking that it was the worst day of my life. I felt sorry for myself. I finally decided to have the procedure. I wasn’t going to begin any sort of healing process with the baby still inside of me. I couldn’t change what had happened. I wanted to move on. My husband called the doctor for me and scheduled an appointment for the following morning.

I remember my three-year-old cuddling with me in bed. She cried with me and asked if she could touch my tummy and say goodbye to the baby. She told the baby she loved him. I’ve never been so amazed by my daughter—her maturity and empathy—as I was that night.

I remember not sleeping. I was scared for the surgery. I was nervous about something going wrong and thought of my two beautiful, healthy children being without their mom.

I remember giving my baby a gender and a name. I talked to my husband about it. We understood that we both needed to grieve in our own ways and that naming our baby was a connection that made the loss more difficult for him. It made it easier for me, more personal, so I keep it to myself. It’s just between me and my baby.

I remember going back to my parent’s house after the surgery so that I could rest. Like my pregnancy, my miscarriage became incredibly public. Not because of any decisions I felt liked I’d intentionally made, but when you’re as sick as I am during pregnancy it’s pretty hard to keep hidden for long. Just days before my doctor appointment, I finally put our pregnancy out there on social media, but it was hardly news to anyone at that point. I sat in the dark in the guest room of my parent’s house composing an email to my coworkers. I shared the email on my Facebook page. It wasn’t news I wanted to share for my own benefit. I was trying to prevent an awkward foot-in-mouth moment for everyone in my life.

I remember going outside to play with my kids that afternoon when I got home. Surprisingly, my nausea and exhaustion subsided immediately after the procedure. I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

In the days that followed, I received hundreds of private messages, phone calls, emails and text messages. Dozens of women reached out to offer sympathy or even share their own miscarriage stories with me. Some I knew about and others were complete surprises. It was strangely comforting to not feel so alone. As my mom said, “it’s a really big club, but one I’d hoped you would never have had to join.”

I remember secretly wishing that people would stop saying things like, “God has a plan for you” or “everything happens for a reason.” The truth is, while I’ve attempted to console friends with those same cliches, I just wanted to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to be sad. And angry. And confused. I wanted someone to say, “this totally sucks.” I didn’t want any reasoning. An explanation wasn’t going to bring back my baby.

I remember thinking that life is uncertain. All of the plans we had made for the new baby over the months we knew about him shifted out of view. This lack of control gave me an inexplicable amount of courage; I quit my job the next week. {Something I had been thinking about for months but was too afraid to do until the timing was “right.”}

I remember the first time I brought up my miscarriage casually during a conversation with friends. I could see them growing uncomfortable, shifting eye contact or body language, not sure how to respond. But I still did it. It helped me to acknowledge what had happened.

I remember the first time I felt simultaneously happy and heartbroken. With each baby announcement or gender reveal photo that pops up on social media, my body aches a little bit and I wonder what if my baby’s story had played out like that. It’s strange when someone else’s joy can bring you joy and pain, but I’m getting used to feeling it.

I remember when I got to hold my neighbor’s new baby for the first time not even a month ago. We told each other we were expecting at the same time last summer. We were supposed to go through out pregnancies together, our babies’ births together and all of the milestones to follow. Except I won’t. Her son is healthy and beautiful and I am so happy for her. But it also reminds me that I am sad for me.

Throughout the last seven months, I’ve come full circle. I had stopped crying every day and now I cry every day again. In the months in between, there were even some days with the chaos of day to day life that I didn’t think about my miscarriage at all.

It really had gotten easier, but then my due date crept closer. The day that would remind me of the baby that I’d lost.

The baby that I will always remember.

Navigating through the emotions of miscarriage can feel like traversing a rough terrain. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, sad, and even angry. Here are some gentle steps to help find your way through the grief:

1. Allow Yourself to Grieve: Give yourself permission to feel whatever emotions come up. It’s natural to experience a range of feelings, from sadness to frustration to guilt. Don’t suppress these emotions; let them flow.
2. Seek Support: Reach out to friends, family, or support groups who can offer empathy and understanding. Sometimes just having someone to listen can make a world of difference.
3. Take Care of Yourself: Focus on self-care activities that nurture your physical and emotional well-being. Whether it’s taking a long bath, going for a walk in nature, or indulging in a favorite hobby, prioritize activities that bring you comfort and peace.
4. Express Yourself: Find healthy outlets for expressing your emotions, whether it’s through journaling, art, music, or talking with a therapist. Expressing your feelings can help you process and release them.
5. Remember Your Baby: Find ways to honor and commemorate your baby’s memory. This might include planting a tree, creating a memorial, or participating in a remembrance ceremony. Finding ways to honor your baby’s existence can provide a sense of closure and comfort.
6. Give Yourself Time: Healing from a miscarriage takes time, and there’s no set timeline for grief. Be patient with yourself and allow yourself the space to heal at your own pace.
7. Consider Professional Help: If you’re struggling to cope with your emotions or if your grief feels overwhelming, don’t hesitate to seek support from a mental health professional. Therapy can provide valuable tools and support to help you navigate through your grief journey.

Remember, healing is a journey, and it’s okay to take it one step at a time. You’re not alone, and with time and support, you will find your way through this difficult experience.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q: Is it normal to feel overwhelmed after a miscarriage?

A: Yes, it’s completely normal to feel overwhelmed by a range of emotions after experiencing a miscarriage. Everyone copes with grief differently, and it’s important to allow yourself the space to process your feelings in your own way and time.

Q: How long does the grieving process typically last?

A: The grieving process varies from person to person, and there’s no set timeline for healing from a miscarriage. Some individuals may find that their grief lessens over time, while others may continue to experience waves of sadness for an extended period. It’s important to be patient with yourself and seek support when needed.

Q: Should I talk about my miscarriage with others?

A: Whether or not to talk about your miscarriage is a personal decision. Some individuals find comfort in sharing their experiences with friends, family, or support groups, while others may prefer to process their grief privately. It’s important to do what feels right for you and to surround yourself with understanding and supportive individuals.

Q: How can I support a loved one who has experienced a miscarriage?

A: Supporting a loved one through a miscarriage can be challenging, but offering empathy, a listening ear, and practical support can make a big difference. Let them know that you’re there for them, validate their feelings, and avoid offering unsolicited advice or platitudes. Simply being present and offering your support can be incredibly meaningful.

Q: Will I ever stop feeling sad about my miscarriage?

A: The intensity of grief may lessen over time, but it’s common for individuals to continue to feel sadness and longing for the baby they lost. Healing from a miscarriage is a gradual process, and it’s important to be patient with yourself and to seek support when needed. With time, you may find ways to remember and honor your baby while also finding moments of joy and peace.

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