Pregnancy Loss Resource: Grieving Together

Hello dear readers! It's been a while since I published a post and even longer since I posted regularly, but since this blog does get regular hits from women (and probably men) looking for miscarriage resources and support and companionship, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to share - and giveaway! - an incredible new miscarriage resource. I received a free copy of the book to review, but my admiration is 100% authentic.

In the five years since my first miscarriage, I've often thought of the books I wish had been written about miscarriage. I've really yearned for miscarriage books specifically from the Catholic perspective and there aren't many out there. I've wished for books about pregnancy after loss, ones specifically about recurrent miscarriage, and books that connected the Saints and their wisdom to pregnancy loss. However, one of the books I never thought about that (I didn't realize) I needed was one written by a married couple: Grieving Together: A Couple's Journey through Miscarriage.

Perhaps the most unique aspect of this book is not that it discusses marriage (though that too is novel), but that it includes a male author, a father's voice. Men are usually completely left out of the topic of miscarriage all together, something I quickly realized after my first loss. Written by Laura Kelly Fanucci and Franco David Fanucci, a couple who experienced infertility, miscarriage, and infant death together, Grieving Together finally addresses this deficit (and so much more).

One of the things I appreciate most about this book is that, though less than 200 pages, it covers a wide range of aspects of miscarriage, including not only grieving as a couple, but also the answers to many of the practical and spiritual questions about loss, for example: What is physical recovery like? What can you do to support a friend who lost a baby? Are miscarried babies in heaven? And it also has an excellent section on pregnancy after loss, satisfying my desire for a book on that topic.

I can't recommend this book enough for any Catholic couple who has lost a baby to miscarriage (and much of the book is relevant to any Christian couple). I could go on and on about the merits of this book, but I'll just leave you with this final praise, the email message I sent to author Laura Fanucci while reading my copy: "Laura, thank you so much for this book. It’s been almost 4 years and two healthy pregnancies and babies since my last (my fourth) miscarriage but for some reason the past month has been really hard. This been has helped heal some of the hurt I didn’t realize was still there. On two occasions, I’ve also come to bed to see my husband had snagged my copy off my nightstand and was reading it."

Grieving Together was released earlier this month and is available from Our Sunday Visitor and Amazon. You can also read more from Laura Fanucci at her lovely blog, Mothering Spirit. Excerpts of the book have also been turned into a free e-book, "How To Support Parents Who Have Lost a Child", a wonderful resource in itself.

If you would like to win this book for yourself or to give to a friend who has experienced miscarriage, please comment below with why you would want to win this book/what you are most interested in reading about in it. Please make sure to include an email address so I can contact you if you win. A winner will be randomly chosen on Dec. 6 (the Feast of St. Nicholas) so I can ship it to you in time for Christmas, since the holidays can be a particularly difficult time after losing a baby (even years later, Christmas is difficult for me without all my children here). God bless you and good luck!

Cecilia's Birth Story

I haven't written in almost 11 months since I announced the birth of my sweet baby girl. Well, she's quickly coming up on her first birthday so I thought I should probably finally post her birth story which I wrote MONTHS ago but had been waiting to fact check with David. Well, here it is! I may start writing again a bit more (like, maybe once every few months, don't expect much) now that my baby is a bit older and our foster son has left (guess I never shared that whole story...we had a sweet 1 year old foster son with us for a few months). But no promises.
__________

On Saturday, August 12, I was four days past my due date. Since my first two babies had been born eight and ten days past their due dates, I was hopeful that maybe I would go into labor that day but not particularly expectant. My parents came in the morning to pick up Lucia and Davey for a day at the zoo so David and I decided to make the best of our day without kids. We leisurely got ready, then headed to Longmont to go to my favorite thrift store.

After browsing around for a while, we headed to a nice restaurant for lunch where I got a very spicy meal and then we had chocolate fondue for dessert. The place wasn’t busy so the (male) bartender came over to chat with us and mentioned it looked like I was past my due date. I was impressed by his insightful comment, since I’ve never been able to tell the difference in pregnant women close to going into labor, but also encouraged by it because it was similar to comments made by my midwife and her assistant a few days before. She thought I would have the baby by the end of the weekend. The lunch was a perfect date for the two of us, a little last alone time before the new baby.

We headed home after our meal and took a nap, truly soaking in our day alone. When we woke up, I remember commenting how it would be the perfect day to go into labor since I was well fed and well rested.

My parents brought the kids home around 5:00 and I took them to the backyard to play while I cleaned out the chicken coop and pulled weeds in the garden. While I was out there I started to feel a little “off”. No real contractions, but maybe a slight bit of cramping in my lower abdomen. I told David that something might be happening, but continued in the garden until I started feeling actual contractions right around 6:00. They were really light but I decided that since I hadn’t really had any Braxton Hicks this pregnancy this was probably the beginning of labor.

I called my parents right away to tell them to pick up the kids. Since my labor with Davey was less than an hour, I didn’t want to wait even though I expected it to be longer this time. My one real anxiety about this labor was not whether the midwife would arrive in time (that was David’s main concern) but whether my parents would pick up my kids in time because I really worried about them being there. Lucia is a very sensitive little girl who cries anytime I am hurt or upset, and I didn’t want to be distracted by trying to comfort her or feeling like I had to hide my discomfort. My mom arrived shortly afterward for the kids, commenting that as anxious as she had been all week for me to go into labor, this was the one day she would have been ok waiting because she and my dad were so tired from the zoo that day.

While we were waiting for my mom to come, I sent a text to my midwife Lynnette to let her know that I was having mild contractions and most likely in early labor. She immediately asked if we wanted her to come right away, knowing how quick the last labor was and how nervous we were about the quick timing, but I told her we would time the contractions first and let her know. David downloaded a contraction timing app on his phone and after a few contractions noted that they were about 4 minutes apart but still very mild in strength. After the kids left, I sat down and my contractions spaced out considerably, about 12 minutes apart. When I got back up and was walking around, preparing our bed for the birth, getting towels ready, etc., they went back to four minutes apart. They were getting slightly stronger so we decided to ask my midwife to come, since she had a 40 minute drive. I sat and knitted most of the time while we waited for her and my contractions again immediately spaced out but then started to get closer together while we waited for her.

When Lynnette and her assistant, Tatia, arrived, we talked for a few minutes and she listened to the baby’s heart. David and I then took a walk to our parish church just down the street from our house in order to keep contractions coming. I had to stop several times on the way there and back during contractions so they were getting stronger, but still not so bad that I couldn’t talk through them. We had hoped to be able to go into the church to pray, but just as we were getting there, people were leaving and the door locked behind them. If we had only gotten there two minutes earlier, we could have walked in as they were leaving. The perpetual adoration chapel which is opened 24/7 was also closed due to repairs, so we settled for visiting the Marian statue out front. I asked David to take my picture there – my last pregnant picture! – and then we walked back home.

We decided to go into the basement to watch an episode of The Amazing Race. David and I love The Amazing Race. It’s our special show together. We didn’t start watching it until a few years ago so for the past year, we have slowly been working through watching all the seasons from the beginning. We usually watch an episode or two a week together at night after the kids go to bed, although we had been watching much more than during the end of my pregnancy, an episode or two almost every night. So it was my first choice of something to do to distract myself while I was able to. We watched a full episode and during that time the contractions got steadily stronger. We started another episode but stopped only about 10 minutes in because the contractions were so strong that I had to stand and hold onto David to get through them. I could no longer concentrate and said that we should go back upstairs because I thought if we waited much longer, I wouldn’t be able to move.

While we were downstairs, Lynnette and Tatia were preparing by getting the supplies ready and then sitting upstairs talking. I appreciated having the option to be alone for a while. When I came upstairs they talked to me briefly about how/what I was feeling and then David and I went into our bedroom alone. I contracted on the bed a while, moaning a bit through the contractions now. At some point, Lynnette realized by my sounds that I was getting close, so they came in. I mostly contracted on my side and then toward the end on my back. I held on tightly to David’s arms and pulled myself into him through contractions while Tatia put pressure on my back.

This went on for a while until I got the urge to push. I was surprised a bit by how painful it all was. A bearable painful, similar to the pain of Lucia’s childbirth that I had mostly forgotten, but a pain that I didn’t really experience during David’s very fleeting labor. I hadn’t intentionally pushed at all with Davey, but I did push several times this time. The bag of waters was intact until the very end, breaking while I was pushing at 10:35. Baby was born at 10:36. It seemed like it took forever to push, but it was only a few minutes. There was a fist by baby’s face which was harder and more painful to push out than just a head alone, but once the arm was out, the rest followed easily. Lynnette caught her and put her on my chest. After the fact, I was a little disappointed David didn’t catch the baby since he had with both Lucia and Davey, but this time I really needed him up with me during those last few pushes.

David and I noticed immediately that this little baby was a girl! Our Cecilia! She was beautiful and looked so much like her sister as a newborn – David commented on that immediately. She cried right away and looked perfect. I just held my baby tight and told her I was her mama and I loved her and I marveled at how tiny and perfect and beautiful she was. My pregnancy has been healthy and happy and generally free from anxiety but there was a moment of relief holding her in my arms, a relief that only comes after having lost a baby.

I held her for a bit in a towel – she wasn’t very bloody but covered in tons of vernix – and then tried to get her to nurse a bit while we were waiting to deliver the placenta, but she wasn’t interested. She cried quite a bit during her first few hours and wouldn’t nurse, which was unusual and concerned me quite a bit and a midwife more than I think she let on, but after several hours, she finally settled and nursed and is as healthy as can be.

It took a bit to deliver my placenta, but it eventually came quicker and easier than in the past. For the
first time, I didn’t tear and need stitches. I actually felt amazingly well right afterward and was delighted to be in my own house able to walk around and take a shower just an hour after birth. My entire recovery was easy and quick. It was in many ways, a very blessed birth and another beautiful step in healing from the continued pain of pregnancy loss.

In the morning, my parents brought the big brother and sister over to meet the new baby. When they arrived they didn't know she had been born but Lucia wanted to bring the card she made for the baby "just in case". Lucia also had told my parents when she woke up that she had a dream that mommy had a baby girl the previous night. It was so sweet introducing the kids and even little Davey seemed to love his baby sister right away.

I didn't pray during Lucia's birth because it was just too all consuming and Davey's had been too fast to think of pretty much anything but I had planned to pray for many intentions during my birth but when the time came, I was in so much pain that I could only focus on one, a couple in our extended family who were longing for a child but having trouble conceiving. I offered up all the pain and doubt and suffering of the birth for them. They are still waiting for a living child, so if you could join me in praying for them, I’d be very grateful.

Surprised by Peace

I haven't found myself with lots of time to sit and contemplate this pregnancy, but when I have, the word that just seems to encompass it all is peace. That's not to say that this pregnancy has been easy. It's been delightfully without complications, but the first trimester was marked by the worst morning sickness and exhaustion I've experienced and the second trimester has so far been riddled with illness including a horrible bout of the flu. Overall, nothing to truly complain about though in those moments it all seemed dramatically unbearable. Through it all though, there was the underlying peacefulness.

I thought that after my miscarriages, pregnancy would never be joyful again. And so I've been completely blindsided by the joy that has come this time around. I no longer have the same naivety I did during my first pregnancy. I'm much more aware of all the things that can and might go wrong. I don't take for granted that a positive pregnancy test means a living baby nine months down the road. But unlike my last pregnancy, I don't expect something bad to happen. I'm aware it could happen, but I have hope. I cannot begin to describe just how surprising these feelings are: peace, joy, hope.

There is something incredibly redemptive and healing about this pregnancy. The way it has blessed me is truly humbling. I am so undeserving. I know all too well that many women never get to have an experience like this after infertility or loss. Many never get their living child, yet here I am with my daughter, my beautiful toddler son born after loss, and now this new little one to love and cherish. Nothing I've ever done or could ever do would make me deserving of these blessings.

I came up with the term "golden baby" to describe the baby AFTER a rainbow baby in kind of an offhand way. The rainbow comes after the storm. Well, what comes after the rainbow? Oh, a pot of gold. Golden baby. Ok, that sounds nice. I just wanted a term for it because this pregnancy felt special - not like a pregnancy before loss, but also not like a pregnancy right after loss. But the more I think about it, the term just seems right. This baby is someone special, someone set apart. A child who has healed my heart and soul in amazing ways. A child who was never expected and who has crept into our family as a little someone extra, a little added blessing who will bring with him/her beauty and joy I can't even begin to imagine. My little golden baby. My baby.

How could I not already feel ABUNDANTLY blessed with these two?

18 weeks. And suddenly, I can't hide this little blessing from the world anymore.
(But I'm still wearing my regular pants - can't quite figure out quite how that's possible though!)

Golden Baby

The past few months have been a bit of a whirlwind for our family. About 6 weeks ago, the company David worked for went out of business (again - the second time in 6 months with no other companies to buy them out and save them this time). About a week after that, we became certified as foster parents and 8 days after certification, we got the call to take in two sisters, age 2 and 5.

The day after we brought the girls home, David was offered a job with extensive travel (10-15 days per month is what it's looking like). He had two weeks before starting that job in which he was home full time and helping me adjust to caring for four kids and welcoming the girls into our family. During that time, thee four kids and me all got the flu. Thankfully David didn't get it and was able to care for us all, but it was a tough time. I haven't had the flu in probably 15 years so it just seemed like such terrible timing and really made incorporating the girls into our family that much more difficult.

Last week was David's first week on the job and he was gone Monday-Friday. On Wednesday, we learned that the girls would be leaving us on Friday to live with family. It truly seems like they are going to a great situation with loving, stable family, but after only 3 weeks we did get attached and it was hard to say goodbye, and especially for me to get them packed up and to have to deal with the emotional aspect of saying goodbye to them on my own with David still away. The littlest one called me mama as was already so attached to me so saying goodbye to her was particularly rough.

The first chapter of our experience as foster parents is over and we are grateful we were able to help these girls in their time of need. It was all a bit of an unusual case and we thought we would have the girls here with us for at least six months...and then they weren't. Which in the end is best for them (better for them to gain permanency now) and in many ways for us too. Having a short first placement gave us experience to be able to discern a little more carefully future placements in our home so that we can be the best foster parents possible by making sure the children are the best fit for our family and our family is adequately able to care for the needs of the kids. I definitely feel like fostering is one of those things you can read about and talk about and take trainings for but never really understand until you are doing it. And truly each child and situation is different, but we feel like we understand it a bit better and are a bit more prepared for next time.

This all leads me to perhaps our biggest and most important recent news: I'm expecting! It's seems a bit crazy that two years ago, we were just finding out we were pregnant with Davey shortly after my endometriosis surgery and we had only the teeny tiniest hope that that baby might actually live. That baby did live (and is currently making a mess of my kitchen - the boy loves colanders) and now I am 17 weeks pregnant with his little brother or sister. In many ways, this pregnancy is completely overwhelming. It's been completely normal and healthy, something that really just doesn't seem normal to me. Davey came after four miscarriages, dozens of blood draws, hundreds of injections, and a surgery.  In many ways it felt like we had to work hard for our baby, we had to earn him. (I know that baby's are not truly earned - they are always undeserved blessings. But after my experiences, it just felt like suffering was a necessary part of eventually having a living child.)

This pregnancy has been effortless (not to say I haven't felt unwell, I had a terribly sick first trimester but there hasn't been any bleeding or other fears about the health of the baby) and I just feel so undeserving. To have to healthy pregnancies and babies in a row seems almost impossible after what I had gone through and just the unworthiness I feel about it all is often so overwhelming. There are so many couples out there still waiting for a baby after infertility or loss. So many of them are so much more deserving than I of a baby. Why has God blessed me with another (living) child while they still wait and suffer? I know there aren't answers to these questions. I know that our baby is completely undeserved by me (what could I ever do to deserve him/her?) and I know that this baby is nothing but a blessing and a gift. And I'm so very, very grateful.

I've been thinking a lot about a pregnancy after a pregnancy after loss. It's not the same as that first pregnancy after loss. But it's not the same as never experiencing a loss at all, either. A baby born after a loss is often called a "rainbow baby" (though I prefer the term penumbra baby), so what is a baby born after a rainbow baby? I couldn't find a term or any discussion of this subsequent baby and pregnancy anywhere, but I've been thinking about our little one as our "golden baby". (You know, for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Ok, probably not as clever as I thought.) I know it's not everyone's experience, but my "pregnancy after loss" with Davey was overshadowed by depression and fear. This pregnancy feels redemptive in many ways. I'm rediscovering the joy of carrying life that filled my first pregnancy with Lucia (and my second pregnancy in which we lost Francis) but that has been completely absent in subsequent pregnancies. I am so grateful for this pregnancy and baby and so looking forward to seeing baby's sweet little face.

Lucia's portrait of the baby in my tummy (whom she calls "Magic Bean") complete with umbilical cord and placenta.
She is thrilled. Davey is oblivious.

All I Want Is A Happy Ending

When I think of our fertility struggles and our future "family plans", all I want is a happy ending. And I have that right now. After four miscarriages, we've had a beautiful healthy baby boy. There is a completeness there. A sigh of relief. We made it. It's over. We've won. Except this isn't the end. I still have around fifteen years of fertility left. Who knows what will happen in that time?

I am ok with having more miscarriages as long as you tell me that my last pregnancy, whenever that is, is one that ends with a living child in my arms. The birth of a baby provides closure and resolution, a sense of victory and hope. But to end my childbearing years with a loss, to have my last pregnancy be a miscarriage, would leave an open wound. All miscarriages leave scars, of course, but in time and with the birth of a living child, those wounds heal. The scar always remains, the memory persists and there is still pain. But looking into my son's eyes, I'm able to say "everything was worth it" because now I have him. If I hadn't had those miscarriages, if I hadn't persisted through another pregnancy, and another one, and another one, I would have never gotten to the one which gave me my son.

Pregnancies that end in miscarriage have their own value, of course. An eternal soul brought into creation. Suffering that can be united with Christ for a greater purpose. Lessons learned. An opportunity to rely more fully on God in our grief. I pray that someday these things may be enough for me, but in my human selfishness, I struggle to see this as worth the great pain loss brings me.

Of course, no one can guarantee my happy ending. If we continue to be open to life (and we will be) we continue to be open to death. And I have to face the reality that there may not be a happy ending in store for me. Perhaps my last years of fertility will be riddled with miscarriages or perhaps we'll spend years longing for one more child only to suffer a secondary infertility that is never resolved.

How do I move forward? How do I acknowledge the risk of another loss and decide another pregnancy is worth it anyway? I don't know. I just have to have faith that no matter what happens, I'll get through it. God will see me through it.

All I Wanted Was a Card: Mixed Messages in Support and Grieving

 After my second miscarriage, I told my mom that I really wanted her to send a card. My mom sends cards to everyone for every occasion, it is kind of her thing. Every insignificant holiday. Birthday cards. Anniversary cards. Get well cards. And if someone had a loved one die, even if it was someone she wasn't close to, you better believe she sent a card. If your beloved pet died, you'd be getting a card from my mom. But two of my babies had died and she hadn't sent me - her own daughter! - a card. And that hurt. It felt like she didn't acknowledge my losses as real losses.

I'm sure that was not what she was thinking at all and that I was being more irrational than anything else, but the pain caused by it was very real. So I told her. And still a card never came. I waited for weeks, months. I mentioned several times on the phone with her over the months after that loss that I still wanted her to send me a card. She never did. I don't know why. I guess she just thought it was too late and that I was telling her I wanted a card so that she knew what to do if (when) I had another miscarriage, but I thought that I was very clearly stating to her that I needed her to send me a card now.

At some point several months down the road, I blew up with her on the phone and told her how extremely hurt I was. She told me that instead of sending a card, she had done other things, like visiting with my dad at Easter and taking David, Lucia, and I on a vacation to the beach. And about a week later, a card came.

And after my fourth miscarriage (we didn't tell people about our third because it was so early), I received a card from my parents too. That time, it was very prompt.

I feel like this story is a perfect example of how messages somehow get mixed during periods of grief and how the support someone offers often doesn't reach their loved one, at least not in the form of support they actually want or need.

I never felt like I had the support I needed after my losses. Yet, I have several very kind, loving friends and family members and I know that they were attempting to offer me support. I imagine the mixed signals often happen because our society is so closed when it comes to issues of death and grieving. How can we help our loved ones during such a difficult time if we are expected to spend our entire lives acting as if such topics don't even exist?

I know that the majority of hurt and disappointment I felt at the lack of support was due to miscommunication, not due to actual lack of support. It wasn't the support I needed, but it was there. I truly believe even those who remained completely silent did it with the best intentions, thinking that bringing it up might be painful to me.

I've come to really appreciate the efforts of those I love even if they missed the mark. But that perspective has taken time. Years. Right after my miscarriages, when I needed that support and wasn't getting what I needed, it just hurt. It felt like they didn't care. Or that I was abandoned completely. I know that was an unfair assessment, but I've come to realize that grief is a very selfish time. It's a time when what I want and what I need and what I feel trumps all. And that's not to say that it's a bad thing, or that those experiencing grief are selfish. But to expect someone in the midst of grief to step outside of themselves and see the broader picture is just not realistic. And to beat yourself up (as I sometimes do) for thinking selfishly during that time is nothing less than expecting yourself to be superhuman.

If you do have someone in your life grieving a loss, I encourage you to ask her what she needs you to do to help. She may not know, but she just might. And keep asking! Unlike the common belief that grief is short and thee grieving will return to normal after a set time of a week or a month, it's a LONG process. Often when the shock of the loss wears off and they grieving need the most support, those around them wrongly assume they've already "moved on". Over two years after my last loss there are still times that are tough and when I'd love the support of a friend!

photo by Freddy Castro via Unsplash

Remembrance is a little different for us this year (+ a giveaway)

Today is Infant and Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day. I spent the day with my husband at the last day of foster parent training. And you know what? That feels like the absolute best way we can love and honor the children we've lost.

Becoming a foster parent feels like an essential piece in my healing process. For three years now, I've forced myself to keep a space open in my life, a void that reminded me of of our loss. I didn't let anything fill that space because I felt like I needed to have this painful opening in order to feel the raw wound of the absence of our children. I thought that the only way to appropriately honor them was to be in constant pain, to stay in that place, and to always have a hole that reminded me what could have been and everything that was lost. Doing something that we wouldn't have done had our child(ren) lived seemed to be a form of treason, like leaving them behind or pretending they never existed.

It's only now, three years after my first loss, almost two years after my last, and just weeks away from the first birthday of my healthy (living!) baby boy, that I'm realizing the best way I can honor the children I've lost is to fill that void with something good.

No, we can't fill that open space in our lives with another child, that's not what foster parenting is about for us. Other women who have lost a child may fill that space with something else completely non-child related - volunteer work, prayer, art, etc. This is not about replacing our children, but forging ahead and creating a full, meaningful life with what we have been given.

David and I have talked about being foster parents since before we married. We've moved around frequently and struggled financially so that it was never a viable option until now. After buying our home earlier this year, we finally have the space and stability to be able to care for foster children. It was time.

And yet in the back of my mind, there was that thought, that reminder that if one of the children we lost had lived, we probably would not feel capable of being foster parents right now. We'd most likely have three children then, closer together in age, and I imagine we'd feel like there wasn't the extra time or energy or space right now for foster children.

The truth, however, is that our children did die. Francis died. Julian died. Adrienne died. Christian died. And I have a choice. Either I can continue to dwell on their deaths and make my life some kind of morbid mausoleum to them, or I can choose to turn their deaths into something positive. Because they died, my family has the resources to care for foster children. I think maybe I've not wanted to admit that there are good things we can do because they died for fear that in some way that could be twisted to mean that it was good that they died.

It was not good that they died. But their death can still bring about something good. I'm finally at the place where I'm ready for that. Where I no longer have to torture myself with thoughts of "what would have been". Where I no longer feel the need to punish myself with continual reminders of their deaths for fear that if we move on we are somehow betraying them, that we are in some way saying "it is better this way". No, it is not better. My four babies, four unique beautiful souls are missing from this world, but in their absence we can still go on living. It is not better, but it can still be good. It is good.

I don't know how I missed it in the past, but it seems fitting that Infant and Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day is also St. Teresa of Avila's feast day. My favorite quote of hers seems so fitting today:

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.
-- St. Teresa of Avila

In honor of Infant and Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day, I would like to give away a beautiful printable of this quote from the etsy shop brickhouseinthecity. (Giveaway sponsored and purchased by me.) Also, Usborne Books consultant Kayla Fellows has very sweetly offered a giveaway item as well:

I am a stay at home wife and mother. I have felt the heartache of infertility, miscarriage and the anxiety of pregnancy after miscarriage. I am very blessed to have given birth to my rainbow baby almost a year ago. In honor of the baby I lost, Bernard Marie, I'd like to donate $15 worth of product from my Usborne Book Store.

I'll also throw in a Lilla Rose hair accessory, as always, since that's my little side biz. I'd like to keep the entries to parents who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death. To enter, simply comment telling me something you do to remember your baby/babies. 

David's Birth Story, or How Having a Baby in a Car Was the Unexpected Answer to My Prayers

Let's start this story at the very beginning. I'm 99.9% certain that my real due date (based on conception) was November 1. Every ultrasound I had during the pregnancy (and I had many) showed the baby measuring right on for a November 1 due date except the ultrasound that my doctor used to date the pregnancy, which gave me a November 6 due date. I was completely fine with going by the November 6 due date though because my daughter, Lucia, was late and I expected this baby to be late too, so it seemed that it would be likely that the baby would be born around November 6.
I started have contractions on October 29. They were Braxton Hicks contractions, very light and not at all regular, but were consistent in that they would appear every afternoon, come and go throughout the evening, then completely stop when I went to bed. When I was pregnant with Lucia, I hadn't had a contraction of any kind until I went into labor so I thought that these contractions signified that I would be going into labor somewhat soon. Maybe not that day or the next, but within the next several days or a week.

But November 1 and November 6 came and went and I still hadn't gone into labor. In fact, I stopped feeling contractions at all around November 4th which was a bit discouraging because it felt like my body had been gearing up for labor and then...nothing, like I was moving even further away from having my baby. Lucia had been eight days late and I hadn't been anxious at all for her to be born. As my first pregnancy, I had expected to be about a week late. But this time, I could finally understand what so many pregnant women meant when they would talk about being just done with being pregnant. I was still feeling pretty decent physically - just tired, so tired - but emotionally, I was more than ready to have the baby. After nine months of almost constant fear and anxiety, I needed to see and hold my baby and know that all was well. Or that all was not well, but just to know.

On November 11, I started feeling just off not long after getting up. I was really nauseous and was experiencing a constant, strong, dull pain in my stomach. I had felt a similar pain for short periods of time previously and it seemed to be caused by the baby lying right in the front of my stomach (facing my back - the optimal birth position). It felt like the baby was pushing straight out of my belly button and the pain was coming from so much outward pressure. I have no idea if that was the actual cause, but the baby was indeed right there in front. Thankfully, it was Veteran's Day and my mom works in a bank so she had the day off. She watched Lucia for me while I took a shower and laid in bed most of the morning. (Side note: We live with my parents.)

Around noon my mom was leaving to take the dog to be groomed and run some errands and she planned to take Lucia with her. Shortly before she left, I sent David a text asking him if it would be a big deal if he came home early from work and then I ended up not going into labor. I had previously been determined that I would not ask him to come home until I was having very obvious baby is coming contractions, but I was just feeling so awful and emotional and really just wanted him with me. I sent him a text saying "I feel like crying." He asked why and I could only respond that it must be hormones, which made him think that this really had to be early labor.

After my mom and Lucia left, I was able to fall asleep until David got home. He came home very excited, thinking we were going to be having a baby that day only to find me feeling....absolutely normal. The pain was gone, the nausea was gone, no desire to cry anymore. Just normal. And frustrated.

I rested for a little while longer and then we decided to go for a walk. As we were walking, I was having a very angry conversation with God in my head. I told Him I was tired and I was angry that after going through so many miscarriages and a very emotionally difficult pregnancy, He couldn't at least give me at least the consolation of the baby coming on time. Why was He making me suffer longer? A little later on in the walk, I calmed down a bit and spoke to God again, apologizing for my (silent, in my head) outburst and acknowledging that there are far worse things than being pregnant a little longer with the healthy baby for whom I had prayed.

While we were walking, my mom and Lucia came home. Halfway through our walk, we stopped in the house to tell my mom what was going on (or what wasn't going on, as it were). She, of course, was excited because she saw David's truck in the driveway and assumed that he had come home because I was in labor. After telling her that was not the case, we finished our walk. Still no contractions.

My mom started dinner - tomato bisque - but then had to leave to take Lucia to gymnastics before she could get everything in the pot, so David took over. I stayed in the kitchen as David cooked and organized the spices in one of the cabinets.I was feeling perfectly normal, even by non-pregnancy standards, and I definitely was not feeling like baby would be coming anytime soon.

My mom and Lucia came home around 5 and not long after, while I was sitting on the couch waiting for the soup to finish, I felt a POP. The midwife broke my water well into labor with Lucia to speed up the process so I hadn't experienced what it was like to have my water break but I immediately suspected that's what happened. I went to the bathroom to check and there was a large amount of yellowish mucus. I couldn't tell if my water had broken yet, but I went back to the bathroom several times over the next ten minutes and there was clearly a yellowish liquid dripping. Since the fluid wasn't clear, I decided to call my midwife immediately. We spoke for about ten minutes. She said that yellow amniotic fluid was fine but let me know what colors to look out for. I told her I hadn't had any contractions yet, but that I was having a dull cramping in my lower abdomen. I don't remember all we talked about but I do very clearly remember her asking if I was ready to have a baby and I answered that yes, I'd been ready for a while! She told me to call her back around 8:30 to check in but otherwise just to rest and wait for contractions to start. At this point it was 5:30. My water had broken at 5:10.

Almost immediately after I hung up the phone, contractions started. David had downloaded a contraction timer on his phone already, so he started timing them right away. They were very close together - only about 1 minute 45 seconds apart! But they were very weak. I could talk through them easily. They were noticeable, but not painful. Sometime around the time I started having contractions, I went to the bathroom and saw blood. I called David into the bathroom and told him that we would definitely be having a baby soon.

David continued to time my contractions as I laid on the couch and watched "Family Feud" and he went to our room to pack the last minute items in our bag for the birth center. They were consistently 1 minute 45 seconds apart so he asked if I thought he should call the midwife back and let her know. I wasn't sure. Yes, the contractions were close together but they still weren't strong. But we decided he should call anyway. The midwife told us we should head in.

I helped David finish packing and had to pause often because my contractions were getting stronger. Lucia started to cry when I had contractions because I was moaning through them, which scared her. It was so hard to say goodbye to her while she was still crying because I wanted to comfort her, but I knew staying longer and having more contractions would just make her more upset. As we were leaving, my mom asked, "Aren't you going to have dinner before you go?" since the soup was now done, but it was clear that we really needed to leave. I did have David get a container full of soup for himself though so he could eat while I was laboring at the birth center.

David and I walked out the door around 6pm. My contractions continued to get stronger, but I assumed that I still had four or five hours to go before pushing. Clearly if I could stop and wait for David to scoop up some soup to take with us, I wasn't in that much pain and didn't think the baby was coming very soon. The intensity of the contractions were nothing compared to the last several hours of contractions during Lucia's labor. The midwives and nurses at the birth center had all said that second labors were usually around half the length of the first and I was in labor for a little over 14 hours with Lucia, so seven hours seemed to be a likely length. The drive to the birth center was 35 to 40 minutes and I never had any doubt that we'd have plenty of time to get there.

But about ten minutes after we left, the contractions had gotten much more painful, the downward pressure was very intense, and I felt a strong urge to push. I started repeating, "Jesus, I trust you. Jesus, I trust you," through each contraction but it quickly became just, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," or "I trust, I trust, I trust." I realized that this baby was probably coming sooner rather than later but still assumed I had some time ahead of me, at least enough time to make it to the birth center.

And then I found myself pushing. Well, not pushing exactly, or at least not intentionally pushing, but I felt the downward pressure pushing the baby down. I told David he had to pull over. We weren't going to make it. He got the midwife on the phone and pulled over into the nearest parking lot, in front of a Kohl's. This was around 6:20. The midwife thought we could still make it, we were only 15 minutes away. But I was insistent - there was no way, the baby was coming, and we needed to call 911. The midwife (or one of the nurses at the birth center there with her) called 911 for us so David could stay on the phone with her. David put her on speaker phone. She asked if I could reach down and see if I could feel the baby's head. So I reached down and I did feel something hard that I assumed must be the head just inside the vaginal opening.

At this point, David got out of the driver's seat and came around to my side of the car and by the time he opened my door, the head was out! I don't remember what the midwife told David to do, but she told me to take a deep breath and give one good push to birth the rest of my baby. So I did. At 6:25 pm, David caught our baby and as he was raising it to my chest we noticed immediately that it was a boy. Our son! David, Jr! He was covered in meconium, but cried immediately and seemed to be perfectly healthy. David put his pea coat over both of us and then I asked him to go into our bags in the backseat and get something softer to wrap our baby in. David found his robe and covered the baby. It was dark and a cold night and our biggest concern was keeping him warm.

An ambulance and other emergency vehicles arrived a few minutes later. They brought us blankets, checked little David out quickly, and then helped get us out of the car onto a gurney and into the very wonderfully warm ambulance. We had originally hoped to be taken to the birth center but the EMTs said they felt more comfortable taking us to the closest hospital just five minutes away because it was so cold that little David had a lower than desirable temperature and he was covered in meconium so they wanted to make sure he hadn't aspirated any of it. We decided to just head to the hospital. David drove the car while the baby and I headed over in the ambulance. After the cord stopped pulsing, the umbilical cord was cut in the ambulance.

When we arrived at the hospital, we went straight to the labor and delivery floor where there was staff awaiting us. From there, everything was pretty normal, or at least what I assume is fairly normal in a hospital birth. They checked little David over a bit more than perhaps is usual but he never left my room. He was perfectly healthy and his temperature went back up to normal quickly. It took a while (almost and hour and half after birth, I think) for the placenta to be delivered and both that and the few stitches I needed were definitely the most painful part of the whole labor and delivery, just like I remember them being with Lucia's birth experience.

After that, we were left alone pretty quickly. I was able to make a call to the new big sister and my parents to let them know we'd just had a baby in the car, David called the rest of our families, and I was able to just nurse and cuddle my little son. A couple hours later, my parents and Lucia came to see us for a short time. We stayed the night in the hospital and left the next afternoon.

Looking back on my labor and discussing it with my midwife, there really weren't any signs that my labor would be that quick and there really wasn't any way we would have made it to the birth center in time. I had contractions for less than an hour before David was born, so we would have had to have left almost immediately after they had started and at the time, there was no indication that we should.

But I'm really, truly happy with how it all turned out. I believe having our son in the car was an answer to so many prayers. I would have never planned it (and I don't necessarily suggest it) but I truly can't complain about a fairly painless childbirth that lasted less than an hour. Baby and I are both healthy and I've had a much easier recovery this time around. And probably most importantly, all the fears I had about labor being emotionally difficult were moot because it was so fast I didn't have much time to think about anything but having a baby. Nothing went as planned. I wasn't birthing in a dark room with the light of candles, there was no diffuser with calming essential oils, and the Marian statue I bought specifically for the occasion stayed in our bag in the backseat. We didn't pray the rosary or over the intentions I had collected for labor. But it was even better than I planned - truly the most peaceful, joyful, healing birth I could imagine.

The main downside about the whole thing was that our car was left looking like a crime scene. But even that isn't nearly as bad as it could be. Our car is currently getting a new seat cushion and carpet in a shop that specializes in biological messes in vehicles while we drive a rental car. And our car insurance is covering everything but our deductible (and it's going to be over $2,000!). Since it wasn't a collision, our insurance payments won't even go up. Seriously, an hour long labor is worth paying our deductible.


Here are a few pictures of little David's first few hours, all taken once we got to the hospital. They're mostly duplicates of the pictures I shared in his birth announcement post, but they're all I've got.

David Newton, Jr.

November 11, 2015 6:25pm

7 lbs. 12 oz. 20.25 inches

 I did not look like this after my 14 hour labor with Lucia. My hair isn't matted! I'm not sweaty and exhausted!

 David, Jr. with his daddy, the man who delivered him!

 Meeting big sis, who came bearing gifts.

If you want to read Lucia's very different birth story, you can do so here. Oh, and Kate of Sancta Nomina posted a birth announcement for David where I share a little about his name and ask for nickname suggestions. You can read it here.

Remembrance

Saturday was the second anniversary of my first miscarriage. It was a rough day. We were spending the weekend at my in-laws so there wasn't any sort of ritual or remembrance; but we were busy with family all day and in the end, I think that was probably the best way it could have been spent. Had we still lived in North Carolina, we would have continued our family tradition of honoring our baby by daily Mass, visiting the cemetery, and then an afternoon at the beach. (The cemetery was about an hour and a half away on the way to the beach. When my husband buried our baby, our priest mentioned that making a beach day of visiting the grave could be beautiful family tradition. And it really was.) We tried to go to daily Mass but none of the parishes close to my in-laws had one on Saturday mornings. In absence of a grave or beach to visit, keeping busy was the best way to distract me from the pain of the day.

Many people assume that these anniversaries are less painful because I'm currently nine months pregnant. And yes, in many ways, the joy of the child in my womb blunts the pain. But in other ways, this pregnancy has added a sharpness to the pain of these remembrances. Each milestone I reach in this pregnancy, each baby kick, each midwife appointment and heartbeat heard is a reminder of what I'll never get to experience with four of my children.

Two years and a healthy pregnancy later, the pain is still not gone. Yes, life goes on and we've found ways to experience joy again. But thoughts of our children will always remain. We'll always be aware that they are not here, that there are four souls missing from our family. That's why days like today, Pregnancy Loss and Remembrance Day, are important. Because they validate the desire to remember. When the rest of the world has forgotten and expects us to forget too, a day like today reminds us that remembrance is important, it is good, it is necessary.

Every night I pray for parents who have lost a baby and for those little souls gone too soon. But today, your intentions were my constant prayer, in all I did and thought and said. May God comfort you in your grief and bring healing and fruit from your suffering.

Trigger Warnings

A sweet friend of mine (Kendra of Catholic All Year) recently warned me that the new Sherlock Holmes movie, Mr. Holmes, features a prominent miscarriage story line that may be difficult for some to watch. She also said the movie, which stars Ian McKellen as an old Holmes, was really well-done. I'll probably watch it (eventually, when it comes out on video - getting to the movie theatre is a rare occurrence for me) but I cannot explain how much that warning means to me. I don't outright avoid movies, books, or other media that contain elements of pregnancy loss (in many ways, I often find the inclusion of them to be very validating), but I do like the ability to prepare myself beforehand. It's the element of surprise that makes those scenes so difficult to handle.

Perhaps you've heard the term "trigger warning" before. That's exactly what I'm talking about - a warning of the presence of a certain topic that may trigger a strong emotional reaction. My triggers are pregnancy and infant loss and, to some extent, infertility. Perhaps those are your triggers too, or maybe they are cancer, or sexual abuse, or domestic abuse, or divorce, or death of a parent, or any great number of things.

Knowing and understanding your triggers is important. It does not make you weak to know what you should avoid, or what you should only confront after preparation and in certain cultivated circumstances. You are honoring yourself when you acknowledge and adequately address (even completely avoid) the topics that have the ability to distress you.

Last summer, I was in a very vulnerable state. I'd gone through my second miscarriage in February and we were actively trying to conceive again, with nothing to show for our efforts but negative pregnancy tests and tears. And it seemed that EVERY. SINGLE. book, movie, or TV show I watched quite unexpectedly included pregnancy or infant loss in the plot line. It got to the point where I started writing them down because it was just absurd how many their were: (Amazon affiliate links below)

The Help, Downton Abbey, Gran Hotel

The Duchess, Anne's House of Dreams, The Tudors, Where'd You Go Bernadette

This was within a month, folks. A month! Three books, three TV shows, and a movie. None of which I had any clue would have any baby loss story line, but it was in each and every one. Some had not much more than a short scene or brief background story, but it was there all the same, startling me to my core. And the thing is, each of these was pretty great, I'd recommend anyone watch/read them (well, except maybe the Tudors - the sex scenes in that one were a little too much for me so I only made it a few episodes in). I'm sure I would have watched or read them anyway even if I had known they contained loss BUT I wouldn't have watched them that summer. Or one right after another. Or without a bit of forethought and preparation. Or with people other than my husband. I would have cushioned them between light, bright little comedies and feel-good stories.

I'm not quite sure how to avoid something like this in the future. Do I go on Wikipedia and read the detailed plot before I watch any movie or read any book? I frequently do this for movies and books anyway and don't really mind the spoilers BUT there is no guarantee if it's a more minor element that it will even be included in the plot summary. I don't think I'll quite go to those lengths, but I do appreciate a heads-up from my friends and I do keep my ears open for any potential "trigger warnings".

I asked on my Facebook page about any other movies, books, or television shows that have pregnancy or infant loss and for you, dear readers, here are some other trigger warnings:

(many episodes of) Call the Midwife, House M.D. and Law & Order SVU
Up
Graceland
Labor Day
What to Expect When You're Expecting

Feel free to leave any you've encountered in the comments as a trigger warning to others.

On Loss and Marriage

A couple weekends ago, my husband and I headed up to the mountains for our fifth anniversary. It was our first getaway as a couple since our honeymoon. It was perfect. We stayed at a darling bed and breakfast, ate way too much good food, and did not much else. Throughout the weekend, I constantly came back to the thought that this was really, really good for us. It's important for all married couples to have times of relaxation and enjoyment together, but it struck me as especially needed for a couple who has undergone difficult emotional trauma.

Couples who have gone through the loss of a child (pregnancy loss included) have a much higher divorce rate for a reason. After our second loss, I found myself utterly surprised by how altered our marriage had become. I found myself avoiding my husband because he had become a reminder of the pain of our losses. I couldn't even look at him without the sharp reminder of the babies we lost. There was a part of me to felt that it would be easier if we were no longer together, if I no longer had him around as a constant reminder. If we went our separate ways, it would would be so much easier to pretend our losses never existed, and without that constant reminder, then maybe the pain would be a little less.

These were all fleeting thoughts, of course, nothing I ever dwelt on. And they were most certainly lies. The pain of separating from my husband, the only person who knew and loved the children we lost as intimately as I did, would have only brought more pain to our losses. (Not to mention the pain it would bring to our living child, to our families, and to every other aspect of our lives.) No matter how much I tried, no matter what lengths I would have gone through, it would have been futile to try to ignore the pain of our losses anyway; it's much healthier to confront and heal that pain and we could only truly do that together.

When I think of the short lives of four miscarried children, I want them to have meaning. I want them to, despite the pain of loss, bring good into the world and that starts right here with their family. What good would come from their short lives and deaths if they put a wedge between their parents?

Looking back at the most difficult points of our marriage after loss, it's so very clear how Satan uses our times of pain and weakness. Christian marriages are reflection of the beauty and goodness of God. The procreative aspect of those marriages is a very visible sign to the world of power of love. When something goes wrong with the life-giving element of marriage (be it infertility or loss), doubts creep in as to the validity of the marriage, or if not the validity at least the value.

And then there is the guilt. One member of the couple usually feels all the weight and blame of loss and fertility issues. Even when there is no no firm diagnosis, the woman usually pulls the guilt upon herself. It's hard to bridge that gap, to feel like infertility/loss is happening go both of you together instead of one of you pushing it upon the other. It's easy to believe that you are at fault, preventing your partner from having the children they deserve, wondering if he isn't better off with someone else who can give him living children. Humans are bodies and souls and as much as we'd like to separate our spiritual life, the brokenness of the body can often lead to brokenness in the soul.

Four losses in less than a year and a half. Surgery. Another pregnancy. I wish I could say that this pregnancy has helped to heal our wounds, and I'm still hopeful that after the birth of our child the healing will come, but so far it's only seemed to deepen them. Or at least call attention to them in a way that is no longer possible to ignore. The wounds are still there, but our approach is different. We're no longer pulling away from each other, but turning toward one another in our sorrow. We grieve differently, my husband more stoic and silent, my tears and pain more visible and vocal, but instead of letting those differences pull us apart, we're learning to care for each other's individual needs. I feel guilty that my body failed to nurture our children, David feels helpless as he watches me continue to go through trauma he would do anything to relieve. Together we're working on finding other fruits and creative outlets for our marriage, so that it's value doesn't hinge solely on our fertility.

As we sat up in our room the mountains, we talked about our favorite moments and the blessings of our first five years of marriage. The conversation was more somber than we would have ever expected it to be. Between mentioning milestones and cherished memories, there were long pauses where we silently thought about the sorrows and struggles which, at least numerically, outnumber the hallmark moments. But reflecting on those difficult times gave us the ability to rejoice in the strength and durability of our marriage, the flexibility we'd found and the lessons we've learned. We understood the importance of leaving room in for God (and for heartache and tragedy and time to rebuild) in our future goals, of setting priorities instead of milestones, and thinking eternally,

It's ok to know what you need (and what you need to avoid).

This past weekend was the second Edel Gathering. It looked fun and lovely and inspiring. This year was the second year I didn't go. Both years I could have gone. We could have made it work financially. My husband was very supportive of me having a weekend away. I wanted to go. There were so many ladies I wanted to see (and meet) that would be there. I'm sure I would have had a great time. But for two years in a row, the timing would have made it too painful.

Last year, I knew several women who were going and bringing along their couple month old babies. Our Francis would have been a few months old. I also knew several ladies who would be seven months pregnant. I would have been seven months pregnant with Julian. The miscarriages were still so raw then and it seemed like the reminders would have been too plentiful for me to have enjoyed myself.

I had planned to go to Edel this year, up until a week before the tickets were released. I got a positive pregnancy test and with the due date being next week, it was quite impossible to attend the conference ten days before a baby was set to arrive. And then I miscarried and I could go, but once again, it seemed like going would be too painful knowing that the only reason I was there was because my baby died. Due dates are pretty dark times for me and having two less than a month apart has cast a long shadow over this June and July. It's possible that going to Edel could have been exactly what I needed to lift me out of this funk, but it's just as possible that I would have been emotionally miserable the whole time. It wasn't worth it to spend so much money and make arrangements for childcare without knowing which way it would pan out.

I'm 100% sure I made the right decision. I used to try to force myself to events or else feel guilty for letting my losses "get the best of me" and dictate what I do. But now I'm pretty confident in my decisions. While I can force myself to go to events, I can't force myself to enjoy them and there is no triumph in going to an event only to be miserable the whole time. And staying home does not mean that I've let my losses rule my life, it means that I'm wise enough to know what I need (or what I need to avoid) in the healing process and that I've given myself the permission and grace to heal.

Now, when it comes to the events of others - a baby shower, meeting a new friend's baby, a get together where I suspect a pregnancy announcement will be made (and I'm right 99% of the time), the birthday party of a child who would be about the age of one of my lost littles, etc. - I do force myself to go. I completely support others who decide to stay home from similar events, but I know my weaknesses and the truth is that I can all too easily get tied up in my own pain and self pity if I let myself focus only on me. It's important to me that I force myself to take part in the joy of others and that I do not allow myself excuses to let my personal sorrow overshadow others' celebrations. I will not let the death of my children prevent me from celebrating the gifts of life around me, even if my celebration isn't always heartfelt.

I've found that the only way it gets easier is to go through these events anyway, kind of the whole "fake it 'til you make it" thing. Eventually they get easier, after so many times of going to celebrations for a particular child (and crying at home afterwards), it's no longer painful to be around her - she'll still remind me of the child I lost with a similar due date, but the feelings of intense grief don't show up every time I see her little face.

So I do always go to others' events in order to force me outside of myself, but when it comes to events for me like Edel, or going to moms' groups or play dates or girl's night out, etc., I no longer worry about what I "should" be doing. I listen to what I need and then a unapologetically allow myself to do just that. My miscarriages are a part of my life, now and forever. I can pretend they never happened and force myself to live as if they hadn't, but it's much more beneficial to acknowledge them and find a way to incorporate them into my life. Sometimes that means staying home, missing out, saying "no". And that's ok.

This is what I imagine Edel was like. 

My Grief Checklist

We all made it to Colorado safely! Since we're still busy unpacking and with a wedding this weekend (I'm matron of honor and Lucia is flower girl), I thought I'd resurrect another miscarriage post from my old blog. This post originally appeared on December 13, 2013, a couple months after my first miscarriage on Messy Wife, Blessed Life. I've updated it a bit to reflect my additional losses. This also got me thinking about what I need right now, a sort of "Pregnancy After Loss Checklist", so I might just have to write a post about that soon.
__________

A contributor of one of the pregnancy loss ebooks I read (Sunshine After the Storm) wrote this about a "grief checklist":

This is a tool to help you build a list to help others help you. Friends and family may not have any idea of what would be helpful to you.  It is wonderful when people just DO things, but often they may ask you what you need...

I've been thinking quite a bit about what would have been helpful right after my losses (and what would be helpful still).  The first few days, I had no idea how I felt, and therefore didn't know what exactly I needed.  I received some kind offers for help from friends, but I didn't take them up on them.  In hindsight, I should have.  After about a week, I could tell people exactly what I needed, but at that point, most had stopped asking if they could help and I didn't feel comfortable asking.  

I'm totally in agreement with the quote above - it was much more helpful for someone to just DO than to ASK.  Just call and say you are bringing over dinner.  Just call and say, "I'm coming over so you don't have to be alone." or "I'm picking up Lucia so you and David can spend time together."  If I really didn't want you to, I would say so.  But if you ask if you can do those things, I will most likely say no because as much as I know I should accept help, I hate to inconvenience others. 

I'm not writing this as a guideline of what you should do if you have a friend who has experienced pregnancy loss or what you yourself will need if you go through this.  This is a list of my own personal needs, though I suspect that many women have similar needs (many of these ideas I got through reading about others experiences and realizing Yes, that would help me too.)  Grief is different for everyone; some women will find comfort in certain things that would only further the pain for other, but you can use this as a jumping off point for writing your own list or coming up with ideas to help those you love.

I should also mention that I don't expect any one person to do all the things on this list - one person sending flowers after a loss and another person asking how I'm doing and a third person sending a card on a special date - that's all I need. Don't feel like you need to be everything to your friend or family member who has had a loss. Do what you can - hopefully she has a strong support system that together will fill all her needs.

• Say "I'm sorry". I know it's hard to say the perfect thing (is there a perfect thing to say anyway?) but it's unfortunately easy to say something unintentionally hurtful, especially if you haven't experienced a loss yourself.  You can't go wrong with a simple, "I'm sorry for your loss".  
• Tell me you are praying for me. And then pray.  A lot.
• Acknowledge that I lost a CHILD.  A baby. A person. A unique human being.  Do not use a euphemism like "tissue" or "pregnancy" or "possibility of a child" or "opportunity".  A good rule of thumb for what to say after a loss is to only say things you would say to a parent that lost a 10 year old.  Would you tell them, "You can always get pregnant again"? For me, that meant that the speaker didn't recognize my child was unique and could never be replaced.  I don't just mourn the fact that I won't have a baby to hold come May, but I miss that specific, irreplaceable child with his/her own personality, preferences and quirks.  
• Don't call my baby an "angel".  This is something that's very specific to me, I'm sure many other mothers don't mind or actually prefer "angel baby".  I'm not sure if there are any Christian faiths that believe that people in heaven become angels, but as a Catholic, I believe that angels are beings created separately from humans.  I believe my children most likely in heaven.  But wings?  No.  I want my child to be celebrated for what he/she really is - a child of God who is in heaven with Him.  I understand the good intentions behind this, but similar to how I imagine atheists feel when you try to comfort them by telling them their loved one is in heaven, it's not comforting to me to be told that my child is something I don't believe he/she can be. 
• Ask me about it.  I want to talk about it, but it's a hard topic for me to bring up, especially if I don't know how you might react.  Ask me how I am doing.  Ask me if I want to talk about it.  Ask me to tell you about how the actual miscarriage happened.  Ask me about my feelings and my fears.  If I really am not feeling like talking about it, I will just tell you.  But I don't know if I've ever felt that way - I'm still dying to talk about it to anyone who asks.  And if you worry about what to say in return, you don't have to say much.  Just listen.  You can ask questions if you have them.  It does not open a wound for you to bring it up - believe me, two months later it is still the foremost thought on my mind.
• Ask me my baby's name.  Seriously, it was the most touching thing when someone asked me if we named our child, if I minded sharing the name, and then when they used the name in conversation.  I haven't shared the name publicly yet, I just haven't felt comfortable doing so, but I have been happy to share the name with friends and family one-on-one.  
• Don't ignore it.  Whatever you do, don't act like it never happened.  It did happen.  One of my greatest fears is that no one else will remember this child of mine existed.  Remind me that you still remember.
• Ask me how I'm doing. One of my biggest struggles is feeling like people expect me to already be over it.  I felt that way within a week of the miscarriage because after the initial round of "I'm sorries", very few mentioned it or asked me how I was doing.  Just having a few people checking in on me periodically made me feel like I had the "approval" to still be mourning and struggling.  I don't know why but I really needed (and still need) friends and family to acknowledge that it's normal and expected that I'm not "over it" and haven't "moved on" yet.
• Spend time with me.  Just come over and sit with me.  It's hard to be alone with my thoughts during the day when David is gone.
• Send me flowers. People send flowers when a baby is born.  When a person dies.  I so badly wanted flowers because I felt like they signified that my baby was real, that the loss was real. Just ask my husband - in the few days following the miscarriage, I told him many times, "I wish someone would just send us flowers." Thankfully, David's coworkers sent us a beautiful bouquet and I felt a burden lifted off my shoulders when it arrived at the front door.
• Send a card. I received only one card after my miscarriage and it meant so, so much to me.  I will keep that card forever. When someone loses a loved one, people send cards and just like the flowers, it was significant to me because it told me that the sender acknowledged that I actually lost a a child.  It is also something physical that I can hold and look at to remember my baby's short life - with a miscarriage, especially an early one, there aren't many physical mementos for the parents to keep.
• Give me something to remember my baby by. Again, something physical that I can hold and touch when it gets hard and all I want to do is hold and touch my baby.  Something concrete that reminds me that other people knew my baby existed, that my baby was real and not just a creation of my mind.  Some ideas: a rosary or prayer card, a baby item (hat, booties, etc.), something with the baby's name on it, a Christmas ornament that I can hang for our baby every year. 
• Offer specific help with the day-to-day tasks.  For me, it's so hard to keep the household running smoothly when I can't focus on anything but the overwhelming sadness.  The first few weeks were even more difficult because I was also physically weak.  Everything is difficult - laundry, grocery shopping, making dinner.  Even playing with Lucia is hard.  I am doing better now, but especially those first few weeks were riddled with guilt on top of grief - guilt that I was not able to focus on Lucia, I lost patience with her, often just needed to lay in bed all day, and I was overall not able to care for her like I should have because I was so wrapped up in my own sadness.  If you could take her somewhere fun or just come play with her while I rest, that would be wonderful.  Bring me dinner (or gift cards for take out).  Drop off groceries and household staples like toilet paper. 
• Remember these dates with me: October 10 and May 8 (Francis Michael), February 21 and September 17 (Julian Gabriel), June 25 (Adrienne Rafael), December 19 and July 21 (Christian Michael).  The first is the day I lost my baby.  The second is my expected due date.  (Adrienne was an early loss and I don't know exactly what day I lost her, so I only remember the due date.) I've gone through quite a due dates and even the one year anniversary of Francis Michael's due date (when he would be turning one) and they continue to be hard. If you sent me a card on those days, or called me, or plan to spend time with me on those days, I would feel a little less alone.  Also, holidays, like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Mother's Day will be hard.  Let me know you're specifically thinking and praying for me on those days.  And not just this first year, every year on those dates and holidays has been difficult.
• Use delicacy when announcing/discussing your pregnancies. I don't want you to hide your joy or to feel like I'm not happy for you.  Because I am, I am so, so happy for you!  Having lost my child does not diminish the miracle of yours.  I'm not jealous - I don't wish you wouldn't have a baby and I don't wish that your baby was mine.  It's just a reminder of my own loss.  And sometimes that reminder is too much.  Too raw.  Especially if you have a due date close to mine - it's like the ghost of my pregnancy haunting me.  All I ask is that you initially tell me in private, especially if you plan to later announce in public where I might not have the chance to privately deal with my emotions.  By all means, share with me the big news - the healthy ultrasounds and the sex if you find out - but I could probably skip the minute details of your pregnancy, especially the complaining.  You have every right to complain - pregnancy is HARD - but just not to me, please?  Not now.  If I ask, complain away!  Sometimes I feel perfectly fine talking about it.  But sometimes, it's just like a knife to the heart. I'm usually fine being around babies, but sometimes it's hard - around due dates or just for seemingly no reason at all. If I choose not to hold your baby or wait a while before coming to visit after the birth, be patient with me.
• Don't forget my husband. I didn't mention when I originally wrote this post, but after a few more losses, I've realized how much support fathers need as well and how often they are left out. Ask HIM how he's doing. Pray for him and let him know that you are specifically including him in your prayers as well. Let him know that he doesn't need to handle his grief and take care of me all on his own. Include his name in cards. Offer to watch our living children so we can spend time together, or offer to help me so he can go do something by himself. 

If you've experiences a pregnancy loss, I'd love to hear about how your list differed from mine.  Is anything on my "to-do" list on your "don't-do" list?  What did/do you need that I didn't mention?  I think it's helpful to see the great differences in how people grieve and what they need in the wake of a loss.