There are never going to be ‘the right words’

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Jizo – given to me recently by my beautiful friend Andrea. I’m sharing him with all of you. ♥

I’m struggling a little bit today. It’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, and I’m going to take a moment to talk about that before I get back to my regular posts full of love and laughter. I have about a thousand things I’d like to say about this day. Those of you who have been with me for awhile know that Craig and I experienced a total of six losses while building our family. Our lives are different now. We have three beautiful kids who keep us on our toes with all of their hilarious chaos. We go to work, we see our friends and families, and we look to the future. Our days are no longer starting and finishing with sadness about what’s happened and worries about what’s still waiting for us. We’re just like normal people now!

(Read A Story in Six Words – warning: sensitive content.)
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Except that we’re always going to carry around those losses with us. We made it through. We survived. We’re happy! But we miss our kids. We wish we could have met them and hugged them. We wish we knew what their little personalities were like. We wish we’d never spend so much time and money in doctor’s offices and waiting rooms and clinics and operating rooms. But we did, and I think we’re probably better, stronger people for having been through all of that and survived it. But to put it simply, it sucked. A lot.
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You know someone who’s been through pregnancy loss. I almost said probably, but no – you definitely know someone who’s experienced this, because 1 in 4 pregnancies end in loss. Not everyone talks about it, and that’s okay – we all grieve how we need to, and that’s never wrong. If you’re struggling and you need someone to talk to, please feel free to get in touch and know that I’m a safe place, even if we don’t know each other. Some of my greatest comfort came from people I’ve only known through a computer screen.
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If someone in your life is dealing with loss and you don’t know what to say, that’s okay. There are never going to be the right words for this. No one should lose their babies, and there’s nothing that can be said that can make it okay. Even after our years getting through it, I still have no idea what to say, not really. And everyone feels differently about their own situations. So I’d like to offer some suggestions about how to help your friend or loved one during this difficult time.
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Ask them how they’re doing. How they’re really doing. And then listen. They might say some really sad things to you, things that will make you sad to hear. I know I had a lot of conversations with friends that left both of us sitting crying over a bottle of wine or in the car or wherever. I’ll never be able to thank them enough for just hearing me when I needed to talk things through. You don’t have to make it better for them. You can’t. But listening to someone who’s hurting is powerful and loving. To all of you who did this for me, thank you. You are wonderful.
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Let them know you’re thinking about them. If you know the important days, get in touch on those days – even an email or text is great. Or on a random day, if you think of it, let them know they’re on your mind.If they gave their child a name, use it. It helps us to know that people know our babies were here, even if far too briefly. For some of us that means a silly nickname, because we never got to the point of choosing a real name. That’s okay. Tell us you’re thinking about Button or Cletus or Maude. We know the names are silly, but it’s still how we think about our kids. Maude will always make me smile. ♥
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If you’re pregnant or have a young baby and you aren’t hearing from her as much, please know that it isn’t about you. Please don’t take it personally. When we were in the worst of it I stopped taking on maternity and newborn work. I backed away from pregnancy discussions. I avoided babies. Self-preservation is vital when you’re grieving, and as much as I would have loved to be able to hold babies and sympathize over morning sickness, I couldn’t. It wasn’t in me. I didn’t care what people were craving or how they were decorating nurseries. I was just too sad. I sat down with a grief counselor who assured me that all of this was normal, but I know that can be hard to understand for people who haven’t been through this.
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If your friend is pregnant again, understand that it’s a little scarier. Pregnancy after loss is a different animal. You find yourself looking ahead to milestones in a different way.
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‘If we see a heartbeat this time.’ ‘If we hear a heartbeat this time.’ (Did you know those are two different milestones for different stages of development? Wild!) ‘If we make it past where we did last time.’ ‘If we get through the NT scan.’ ‘If the amnio is normal.’ ‘If we get to 28 weeks.’ ‘If she cries.’
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‘If.’
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‘If.’
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‘If.’
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There’s some comfort in making it past those milestones, but the fear never quite leaves you after you’ve had a loss. Maude’s pregnancy was a little easier for me when I got past my previous loss milestones, and I started to really believe it was okay, and then it wasn’t. When I was pregnant with the boys, I never stopped being scared. I was in labour in a busy waiting room at Sunnybrook and completely terrified that things were still going to go wrong, months past my latest milestone. Terrified until I heard two cries. Pregnancy never felt safe or sure to me again after losing Maude.
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I know this is hard. Trust me, I can imagine how difficult it must be to be supportive of someone who’s struggling like this. You never know what might hurt. Neither does she. You never know what she needs from you. She probably doesn’t either. You don’t know what to say. No one does. But you can love your friend. You can give her a hug when she’s having a sad day. You can listen if she needs to talk. You can just tell her you love her and wish that you had something better than that, and that’s perfect. That’s the best thing you can do.
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And while I’m saying ‘she’ a lot, remember that it isn’t only women who lose their babies. Think about your brothers and sons, too. Check in with them. They might not need to talk, but it’s nice to know there’s someone there if they do.
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So I sat down to type a little something about today and it turned into this, which I didn’t really expect. Pardon the ramble, and I’ll return this afternoon to my usual content. But if someone in your life is struggling, I hope this helps a little. If you’re still unsure, it’s okay to ask them how you can help, what they need most. And when in doubt, it’s always good to default to sending love. Hang in there, and love them through it. I can’t begin to tell you the difference it makes. Someday your friend, sister, brother, mom, cousin, aunt, daughter, whoever, someday they’ll move forward. They’ll start to get back on their feet. They’ll always think about what’s happened, but they’ll recover and be able to start to live normally again, even if it’s a new normal. Love them, and be there for that.  Thank you for your time today. ♥
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