All The Things I Never Wanted To Know: Pregnancy And Infant Loss

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I never wanted to know what it felt like to cradle a piece of my heart and bid farewell, knowing I would never kiss those sweet lips again on this side of heaven. I never wanted to know the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual ache of longing for a boy who only looked into my eyes for a mere 200 days. I never wanted to know the depth of my sorrow, crying so hard that my abs hurt, stifling my sobs at night so as not to wake my older son.

I never wanted to know the frustration of responding to innocent questions like, “How many kids do you have?” followed by the gut-wrenching, “How old are they?” I never wanted to know the effort it took to wipe my tears, make my cheeks presentable, and carry on in public, fearing the relentless inquiries of “What’s wrong?” when, in social circles, I was expected to have moved on by now.

I never wanted to forget—the scent of my baby, the feel of the soft tuft of hair on his head, the joyful sounds he made watching his little lion mobile spin. I never wanted to feel anger towards well-meaning comments like, “God doesn’t withhold good things when we pray,” because if that were true, my son would still be here. I never wanted to know what it felt like to put on a brave face, shoulders back and chin up, even as I trembled inside, taking steps forward knowing he would want me to find happiness and love.

I never wanted to experience the lack of understanding that comes with loss—the “at least” and “just” phrases people use without realizing their impact. “He was just a baby,” or “At least he is no longer in pain,” or “He was sick, so…” It’s as if they don’t see that no amount of sickness changes the fact that he was my child. He is my child. There is no “at least” or “just.” It is a simple truth.

I never wanted to know any of this. I never wanted to connect with another grieving mother and reassure her she is not alone—that I stand with her, that I understand her pain.

But here I am, fully aware of this heartbreaking reality. I know I’m not alone in this journey. Statistics reveal that 1 in 4 women will face the anguish of pregnancy or infant loss. I know that countless others walk through the same fire, shattered and broken, because the child they lost is not just a fleeting moment—it is a part of them forever gone.

I know this truth all too well, and so do many others.

For more support and information on pregnancy and home insemination, you can check out this excellent resource: WomensHealth.gov. And if you’re interested in exploring home insemination options, visit Make a Mom for reliable information.

For further related insights, be sure to check out this article on our blog, Intracervical Insemination.

Summary

The author reflects on the pain of losing a child, sharing their journey through grief and the struggles of navigating social interactions while coping with loss. They express a desire to connect with others who have experienced similar heartache, emphasizing the stark reality that many women face pregnancy or infant loss.