On May 19th, I was discharged from the maternity unit, no longer pregnant and childless.

I returned home from the hospital with my husband after just having a miscarriage. I remember noticing that my ultrasound pictures, doctor’s appointments, and little memories of my pregnancy were taken down, almost as if my pregnancy didn’t exist. I felt numb walking into my own house and having someone else take those memories down.

I was torn between sadness and anger. As I reflect, I still wouldn’t know if having all of your pregnancy memories taken down by someone else is respectful or if that is something you would like to do on your own as closure. These are decisions you wouldn’t ever think you have to make. Maybe someone can express how they feel about this and give me some insight.

I was given a box of items by the nurses on the unit. I sat on the ottoman in front of my bed and opened the box. It consisted of a card signed by the nurses from each unit, photos of the baby, foot and handprints, a blank journal, and the knitted carrier the baby was in when we held her. The knitted carrier still consisted of her blood, something I will never wash. It is one of the closest things I have to her physically.

While admiring my daughter through these pictures, I felt empty, enraged, and hopeless. I went from planning my gender reveal to looking up cremation services. I wasn’t sure what the next steps would be in our journey.

I stayed in bed for the day, I had family visiting at the time, and unfortunately, they were ill-educated on how to support me. Throughout the weeks, I noticed that too many people are not aware of the right way to speak to someone who is grieving. They may think they are saying the right things, but it is hurtful and unsympathetic.

A support system is the most crucial part of coping after a loss. Living hundreds of miles away from my friends during this time was difficult. They were only able to comfort me virtually. Even with my husband by my side, I still felt lonely.

I heard things like, “I can always have another baby and that, unfortunately, it just wasn’t meant to be.” Words you don’t want to hear hours after losing your own child. I went into this pregnancy with intentions of giving birth to a living and healthy baby; that was the purpose of us pursuing IVF. She was planned. I never thought that I could lose my child.

We were ready to raise our child, and that was stripped away from us. She is still our daughter; she has an identity, a name.

Getting out of bed was a task within itself. It felt safe there. I cried hysterically for weeks. It became difficult to sleep throughout the night. I still rubbed my stomach, forgetting that there wasn’t a baby in there anymore.

Life became so much harder to endorse after this.