When my partner, Sarah, and I discovered we were expecting in December 2017, I was flooded with questions. What would it be like? How would I feel? Would I feel anything at all? The excitement of becoming a father was overshadowed by a wave of anxiety.
I’ve never been particularly comfortable with vulnerability. My emotions often felt as tangled as the cords behind the TV. It took me years to propose to Sarah, and even longer to express my love for her. Now, I was expected to open my heart to a baby I had yet to meet—a baby who would soon become the center of my world. Could I rise to this challenge? Would I be a good father?
Tragically, we lost the pregnancy, and I was left wondering if I would ever learn the answer to my questions.
For women, the journey of pregnancy is undeniably more challenging. However, the emotional aspect of impending parenthood can feel different for men. For me, the concept of being a father seemed abstract at that moment. I understood that there was life growing inside Sarah, yet I struggled to fully comprehend the implications of that.
From the moment of conception, Sarah was a mother. She, too, had her own fears. She worried about how her heart would handle the immense love that awaited her. When I asked her about her feelings, I was met with a reflection of my own fears, amplifying my anxiety.
I hoped that as the due date approached, I would feel more prepared. Perhaps feeling the baby kick or seeing the bump grow would help me connect. Unfortunately, I never got that chance.
On April 13, 2018, we attended the 20-week anatomy scan, a day that would change our lives forever. Although I had concerns, I tried to push them aside. Sarah had previously experienced two miscarriages, which were attributed to a chromosomal issue she carried. We thought we had mitigated that risk through IVF with PGS testing, having implanted a genetically healthy embryo.
Then came the doctor’s devastating words: “We have a problem.” Our baby had a lethal genetic abnormality, unrelated to the previous issues. It was simply one of those unfortunate occurrences that can happen during conception—bad luck. This rare mutation occurs in only 1 in 35,000 pregnancies, and we were that one.
The loss felt like a cascade of grief—the loss of joy, hope, purpose, and our envisioned future. Initially, I didn’t feel the loss of a child in the way one might expect. I think my emotional defenses, built over time, prevented me from fully processing the depth of our loss. But eventually, those walls began to crumble.
On July 13, 2018, three months after the diagnosis, we planted two flowers at our front door to memorialize our losses. Each flower represented our four lost children, with an additional bulb symbolizing hope for the future.
Instead of waiting to learn our baby’s gender at birth, we had the IVF doctor write it down and place it in an envelope, which we kept with the ultrasound images. As we honored our children with the flowers, we opened the envelope for what was perhaps the most somber gender reveal ever. We would have had a daughter.
It’s easy to dwell on the “what-ifs”—the moments I would never experience, from teaching her to ride a bike to attending her prom. It’s a heartbreaking reality that can consume me. Yet, with time, my perspective has shifted. Our little girl was with us for 20 weeks, sharing moments with us, sparking joy through her existence.
She will always be a part of my life, and though we may never meet in this world, she is still my daughter, and I will always be her father.
For anyone navigating similar paths, I highly recommend checking out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination: Progyny Blog. You can also explore our other blog posts, like this one on Intracervical Insemination, to stay engaged. If you’re considering home insemination options, visit Make a Mom to learn more.