Two Days After


After hearing about the news of my miscarriage. I was just sorrowful? Sad? Depressed? Hurt? In pain? Grief-stricken? No. None of those words describe it. I was down-right in the depths of a despair that could not be measured, deeper than any pain that I have ever felt in my entire life. I received the news Friday October 26th, 2018. I was suppose to be 10 weeks, but baby only survived 8 weeks. They labeled it as an incomplete miscarriage. Meaning that supposedly there was never a heartbeat. Ouch.

Saturday was appropriately gray and overcast. Jessica, my dear sister, came to my apartment the very next morning (Saturday) at 8am. All she did was hug me and wept. We both did. I could see the hurt in her eyes. The sincere empathy that she felt for me. She could barely get out the word “I’m sorry.” That was exactly what I needed sooooo so so badly. I needed some one to cry with me. And to just let me be in the sting. I cried, but surprisingly not as much as my sister. I think my tears were just dried up. But It felt good in that short moment where I felt like we were both consoling each other. I soaked up that warmth of feeling like someone needed, someone who crying out to me and for me, someone like a baby. 

Texting My Support Group

I texted so many people. My immediate family members, Jason’s family, that one lady in church who called me out on having a baby bump, and those who I wanted to tell just before we moved (my mission companion, my old roommate, my Relief Society Presidency). I didn’t want to face telling them the news in person or over a phone call. I physically, emotionally, and mentally could not carry out that task. I don’t think any one would be able to understand me through my blubbering. And I didn’t want to have to repeat the story over and over again. Which is part of the reason why I write. If you want to know my story you can read about it here

I am usually not a texting fiend by any means, I actually love social contact and calling people, but this has been the one occasion that I was SO grateful for this technology that many grandparents frowned upon for some time.  

I just told them I miscarried. I am sad. I’ve been writing. And shared the link to the post. For a few people I told them that I did not want phone calls. The response was actually very kind, gentle, and non-obtrusive. They all respected my wishes. And for some I even asked for help like meals and the wish was granted. 

I have only really talked on the phone or face-to-face with my sister and her family, my mom, a dear friend in my ward, along with her daughter. The rest has been text messaging. 

That day we actually ran errands. It was weird. The world around me was still going, and why wouldn’t it be? We went to Freddy’s for drive thru burgers. We went to Target to look for Pink Stork Red Raspberry Leaf Tea (It’s suppose to have great benefits for your uterus). They didn’t have it. I was on the brink of losing it right then and there with my hormones all out of wack.  We went to staples across the street for bubble wrap.

Also, Did I mention that we’re moving? Yeah, In a week. Sounds stressful, but actually everything is already arranged. Movers, van, apartment, meals, electricity, WiFi, renters insurance. All done. We just have to pack. A blessing actually because it gives us something to do when we need the distraction.  It’s easy, start filling a box. 

That day we packed our entire office and then some.

Saturday Night

Saturday night I bled so much. It was like being on one of my worst periods (I get heavy, and painful periods that last 5-6 days) but with more blood, clots, and tissue. I woke up around 4am and I had the worst cramping. It was different though. It came in segments and it was more of a throbbing cramp. A contraction. At 10-20% of the pain level you get for contractions when delivering at full-term, or so I’ve been told. 

I wiped. I looked at the toilet paper smeared with a chunk of blood and tissue, it was a part of it was more clear, and my evil wicked imagination told that the two little beady darker clots were the eyes. I scowled, holding back tears I knew I shouldn’t hold back. I felt more tissue and clots drop, the largest one yet. I immediately ditched the bloody toilet paper and peeked into the bowl. It was too clouded with the red to actually see what had come out. The murkiness was a blessing for me with my betraying imagination. 

I slowly crept back into bed with Jason, and cried. He snuggled up next to me and held me.  

I cried some more. Hard. Why did my imagination do that to me!? I felt betrayed and stupid for looking. Why did I look at the toilet paper? WHY? How can something hurt SO bad? Not physically, but emotionally.

It Hurts

Holy moly did it hurt. It stings right to the core. And sometimes it comes up out of no where. It’s like a bad break-up, where every tiny thing you look at reminds you of that ex-boyfriend that you loved so dearly, but worse. Instead it was a being that died inside of you. And not every little thing reminds you of them, just a few specific things, but sometimes you don’t even know what things or events will trigger a reminder, and then the tears.

That little being was my future. My new dream.

I dreamed about walking to the park with your over-priced stroller. Dreams about learning how to discipline while they run around buck-naked and laughing at you. Dreams about getting too busy with soccer practice, art classes, debate team, volunteering. All of which are not things you’re actually doing it’s all for that little being, because obviously as a parent you know what’s best for them. Dreams about sleepless nights, but looking at a finally sleeping baby and finding that sliver of joy and think to yourself that it’s all worth it just before they wake up.

You might think these are silly dreams, but I really did have those dreams as odd as some might sound. I wanted to be a mom SO BAD. 

And in just a couple days the dream was shattered. Brutally and unforgivingly smashed and torn.


It’s still there. I have to grieve and cry and let time pass so I can someday pick up the shattered pieces again and put the dream back together again, but this time I would do it much more carefully and cautiously as a result of my past experience. I would tread more lightly about spreading the news, just to be sure. I will most likely go to my future appointments with fear rather than excitement.

I decided to cancel my pre-op appointment for the D&C. I figured most of it had passed naturally.


Sunday morning was quiet. At one point I told Jason that I was just going to Sacrament meeting, then it went to just the sacrament, then to just attending the small Sacrament service at the assisted living center that I ended up being late to. I just couldn’t deal with the idea of confronting a lot of people. Even if they knew or had no clue. 

The service at the assisted living center was perfect. Just enough for me. Only about 8 or so people there. Messages were shared about ministering and how Jesus Christ loved everyone even those who weren’t very popular or were shunned and condemned because of illness. He STILL ministers to them. He is STILL there for me too. Could you imagine what it would be like if He wasn’t? If He just dismissed the Atonment and didn’t go through with it?  

I can’t even fathom. 


It’s Monday, October 29th. My sister came and brought me a Jamba Juice. The bleeding is not as bad today. and I’m not as sore. Just tired. I have to get the car taken in for oil change and tire rotation before our big move. We’re driving our car ourselves.

The urge to write and share my story and extend my support is still there. People shouldn’t do this sort of loss alone. I’ve been toying with the idea of selling custom infant loss portraits on Etsy and offering additional information, stories, and support on my website. We will see if it comes to fruition or if this is a one time coping system for me.