How Have Six Years Gone By...

Six years ago today. 

Six years ago today I was standing in my kitchen making a huge batch of Gavin's food for the freezer. I remember piddling around the kitchen and feeling a bit weary. This pregnancy was my easiest by far and I had learned to not worry so much about little things. I was, after all, a vet of this pregnancy thing. I had two young boys and now...a daughter on the way. I was trying very hard to not panic about every single twinge this time around. So I continued to piddle as my brain told me to freak out. Not long after that, my brain won. I freaked out and called my OB who told me, "Don't freak out, but I want you to be seen. I'm not so much concerned about the baby as I am about a blood clot." I was having leg cramps and shortness of breath and some cramping. He told me to head to the emergency room since the issues were with my legs and not my baby. For some strange reason, I was comforted by that. 

Six years ago today I remember driving myself to the emergency room more than a half hour away. After calling Ed at work, we both figured this was just another one of those pregnancy checks that was going to wind up being nothing. I remember walking into the Emergency Department and thinking - shoot - for a Tuesday night it sure is crowded. I knew I was in for a long wait. How long, I could have never predicted in a million years.

I posted on my Facebook a little after 3pm:

Kate Gallagher Leong

May 4, 2010 at 3:18pm · 

Is in the ER at the request of my OB. Abdominal cramping, shortness of breath and leg cramping. I told him I'm too busy for this, but apparently breathing is important. Who knew. Waiting to see Darcy and hoping she's okay.

Then I posted this at 5:36pm...

Kate Gallagher Leong

May 4, 2010 at 5:36pm · 

Been triaged twice - but have spent the last several hours in a very crowded waiting room. An announcement was just made to be patient...the hospital broke records today with the number of people being treated. You'd think they'd at least offer us cake to celebrate. I thought of just leaving, but I really need to know that Darcy's okay before I get my butt out of here.

My final Facebook post was at 8:38. After I was cleared by the Emergency Room doctor and it was determined that I did not have a blood clot, they were about to release me. I asked - and then begged - them to please check on my baby. I mean, you have the ultrasound equipment right there, I reasoned. The truth was - I wanted to take the opportunity for a free peek. Any chance I had to see Darcy on an ultrasound was a great day for me. The nurse said he could use the doppler to listen to her heartbeat for me. Ugh. I really was hoping for a visual, but that's fine. When he tried and tried and couldn't find a heartbeat, I decided that he probably didn't use them that much in the ER and just didn't know how to find her. I told him that I could try - I had a doppler at home and had just listened to her the night before. He said he would rather page someone from OB to come down. 

Kate Gallagher Leong

May 4, 2010 at 8:38pm · 

They just "ultrasounded" my legs. Hmmm...I thought the baby was in my belly, but I guess they know what they're doing. I have an IV, have seen the doctor three times (don't worry, Mom), and I'm waiting on OB to monitor Darcy. I will likely be home very late tonight!

When someone from OB came down with a portable ultrasound machine, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally someone who knows what they're doing," I thought. I figured I'd get a quick look at Darcy and then make the trip home. I remember feeling disappointed that I missed the boys' bedtime at home.

Suddenly, the room was very quiet.

And suddenly... I knew.

Darcy was gone.

Six years ago today, a stranger I never met gave me an ultrasound that I wasn't supposed to have and as I sat there alone with no one around me told me my daughter was dead. Five and a half months pregnant - and just like that, she was gone.

At first I couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. She was moving that day! This is not possible. How is this possible? What happened to her?

She said they could schedule a D&E right away and I refused. There was no way. The only thing on my mind in that moment was - how in the world am I going to tell Ed. He had been checking in on me for updates and I couldn't lie to him. I can tell you that it was one of the hardest phone calls I ever had to make.

The nurses let me stay in that little room with very little privacy as I cried and cried. And cried. Six years ago today I think I cried six years worth of tears for the daughter I never knew I dreamed of. I somehow made my way home alone and knew that when I woke up the next day I would start a very sad journey.

I am lucky that I have a wonderful, compassionate and forward thinking OB. I called Dr. Langan, who already knew what had happened the night before, and told him that I wanted to deliver Darcy. She deserved to be born - and held - and cherished. He was 100% supportive. Neither of us could have known the shocking path we would take to get her into my arms. For some reason, Darcy did not want to leave my body. I was induced... and then induced some more. He tried all different techniques to help labor along, including a trip to the OR to insert Laminaria sticks. They are inserted into the cervix and, over time, slowly expand to dilate the cervix and induce labor. None of this was pleasant as I sat there day after day - it wasn't pleasant physically or emotionally. But...

Six years ago, my pain seemed like a small sacrifice. A tiny offering to honor her tiny life. And I would do it all over again if I could hold her one more time.

Five and a half days later, just hours before Mother's Day, Darcy was born en caul... which means she was still completely enveloped by the amniotic sac. The doctor had to break it open to remove her perfect, tiny body. It was as remarkable as it was tragic. Both beautiful and heart wrenching. The doctor then realized that it had been a cord accident that took her life. It wasn't the usual type of cord accident - because, let's be honest, we don't do things the "usual" way. Darcy's cord was hyper-convoluted...all twisted up so it was extra long and thin. He'd never seen anything like it - and he's been in practice for a very long time.

We were allowed to keep her with us as long as we wanted, for which I was so grateful. A friend came to take photographs, for which I was also very grateful. And I had to call our funeral director to arrange for him to pick up our daughter when it was time.

Six years ago, I sat in a hospital bed after 5 1/2 days of laboring and was so grateful to have the chance to hold our beautiful daughter. The nurses took hand and foot prints. I memorized every inch of her. I whispered promises into her perfect little ears and told her I'd see her again.

Finally I decided I was ready to let her go. I hated - and felt very resentful of - the kind hospital chaplain who came to take her from us. I hated watching her walk away with strangers to a cold morgue where she would wait for the funeral home. That was one of the hardest parts for me.

Six years ago, we would realize that after 5 1/2 days of carrying her... and 5 1/2 days of laboring to meet her... that we ended up holding her for 5 1/2 hours before letting her go.

That is why the recurring number of 5 1/2 means so much to us. Gavin was 5 1/2 when he died. Hope was born at half past 5. I have come to see that number as a sign from Heaven that I can survive.

Six years ago today, I thought I was having what would absolutely be the worst day of my life. In many ways, I was right. But I also feel thankful to this little tiny girl whose tragic life and painful birth prepared me for an even greater tragedy.

Every Mother's Day since and forever more, I remember my sweet Darcy Claire. I thought, six years ago, that my Mother's Days would never be the same... 

...and I was right. But not for the reasons I thought. Her short little life changed me. And prepared me to love even more. And for that, I will always thank her.

How Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day Can Change ALL Of Us...

Today is a national day of remembrance for the babies that were lost to miscarriage... stillbirth... or as infants.

You might be tempted to click away, feeling this entry just doesn't pertain to you.  But it does.  This entry is relevant to ALL of us - women young and old and even men.  Surely we've all come face to face with a woman who has lost a baby.  It's hard to know what to do - what to say - how to act - know what she needs.  Hopefully, the entry below that I wrote last year on this day will help you in the future.  But if not, please use thirty seconds of your time to think of the lost babies - including mine - with love.

There is an interesting movement on a website called "Count the Kicks."  They encourage pregnant women in the third trimester to count their baby's kicks each day and keep track of how many movements they feel in a certain period of time.  It can truly save a lot of babies from stillbirth!  If you notice movements slowing down, you should head to your doctor right away so they can see if there is anything going wrong with your pregnancy.  Unfortunately, this wouldn't have helped me save Darcy as she had a freak cord accident that couldn't have been reversed.  But there are so many things that CAN be done - and this campaign really empowers Moms to know when something just isn't right. Check out their website if you'd like to learn how to count kicks or if you'd like to download their kick counting app.

I was also informed about a beautiful book called Sunshine After the Storm:  A Survival Guide for the Grieving Mother.  It's a collection of stories from grieving mothers of all kinds.  Those who have suffered miscarriages, stillbirths, infant loss and even the loss of an older child.  It's available as a free download to Kindle until October 17th.  Click the book title to take you to Amazon if you're interested in this book for you - or for a grieving friend.  I downloaded it yesterday afternoon and made the mistake of starting it in bed last night.  One hour later... I was still reading.  And this morning I must have hit my snooze button ten times.

Here is my entry from last year - just as relevant to me now as it was then.  Actually, even more so since we lost Gavin.  

In memory of our sweet Darcy Claire and our beloved Gavin David...

*********************************

Today is National Pregnancy And Infant Loss Awareness Day.  I'm pretty sure you all know why this day would mean something to me.

I've always wanted to devote a blog post to the friends and family of those who've lost a baby to miscarriage or stillbirth.  Today seems like the perfect day to do it.  I think many people are at a loss when looking to support or comfort the Mom and Dad who lost a baby.  I thought I'd offer my two cents - coming from my own, numerous and unfortunate losses.  This is, of course, from my perspective.  Everyone is different.  But, well...here goes! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please Don't Judge.

It's very easy to project your experiences or feelings onto another person.  Maybe you had one miscarriage...or ten.  And maybe you were over it in a week...or never.  Everyone is different.  Try not to judge another person for how they handle their own loss. You may think they should be "over it" after a certain period of time - that their grief is out of proportion because the baby wasn't even born...or  they never got to know him or her.  Or that they got "over it" too quickly.  It's always best to keep your judgements to yourself and respect everyone's journey as just that...their journey.  People may find it strange that I don't recall the dates of all of my losses.  And most of the time - I don't remember how many losses I've had.  Every single time I am asked, I need to stop and re-count.  I suppose the way I deal with it is to block it all out.  I truly stopped keeping track after my fourth loss.

Please Don't Avoid.

The worst feeling in the world is to feel completely isolated and abandoned after a loss.  Let's face it - no one likes to talk about death.  And if you add the whole "OBGYN" portion to it, people feel queasy. But imagine going from the incredible excitement of life in your womb... picking out names... planning a nursery...to BOOM - gone.  It's a "falling off a cliff" feeling.  Be there when your friend reaches the bottom and needs help getting back up the mountain.

Please Drop the Platitudes!

We've all heard them - and many of us have said them.  

"God doesn't give us more than we can handle," 

"Something was probably wrong with the baby - this was natures way of taking care of that," (especially offensive if you already have a child with special needs) 

"You can try again," 

"There's always adoption," 

"It wasn't the right time,"  

"You just need to relax and it will happen"

.... and so on and so on.  Truly - I promise you - the best possible thing you can say to a friend who lost a baby is simple.  Just say "I'm so, so sorry.  I can't imagine what you're going through." (Because you can't!) Even if you went through it - it was in your own way.  Trust me on this.

While I could say something about each of the above expressions and explain why they are annoying/offensive/insulting/frustrating/all of the above, I should also say this:  If you have just lost a baby and hear any or all of the above (I've heard them all and more over the years!) - don't take anything personally.  Remember that the person across from you is probably feeling awkward and nervous and just doesn't know what to say.  Sometimes people who want to help think they can do so by giving you advice or their opinions.  Always assume (for your own sanity) that it comes from a well meaning place.  Nod politely, say thank you and move on.  Trust me on this one.

Please Wait to Tell Your Story.

If you get a phone call from your friend telling you they just lost their baby, now is not the time to start telling your story.  Especially don't tell your story if it isn't your story.  Hearing about your neighbor's daughter or your cousin's friend is not helpful.  Focus on your friend and save the story for later when the dust has settled.

Please Remember the Husbands.

A baby is made by two people.  A miscarriage or stillbirth is grieved by the same two people.  The husband bears the extra burden of society's expectation.  He's supposed to be the strong one supporting the wife as she gets showered with the attention medically and emotionally.  Please don't forget the Daddys of these lost babies.

Please Don't Bring THIS Up.

"At least you have other children."

This was a kick in the gut for me each and every time I heard it.  I have always felt like comments beginning with the words "just" and "at least" were one way to (unintentionally) minimize a situation.  The comment, in my opinion, implies that I'm not grateful for the children I have.  Just because I have two boys (that I am so grateful for!) doesn't mean I don't miss the 10 babies (9 miscarriages and a stillbirth) that I've lost along the way.  Actually, having Gavin and Brian means I know exactly what I missed with each loss.  The comment is also a bit of a guilt trip.  And there's nothing worse than a guilt trip when you're already feeling guilty for losing the baby inside you.

Please Don't Attempt to Figure Out Why.

"It was God's plan."  

"Maybe you worked out too much."

"I told you you were too {fill in the blank} and that it may affect the pregnancy!"

They are already questioning why.  They are likely already blaming themselves unnecessarily.  Try not to add to that.

Please Listen.

I've learned in my lifetime that most people want to be heard.  They want to feel that their story - their experiences - their suffering - matters.  They don't need advice or conversation much of the time...they just want you to listen.  The subject matter is painful - miscarriages and stillbirths are ugly and devastating.  But try to just listen.  And if they aren't able to talk - it's okay to be still.  The truth is - there really are no words at a time like this.

Please Remember the Babies.

If you are really close, remembering the date they choose to celebrate the baby they lost is such a loving thing to do.  If they named the baby, there is nothing better than to hear people say his or her name.  I love when people mention Darcy by name - it makes my heart skips a beat!  It's nice to send a card or a note that you're thinking of them.  And if you get a gift - one that memorializes the baby in some way is extra special.  A very special friend had a star named after Darcy Claire when she was born - and it's something I will treasure forever.

Losing a baby is a devastating experience.  And I can tell you from my own experience, loss number 10 was just as excruciating as loss number one.  I hope, on this National Day of Remembrance, that people everywhere will come out of the shadows and talk about their losses.  I encourage anyone who wants to write their story to use my comment section as a way to jump in the water.  Whether you are 21 or 71, you never forget the babies you carried.

Today I celebrate ALL of our babies...and thank them for the way that they changed us.

We remember them every day.

Losing Our Daughter...

This is the last flashback of the weekend.  Tomorrow will be business as usual with some fun news (and a great video!!) from our weekend.

One of the most profound experiences of my life was the life and death of my daughter, Darcy.  Before this blog existed, I wrote on CaringBridge.  (You can find that entire journal here.)  Among many other things, I chronicled the five excruciating days I was hospitalized trying to deliver her body.  These posts are from the day we met her and handed her over.  And then one year later.

This Parents Magazine contest has morphed into something way more profound than I ever imagined.  I'm so grateful for your emails, kind comments and support for our family.  More than that, I feel like I have been given a gift to be able to reach the broken, the hopeless and the frightened.  I feel honored that anyone would think to reach out to me for support or to lift their spirits.  If sharing my experience helps even one soul feel less alone or less burdened... I will have won more than a contest.  Thank you, Parents Magazine, for changing my life already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONDAY, MAY 10, 2010 5:16 AM, CDT


Darcy Claire Leong was born still at 2:40am on May 10.
She weighed 6.5 ounces and was 7.5 inches long.
Baby Darcy is resting comfortably in God's arms.
Mommy and Daddy are heartbroken.


MONDAY, MAY 10, 2010 2:46 PM, CDT


Today has been, without a doubt, the hardest day of our lives.  I haven't decided if I'll write about the details of my delivery.  What I will say is it was peaceful, non-stressful, and miraculous.  Darcy was perfectly formed - perfect hands and feet that were as big as a fingernail. Perfect ears.  I'm sure she had Brian's nose.  And her lips were gorgeous little rosebuds.  I delivered her at 2:40am and my friend, Karen, flew to the hospital and was there by 3:30.  She took tons of photos for us for which I'm so grateful.  Our nurse was able to get footprints and handprints and gave us other mementos to hang onto - hospital bracelet, name card, etc.


I held her for hours - even napped with her on my chest for a while.  I sang to her, rocked her, and told her how sorry I was.  I expressed my sorrow for the hopes and dreams I had for her future that will never be.  And we cried... and cried.  The sorrow in the room was intense. 

Our daughter.  Dead.


We decided to contact the hospital chaplain because of the early hour.  Our priest at home was further away. The Chaplain performed a private service in our room - blessing Darcy and comforting us.  After the service, we knew it was time to let her go.  Her little body was quickly changing and we wanted to remember her before she deteriorated greatly.  The Chaplain and a nurse came back to take Darcy to bring her to the morgue.  I froze.  I just couldn't hand her over.  After crying all over her, I had to hand her to Ed and ask him to walk her out of the room.  I just couldn't do it.  A few hours later I received a call from our funeral director that he picked her up and had her safely at his home.

I can't believe our beautiful Darcy Claire is gone.


Just when I thought it was over... that we could go home and hug our little boys... more bad news.  After the delivery, my blood work came back with elevated liver enzymes.  I've been told that I have an "Atypical presentation of PreEclampsia".  My blood pressures leading up to this hospitalization were fine at every doctor's appointment.  It's possible that Darcy's death is due to preeclampsia.  And there was nothing I could have done about it as it wasn't picked up.  It's also possible that her death could have been a cord accident. The umbilical cord was twisted extremely tight.


So, here we are, still in the hospital.  They will be repeating my labs tonight and hoping that they go down.  If they do, I will go home. If they don't... we'll be overnight and go from there.  They don't want to send me home as I could be at risk for seizures if left untreated.  Ed is not leaving my side - we really need each other right now.  I've started trying to pump to get my milk to come in.  I'm still planning to donate as much milk as I can to a milk bank in Darcy's name.


These have been the worst days of my life.  I can't begin to express my gratitude for the many, many notes and letters and emails.  They mean so much to me.

~~~~~~~~

One year later...

Dear Darcy Claire,


Well, here it is. The one year anniversary. Where did this year go? It seems like yesterday that I was holding you - memorizing you - your blanket catching my tears. I thought I would be more "okay" today... and all the days leading up to today. I'm always okay! But strangely, I am not. I've struggled through these days and I can't explain why. It's just a year. But then again... it is a year. A year where we could have been getting to know you... not left with the wonder of who you might have been. My heart breaks today just as it did this day last year.


I miss you so much.


This morning when I woke up, I had an unexpectedly busy day ahead of me. While Tuesday's are normally just one therapy for your brother - it turned into three when I accepted last minute make up sessions. I was regretting that decision as I brushed my teeth - but felt so conflicted. Part of me felt so anxious, not interested in "company". But part of me felt so guilty - why should I deprive Gavin from his therapy. I hemmed and hawed and, although it was too late to cancel his Physical Therapy this morning, I was able to cancel the other two and they totally understood.  I just needed to... be.


But Darcy, strange things have been happening today.  I think your brothers sense that Mommy is hurting and they have been so good. Gavin was all smiles through Physical Therapy, which was a huge shocker. Brian and I were his cheering section and were so proud of him as we watched him work out with Miss Wendy. And Gavin took a nap - which is totally out of character and gave me a much needed break.


And Brian... he has been something else. He's never done this before, but everytime I walked away from him - to do laundry, to do dishes, to sit down - he'd come over... grab my hand... and pull me into the playroom to sit with him. I couldn't help but think that this was his way of getting me out of myself. Keeping me busy so as not to be preoccupied with grief. It did work, I have to hand it to him. He's just so irresistable, your brother. 


But the weirdest thing that is happening today is just that... really weird. Last night I threw up out of the blue - just felt so sick and exhausted and out of it. It was really out of the blue! Then through the night I woke up in a sweat several times. This morning when I woke up, my back ached like I'd been lying in bed for days. I felt crampy and uncomfortable. I'm not making this up - it really freaked me out. It felt similar to how I felt this day last year... after five days of lying in bed trying to deliver you. I don't know what to make of how I feel - it certainly isn't helping my mood.


This past year has changed me in so many ways. I am less bothered by small things... more appreciative of my family... and, most importantly, proud of myself. Those five days leading up to you were agonizing. The five hours I held you were heartbreaking. And giving you up to a stranger to take to a morgue - horrific. There were days I didn't think I'd be able to get through it all. I don't mean in a final kind of way... I mean a "coping well" kind of way. But Darcy, I did it. Sometimes you don't know the strength inside of you until you suddenly need it. And then, nothing can break you.


Your short little life has opened up a whole new world for our family. We've made new friends as they found out about our story... we've been placed on countless prayer chains... I receive at least ten emails a day with support and love and asking for advice that I really don't feel qualified to give. You are more than a baby who didn't make it. You are more than the ashes I wear every day around my neck. You are an angel to all of us... and you've left behind a legacy of caring that reaches beyond this little family of ours.


I am so proud to be your Mommy.


Last night before the sun went down, your Daddy, brothers and I had our own little memorial for you. It was a bit chaotic what with the timer on the camera ticking, Brian wanting to jump out of Daddy's arms and Gavin arching back. Before I knew it the balloons were in the sky... like love letters to you in Heaven... just like last year.


You will always be missed. You will always be loved. You will never be forgotten. I promise.


Love, 
Mommy.

If you'd like to see the video I made for Darcy (if you haven't already seen it a hundred times) click HERE. (There are some graphic and possibly unsettling pictures... you've been warned.) 

On Loss...

I'm not one to really pay attention to the myriad of "National Days" - there really is a "Day of Awareness" for everything you can think of.  They even have a National Talk Like A Pirate Day (I kid you not) that is extremely popular!  But when I found out what today was...it caught my attention.

Today is National Pregnancy And Infant Loss Awareness Day.  I'm pretty sure you all know why this day would mean something to me.

I've always wanted to devote a blog post to the friends and family of those who've lost a baby to miscarriage or stillbirth.  Today seems like the perfect day to do it.  I think many people are at a loss when looking to support or comfort the Mom and Dad who lost a baby.  I thought I'd offer my two cents - coming from my own, numerous and unfortunate losses.  This is, of course, from my perspective.  Everyone is different.  But, well...here goes! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please Don't Judge.

It's very easy to project your experiences or feelings onto another person.  Maybe you had one miscarriage...or ten.  And maybe you were over it in a week...or never.  Everyone is different.  Try not to judge another person for how they handle their own loss. You may think they should be "over it" after a certain period of time - that their grief is out of proportion because the baby wasn't even born...or  they never got to know him or her.  Or that they got "over it" too quickly.  It's always best to keep your judgements to yourself and respect everyone's journey as just that...their journey.  People may find it strange that I don't recall the dates of all of my losses.  And most of the time - I don't remember how many losses I've had.  Every single time I am asked, I need to stop and re-count.  I suppose the way I deal with it is to block it all out.  I truly stopped keeping track after my fourth loss.

Please Don't Avoid.

The worst feeling in the world is to feel completely isolated and abandoned after a loss.  Let's face it - no one likes to talk about death.  And if you add the whole "OBGYN" portion to it, people feel queasy. But imagine going from the incredible excitement of life in your womb... picking out names... planning a nursery...to BOOM - gone.  It's a "falling off a cliff" feeling.  Be there when your friend reaches the bottom and needs help getting back up the mountain.

Please Drop the Platitudes!

We've all heard them - and many of us have said them.  

"God doesn't give us more than we can handle," 

"Something was probably wrong with the baby - this was natures way of taking care of that," (especially offensive if you already have a child with special needs) 

"You can try again," 

"There's always adoption," 

"It wasn't the right time,"  

"You just need to relax and it will happen"

.... and so on and so on.  Truly - I promise you - the best possible thing you can say to a friend who lost a baby is simple.  Just say "I'm so, so sorry.  I can't imagine what you're going through." (Because you can't!) Even if you went through it - it was in your own way.  Trust me on this.

While I could say something about each of the above expressions and explain why they are annoying/offensive/insulting/frustrating/all of the above, I should also say this:  If you have just lost a baby and hear any or all of the above (I've heard them all and more over the years!) - don't take anything personally.  Remember that the person across from you is probably feeling awkward and nervous and just doesn't know what to say.  Sometimes people who want to help think they can do so by giving you advice or their opinions.  Always assume (for your own sanity) that it comes from a well meaning place.  Nod politely, say thank you and move on.  Trust me on this one.

Please Wait to Tell Your Story.

If you get a phone call from your friend telling you they just lost their baby, now is not the time to start telling your story.  Especially don't tell your story if it isn't your story.  Hearing about your neighbor's daughter or your cousin's friend is not helpful.  Focus on your friend and save the story for later when the dust has settled.

Please Remember the Husbands.

A baby is made by two people.  A miscarriage or stillbirth is grieved by the same two people.  The husband bears the extra burden of society's expectation.  He's supposed to be the strong one supporting the wife as she gets showered with the attention medically and emotionally.  Please don't forget the Daddys of these lost babies.

Please Don't Bring THIS Up.

"At least you have other children."

This was a kick in the gut for me each and every time I heard it.  I have always felt like comments beginning with the words "just" and "at least" were one way to (unintentionally) minimize a situation.  The comment, in my opinion, implies that I'm not grateful for the children I have.  Just because I have two boys (that I am so grateful for!) doesn't mean I don't miss the 10 babies (9 miscarriages and a stillbirth) that I've lost along the way.  Actually, having Gavin and Brian means I know exactly what I missed with each loss.  The comment is also a bit of a guilt trip.  And there's nothing worse than a guilt trip when you're already feeling guilty for losing the baby inside you.

Please Don't Attempt to Figure Out Why.

"It was God's plan."  

"Maybe you worked out too much."

"I told you you were too {fill in the blank} and that it may affect the pregnancy!"

They are already questioning why.  They are likely already blaming themselves unnecessarily.  Try not to add to that.

Please Listen.

I've learned in my lifetime that most people want to be heard.  They want to feel that their story - their experiences - their suffering - matters.  They don't need advice or conversation much of the time...they just want you to listen.  The subject matter is painful - miscarriages and stillbirths are ugly and devastating.  But try to just listen.  And if they aren't able to talk - it's okay to be still.  The truth is - there really are no words at a time like this.

Please Remember the Babies.

If you are really close, remembering the date they choose to celebrate the baby they lost is such a loving thing to do.  If they named the baby, there is nothing better than to hear people say his or her name.  I love when people mention Darcy by name - it makes my heart skip a beat!  It's nice to send a card or a note that you're thinking of them.  And if you get a gift - one that memorializes the baby in some way is extra special.  A very special friend had a star named after Darcy Claire when she was born - and it's something I will treasure forever.

Losing a baby is a devastating experience.  And I can tell you from my own experience, loss number 10 was just as excruciating as loss number one.  I hope, on this National Day of Remembrance, that people everywhere will come out of the shadows and talk about their losses.  I encourage anyone who wants to write their story to use my comment section as a way to jump in the water.  Whether you are 21 or 71, you never forget the babies you carried.  

Today I celebrate ALL of our babies...and thank them for the way that they changed us.

We remember them every day.