Honoring My First Baby: My Story of Pregnancy Loss
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, a time to acknowledge the heartbreak that so many parents silently endure. One in four pregnancies ends in loss, whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death*. That statistic might feel staggering, but for those who’ve experienced it, this loss is a deeply personal and isolating grief.
Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month: Breaking the Silence
Despite how common pregnancy and infant loss is, it remains a topic that’s often shrouded in silence. Many parents feel they can’t talk openly about their loss, and when they do, they may be met with well-meaning but hurtful comments that minimize their experience. This month offers an opportunity for parents to share their stories, for communities to offer support, and for those who’ve experienced loss to know they are not alone.
My Journey into Motherhood and Loss
My own journey into motherhood didn’t start the way I had planned. I always knew I wanted to be a mother, and had meticulously timed everything to get pregnant and deliver around my graduate school schedule. To my excitement, I got pregnant the very first month we tried, and I remember thinking, this is going exactly according to plan. I was a little nervous, but I assumed my nerves were just the usual anxiety that comes with big life changes.
I spent the week trying to resist taking pregnancy tests, but testing most days. To my horror, a week after taking the first pregnancy test, the second line was lighter than the original. Panic surged through me. I called my sisters, who tried to reassure me that this wasn’t an indication of anything. Unfortunately, I started bleeding the next day. I knew in my heart what had happened—I had miscarried.
I had only spent one week with my first baby, but in that short time, I had already fallen in love with everything about them. I felt so connected to the little spark inside me, and when it was gone, I was devastated. Confused. Overwhelmingly sad. And yet, despite all these intense emotions, I also felt so alone in my grief. I remember feeling embarrassed, telling myself, Why are you grieving so deeply for a baby you never got to meet? I even thought, If you hadn’t tested so early, maybe you wouldn’t have known. But the truth was, I did know, and that loss was incredibly real.
For the next month, I cried almost every day. I would sit in my backyard with my dog curled up on my lap, trying to process the overwhelming sadness. Even months later, tears would come when I talked about my first baby. The grief was raw, and I honestly thought I would never stop feeling this deep ache.
Starting my parenting journey in this way was formative in so many ways. I did not process the loss until after the birth of my son a few years later. During my second pregnancy, I was a bundle of nerves just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I had a difficult birth, and struggled with postpartum anxiety and postpartum depression. Eventually, I went to therapy and began unpacking my experience.
The sharpness of the pain has dulled, there are still moments when I feel sad about the loss of my first baby. I have written a few messages to my first baby. I let them know they mattered, that they changed me in profound ways. They made me a mom. I tell them in these letters that I’m sorry I never got to hold them or kiss them, but that I will always love them.
I used to get very emotional when reflecting and thinking about my first baby. It’s been six years now, and this is not the first lost I’ve experienced now. It’s not even the biggest or hardest loss. I remember my first baby each year on the day I miscarried. I have a small wooden figure of a baby hugging an angel. It’s interesting to see how my relationship with this loss has changed and shifted through the years. What once felt like a huge part of my story is now just the beginning. I have distance, perspective. I have experienced the death of a parent. The loss doesn’t mean less, it is just more integrated into the fabric of who I am.
Disenfranchised Grief: When Loss Isn’t Recognized
Pregnancy loss often falls under the category of disenfranchised grief—a type of grief that isn’t openly acknowledged or validated by society. When you lose a pregnancy, people may say things like, “At least you weren’t far along,” or “You can always try again,” which can feel like they’re dismissing your pain. But the grief is real, no matter how early or late the loss occurs.
I’ve written about disenfranchised grief before, and pregnancy loss is one of the most common forms of it. The emotional impact of losing a baby, no matter how short their life, is profound. Many people feel like they don’t have “permission” to grieve as deeply as they do. The loss may not be visible to others, but the pain is. Just like other forms of disenfranchised grief, the emotions surrounding pregnancy loss deserve validation and space.
You Are Not Alone: Resources for Support
If you’re struggling with the grief of pregnancy or infant loss, there are resources available to help you process your emotions and connect with others who’ve experienced similar loss. You don’t have to walk this path alone.
Here are some organizations and resources that offer support:
Return to Zero – Offers information, support groups, and counseling for those experiencing loss.
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep – Provides remembrance photography for parents who have lost an infant.
Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support – Provides support groups, online communities, and resources for grieving families.
The Compassionate Friends – Offers grief support for families who have lost children, including during pregnancy.
Postpartum Support International (PSI) – Provides a perinatal loss support helpline and access to professional counselors.
Remember, your grief is real, and you are not alone. Healing from loss is not about forgetting; it’s about finding a way to carry your baby’s memory with you, honoring them in a way that feels right for you. Whether through letters, memorials, or simply allowing yourself the space to grieve, every step you take toward healing is a step of love.
*Note: From my research, this statistic does not include abortion. I want to acknowledge that there are abortion experiences that very much so fit under Pregnancy and Infant Loss. Termination for Medical Reasons (TFMR) comes to mind as a stigmatized loss within an already stigmatized topic. Loss is loss, and regardless of how society labels it, your experience is valid.
