Trigger Warning: Pregnancy and Infant Loss
This year marks the fifth occasion I have missed the annual Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day walk in my hometown. After my daughter’s passing, I participated for two consecutive years, but I left after just fifteen minutes both times. So, in my mind, it doesn’t really count since I didn’t engage in the walking, balloon releases, or socializing.
My daughter passed away the day after Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, making this time of year particularly challenging for me. Adding a large event filled with other grieving parents only amplifies my emotional turmoil.
Building friendships with other bereaved mothers has been difficult for me despite my desire for connection. Many grieving parents I’ve encountered (though not all) seem to gravitate toward others who share similar loss experiences—late miscarriage, early miscarriage, stillbirth, or the death of an older child. I understand this instinct, but I often wish there was more room for those of us who have experienced less “typical” losses.
I frequently share about my daughter’s loss, but less often do I mention my earlier miscarriage before I was officially recognized as a mother. For months after that loss, I cried myself to sleep, experiencing the deep, raw sorrow that only those who have faced it can truly understand. I felt anger toward every pregnancy announcement, and my youth added to my struggles. When young people experience a miscarriage, society often encourages them to look on the bright side. But at that moment, there seemed to be no silver lining.
The support I received during my miscarriage was minimal. I didn’t even know about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day then—I felt like an outsider. It was as if my grief was less valid because I hadn’t yet seen a heartbeat on an ultrasound. Now that I’ve lost a child I held and birthed, I see that others who’ve had early losses often feel similarly, wishing their grief held the same weight as mine.
When I talk with them, I often hear phrases like, “I know your loss was worse” or “I shouldn’t complain.” Hearing this breaks my heart for them. I wish they understood that grief isn’t a competition; I’m not keeping score.
If I’m honest, I can’t claim that my miscarriage was as hard as losing my daughter. That’s a personal reflection based on my experiences. However, this acknowledgment doesn’t lessen the pain I felt at nineteen when I lost that baby. Each loss was devastating in its own way.
We must remember that all parents who have lost a child deserve support, and we should uplift each other, especially on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. Ironically, the very event meant to unify us often drives a wedge because we fixate on comparing our losses. This fixation can foster shame, guilt, and isolation among parents.
Sometimes, I wish parents could simply state that they lost a child without needing to clarify or justify their experiences. I long for a world where there are no judgmental glares or comments urging a “positive outlook.” On Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, I hope bereaved parents can view one another as equals.
We shouldn’t need to downplay someone else’s grief to feel validated in our own. Instead, we should recognize our losses as unique experiences. When someone shares their grief, the focus should be on them and their story, not on our own experiences.
Let’s remember that all bereaved parents have a voice and a story to share.
For more insights and support, you can check out one of our other blog posts here. Also, if you’re looking for authoritative information, visit Make a Mom for resources on home insemination, and the CDC for credible information about pregnancy.
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