Last weekend I should have given birth to my second child.

No one tells you that grief from pregnancy loss sticks to you like a second skin.

CW: this article deals with pregnancy loss.

Last weekend marked a poignant moment in my life, a day that was supposed to be filled with joy, anticipation, and the celebration of a new life. It was the day I should have given birth to my baby. However, no one prepared me for the profound impact that such a milestone would have on my journey through grief. In the weeks leading up to the due date, myriad thoughts engulfed my mind, each one, a reflection of the life that could have been, had my baby been born.

Grief is an intricate and unique journey, and no matter an individual’s experience, it affects everyone very differently. While society may acknowledge the pain of losing a loved one, the silent struggles of those grappling with the loss of a potential future, such as the loss of an unborn child, often go unnoticed. When I lost my pregnancy at ten weeks, in the weeks that followed, I had family and friends play down the loss to the following types of comments:

‘You’ll be fine. You guys will try again.’

‘It’s so common.’ (Imagine someone said that to you when a loved one died).

‘That’s just nature’s way of taking care of things that weren’t meant to be…’

‘Give it some time, you’ll be fine.’

‘Are you guys trying again?’

Lack of empathy and compassion aside, I did have some very special people around me (you know who you are) who lifted me up and cocooned me in love. For this, I am eternally grateful. I managed to weather the negative comments and tried my hardest to get on with life. But something within me had changed, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same again.

For all the words spoken, grief can be felt in other ways too. It’s in the cries of someone else’s baby, in the flat stomach that was once rounded, the quiet embrace of the night, and the emptiness of my arms. It’s the quiet moments that take me by surprise the most.

What also took me by surprise was the grief itself. For days I could barely get out of bed. I felt as if it had stuck to me like a second skin, and as much as I tried, I just couldn’t remove it. For a few days, I sunk into a dark place, where my thoughts were consumed by the life that could have been. My mind unravelled with scenes of laughter, first steps, sleepless nights, and the indescribable joy that parenthood brings. Each passing moment seemed to amplify the void left by the absence of my unborn child. It was a painful reminder of the dreams and hopes that now exist only in the realm of what could have been.

As the due date inched closer, happiness and sorrow intertwined and I grappled with conflicting emotions. I held my daughter tighter, I planned a memorial (in the shape of a new fairy garden with my daughter), and I found solace in allowing myself to feel, acknowledge the pain, and to honour the memory of the little one I never got to hold. The day I should have given birth became a mirror reflecting both the beauty and fragility of life.

This day served as a poignant reminder that grief is not confined to the loss of what has been, but also extends to the dreams and possibilities that never came to fruition. By acknowledging these milestones and embracing the accompanying emotions, we pave the way for healing and resilience. In the journey through grief, it's crucial to remember that every feeling is valid, and healing occurs in its own time.

Through this experience, I learned to have more gratitude for what I do have, and to see that instead of giving birth to a child, I was in fact breathing new life into another aspect of my own life. My writing. And for that, I am grateful.

As the weekend passed, I realised that resilience is born out of acknowledging the pain and continuing to move forward. Maybe I’ll never be the same again, but I’ll take my sorrows and my experiences with me as I continue on this journey.

Joey Hespe (Joey Writes), 2024

Image: Jess Racklyeft for the Centre for Perinatal Psychology.