Entry 043

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

Most people don’t know that there is dedicated to pregnancy and infant loss. I didn’t either until my life became seemingly consumed by my miscarriages.

Once you’ve experienced loss, you start noticing how little the world knows about it. How many people don’t know what to say. How many don’t understand why something that happened weeks, months, or even years ago can still hurt. How many think the hardest part is over once the bleeding stops or the hospital doors close.

It isn’t.

Pregnancy and infant loss isn’t something loss parents need to be reminded happened. We know. We remember our babies every single day.

October isn’t just for the parents who lost them.

It’s for the family members trying to figure out how to comfort someone whose pregnancy ended before they ever got to share the news.

It’s for the friend wondering why she didn’t come to the baby shower even though she said she would.

It’s for the person wondering why he’s taking the loss so hard when he never felt the baby move.

It’s for the pregnancy apps that keep sending updates about how big the baby should be, even after the mother reported her loss.

It’s for the companies still sending coupons for customized onesies when she already unsubscribed.

It’s for the co-worker wondering how she can possibly be “fine” when she just miscarried—while she cries in the bathroom, changes another blood-soaked pad, and goes back to work because she doesn’t have any more PTO.

It’s for the people who mean well but say things that hurt, like “at least it was early” or “everything happens for a reason.”

And it’s for the people who simply don’t know what to say.

You don’t have to have the perfect words.

You can say: I’m so sorry.

You can say their baby’s name.

You can remember their due date.

You can check in months later, when everyone else has stopped asking.

You can sit in the uncomfortable silence instead of trying to make the loss feel less sad.

Because the truth is, there is no silver lining that makes a dead baby okay. There is no timeline for grief. And there is no point where someone should have to prove that their baby mattered by still being devastated.

Pregnancy and infant loss is more common than most of us realize, but that doesn’t make it less heartbreaking.

Remember the babies who were here for minutes, hours, weeks, or only ever lived inside their mother’s womb.

Remember the parents who had to leave the hospital with empty arms.

Remember the ones who never got to bring their baby home.

And remember that behind so many pregnancies, families, and smiling faces are stories you may never know about.

October is for remembering them.

But more than that, it’s for learning how to better love the people who are carrying their loss with them. 

Emily Lindquist