In my experience, I faced not just one heartbreaking loss but two. I was expecting twins—identical boys, to be exact. While I did give birth to them, it was far from the joyful occasion I had envisioned.
After we learned we had lost our boys, my husband remarked that the most devastating moment for a mother is realizing she has lost her unborn child. However, he realized soon after that this was not the worst moment—not even close. The true agony came later: enduring a painful delivery without the joy of holding my babies afterward. It was coming home to empty arms and making funeral arrangements instead of caring for my little ones. It meant hearing phantom cries in the night and facing friends and family who were unaware of our tragedy. The conversations everyone wanted to have about my loss were the last thing I wanted to discuss.
The hardest part is the aftermath. So, what happens when you leave the hospital? All you can do is keep living.
My journey is unique, just like every other person’s experience with grief. While there may be shared emotions or circumstances, the path forward is distinct for each individual. I struggled to find anything that could help me cope after returning home. I received books, alcohol, and plenty of shoulders to cry on, yet nothing truly eased my pain. When asked what I needed, I often wanted to scream, “My babies! If you can’t give me them, then please just leave me alone!” But I held back. I understood they were trying to help.
What I wished people grasped was that my mind was consumed with trying to process what had just happened to my life and body. I didn’t want to dwell on what I had lost; I wanted to focus on what I still had: my 9-month-old son, my husband, my family, and my new reality.
I hope my story offers comfort to others, even if just to remind them they are not alone in their struggles. One in four women experiences miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal loss—an all-too-common yet rarely discussed topic. Even if you haven’t faced this yourself, it’s likely someone close to you has. Reading my story might help you understand their pain and what comes next.
Sadly, my babies never had a fair chance. When I discovered I was pregnant again, my firstborn was only three months old. The real shock came during my 12-week checkup when we learned I was carrying twins. My doctor had missed that crucial detail at our initial appointment, which was quite embarrassing for her. One baby had been hiding, apparently.
Just when I was starting to wrap my head around having three children under one roof, we were told that the twins shared a placenta and were at risk for a serious condition known as twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. This condition affects only 20 percent of identical twins, but it can be grave yet treatable with the right medical care.
I was informed repeatedly that making it to 26 weeks would significantly decrease the chances of complications. When I finally reached that milestone, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. But my joy was short-lived. At my next appointment, everything changed. The odds were not in our favor.
My pregnancy ended abruptly at 26 and a half weeks, and I delivered our two stillborn boys on September 17. The term “stillborn” is a kind way of describing a devastating reality. Leaving the hospital the next day marked the beginning of true heartache.
Before my discharge, my doctor suggested I start antidepressants, but I declined, wanting to remain present for my 9-month-old. However, two weeks later, I realized I was lost in a fog of grief. Each day was a struggle to get out of bed and care for my son. He sensed that something was wrong, and I hated crying in front of him. I forced the tears back most of the time, but my heart ached, and my body felt heavy with sorrow.
The days were agonizing without my babies, and I found myself unable to eat. I spent my days crying while my son was at daycare. Nights were even worse; despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me. I know now that I was grappling with depression. The weight of my loss and the responsibilities of motherhood were overwhelming. I often wondered what life would be like if my twins had come home with me.
Eventually, I realized I needed help. I called my doctor and started antidepressants. It was a challenging journey, but the pit of despair I had been sinking into has now turned into a manageable shadow. I no longer cry every day, and that’s a victory. However, when the grief resurfaces, it can feel unbearable. I find solace in my son, who brings so much joy into my life.
Once, I had to leave work early after a coworker insensitively asked when I would be having “that baby,” gesturing to my still-recovering body. I could only hold back my tears until I was alone. It’s difficult to manage those intense emotions, and it took me days to recover from that comment.
So, what’s the key to healing? Time. Though it feels agonizingly slow, time will eventually help. It’s the last thing you want to hear when you’re grieving, but it’s true. When you’re in the depths of despair, it’s important to offer support rather than platitudes. A simple hug or a gesture of kindness, like bringing over soup can mean the world. Instead of asking what someone needs, offer specific help: “When can I bring you dinner?” or “What can I do for you?”
Living through this heartache means you must keep going, even when it feels impossible. It won’t be the same life you knew before, and it may take time to find joy again. But I hold onto hope that one day, I will feel light and happy again.
In conclusion, if you or someone you know is navigating the complex emotions following a loss, remember you are not alone. There are resources available to help. For more information on pregnancy and related topics, you might find valuable insights at WHO.
I believe that with time, support, and understanding, healing is possible.