Family Heartbreak Life Relationships

When Life After A Miscarriage Leaves You Feeling Empty

friendship between a man and a woman
Written by Alexis Tiffany

It was 1am when I woke up to an immense pain, and I knew in that moment we were losing the baby. I sat there in despair trying to figure out the words to tell my husband when he woke up. Before he left our house, he put his hand on my tummy and said goodbye to our sweet baby, and I took his hand and had to tell him. That morning I went to the emergency room, and after hours of tests, the doctors confirmed what I already knew but didn’t want to accept.

Not long before this we were happy. We were crying tears of joy and celebrating because it was finally the news we were desperately waiting for. We waited months, almost a year, for a positive. After waiting so long, losing it felt like my heart was ripped from me.

I don’t understand why it happened or how. What did I do? Did I do something wrong? I wracked my brain for days trying to understand.

How do I move on from something like this? Do I tell people or do I just keep it secret and never let anyone know what completely destroyed me? 

Losing a child is not easy, no matter how old that child is. You no longer feel whole. You feel empty because there is something missing in your home and in your hearts.

Your home has tiny little clothes that were supposed to be worn. You have diapers, bottles, wipes—all that won’t get used.

How do you explain to people that you’ve already told? Do you have to relive the pain and be reminded again of what should have been? How do you put on a mask and pretend everything is okay?

To some people, they won’t understand the loss. They’ll say, you never knew the baby, who they were, they were nothing but cells forming at that point. Some people will say, “You can always try again,” but I wanted that baby and I wanted that pregnancy.

Whoever is reading this, if someone you know lost a child in pregnancy or postpartum, understand that what you say can either break them or give them some sense of relief. On the surface they want everyone to see they are okay, but deep down there is a type of pain that cannot ever be healed. Be their shoulder.

To me and to my family, it was our baby. That baby represented the hope, the plans of the future, and who they were and whoever they were going to become, they already had our hearts.

We created a life that didn’t get the chance to live.

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About the author

Alexis Tiffany