The Story of Our Miscarriage

This piece was written with a fully vulnerable heart, and some parts of it may be graphic. Please keep in mind that I wrote this primarily as a way to process my own grief, but also to bridge the chasm of loneliness that women feel during miscarriage.

If you are reading this and can relate, I am so sorry. If you feel so inclined, please feel free to use the comment section of this post to share your own story.

For now, this is mine: The story of six days that changed my life forever.

Our Decision to Leave Charlotte

Matt and I have been living in Charlotte, North Carolina for the last four years. And to say I love it here is an understatement. I love North Carolina, especially that quippy little phrase everyone says when they’re talking about the perks of living in Charlotte: “You’re 2 hours from the mountains and 3 hours from the beach.” We sure have taken advantage of that proximity and lived the mountain-town-and-beach-bum combination of my wildest 16-year old dreams. 

While beaches and mountains are certainly beautiful, we love more than just the nature. I adore the weather here, especially how long fall lasts and how mild the winters are. I love how close North Carolina is to other states… We have a list a mile long of driveable adventures we want to go to one day! I love living this close to a city and the fact that Charlotte is just small enough to still be affordable living 20 minutes away, but big enough that there are social events going on at any point in time. I love the restaurant scene here, and the green trees everywhere, and the walking paths. I love how close we are to the Charlotte airport, especially considering how much we travel, and that it’s an American Airlines hub with tons of nonstop flights. 

More than anything, though, I love the community we have built here and the friends we’ve made. I had an easier time making friends in CLT than I did in any other phase of my life. The people here embraced us with open arms and we made truly lasting friendships. Our Charlotte chapter has been a very special part of our life and our marriage, and I am so grateful for our time here. 

That being said, Charlotte was always a stepping stone for us. We knew that, one day, when we started a family, we would transition back to Michigan once again so that we could raise our children close to their grandparents, aunts & uncles, and cousins. As this step got closer in our lives, we decided it was time to start looking at purchasing a home in Michigan by the time our lease was up in September of 2026. This was something Matt was overjoyed to start pursuing, but I was resistant in more ways than one. I didn’t want to own a house (but it’s Matt’s dream) and I didn’t want to move back to MI (but one day I knew I would be glad I did).  

We always go to Michigan for a few weeks in July to spend time at our family cottage. That trip would end up becoming the backdrop for everything that happened next.

It was time to jump in with both feet. 

Our Family Planning Journey

Delay #1: MS 

Strange as it may sound, I’ve had a long-standing fear in life that I would struggle with infertility. This fear started years ago, partially because I always felt like my life was too “easy”. I had two loving parents, a great family, financial stability, good health, the love of my life, my dream job…. No one’s life should go this well, right? 

I believed, however misguided, that everyone has a certain quota of “hard” they have to live through in their life, and I had spent 25 years riding the gravy train. I knew that infertility would take a toll on me more than almost anything else, so my subconscious must have decided that this was the fear to latch onto. My life was too good, so I was going to have a hard time getting pregnant. 

But then…. 2024. I got diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. There it is!! My hard!! You can’t have MS AND struggle with having a baby, right? My hard quota had been, at least temporarily, filled. 

Although, not quite.

Matt and I weren’t quite ready to have a baby when I got diagnosed with MS, but we had been talking about trying in the next 6 months. My doctors had said that they wanted me to be stable on my medicine for at least a year before trying, which would push back our timeline by about 6 months. That sucked, but the fear of MS was all-consuming and I had a lot of other worries on my mind, so I accepted it pretty easily. The plan became to get two of my semi-annual infusions in 2025, then in 2026 get my January infusion, wait a month (you can’t get pregnant within a month of the infusion) and start trying in February of 2026. 

Everyone in my life knew this timeline. Fertility was a big question during the MS diagnosis, so I was frequently telling all of the loving and concerned people in my life that yes, I would still get to be a mom. I would just have to wait until February 2026 to do so. 

Preparation

While I hadn’t been quite ready to try for a baby when I was diagnosed, by the time my February deadline had rolled around, I was MORE than excited. 

In June of 2025, I had started reading books on fertility, tracking my ovulation with the help of my brand new Oura ring (purchased purely for family planning reasons), logging my test strips etc. In June I knew that I still had to wait another 7 months, but I figured that if I had to wait, I might as well use that opportunity to get as educated as possible. And get educated I did. 

At our doctor’s suggestion, we started taking prenatal vitamins. We stopped drinking. We made sure we had fruits and vegetables at every meal. We stopped using plastics so much. Matt even started running (and is now doing a marathon!) in an effort to get as healthy as possible, because we had learned that a dad’s health severely impacts how a mother feels during pregnancy. We were starting all of this early, but by the time February rolled around, we were going to be our healthiest, happiest selves, finally ready to bring a baby into the world. 

I took my “last hurrah” trip in November 2025 to Vietnam. I knew I wanted to do the Ha Giang Loop, and I was going to be pregnant and then be a mom come 2026 and who knew when I’d have that chance again?? Vietnam here I come, and then a baby shortly after!!! 

Delay #2: Peru 

I woke up the morning of the January 2026 infusion telling Matt “just 30 more days and we can start trying for our family!!”. The infusion, of course, meant saving my life, something I will forever and always be grateful for. But in my mind, it was also a hurdle that we had to get through so that we could start living our dream of being parents. I was bouncing off of the walls with excitement. Infusion day felt like Christmas! 

But, in the worst timing possible, on the way to the infusion, I opened up my phone and saw an anonymous post on Facebook: “Help. I just found out I’m pregnant, and I have a trip to Peru planned in April. Should I cancel?”. 

The comments were overwhelmingly screaming at the poster to cancel their trip. “You’ll be sick!” “You could miscarry!” “You’ll absolutely ruin your trip.” “Say goodbye to hiking Machu Picchu…” “The altitude of Peru is not good for the baby!” “There’s Zika there, idiot.” 

On the way to my infusion, my heart broke. I had scheduled the next Foreign Fork group trip for June of 2026 to nowhere else than…. Peru….. 

I went through with the infusion, and then spent the 30 day interim period before we could try going to OBs and travel clinics to try to get answers on if you can/should travel to Peru in your first trimester of pregnancy. Some doctors said yes, some said no… It was very overwhelming. Finally I got a straightforward answer that from a safety-for-the-baby perspective, a short trip would be fine. 

However, all of this conversation had gotten my brain spinning in other directions. What if I was pregnant and something went wrong, like a miscarriage, in Peru? What if I had a high-risk pregnancy and they told me last-minute that I couldn’t attend my own trip? These people had signed up to travel with me, and I didn’t want to let them down. What if I ended up being so sick that I was an awful host and everyone thought the trip sucked?

Listen, if this was purely my own leisure trip to Peru, I would have cancelled in a heartbeat and started working on a baby. 

But I couldn’t. 

This trip meant SO much to me. I was living my career dream of traveling the world with people who wanted to explore together. I had spent the last 6 months getting to know the travelers and, more than anything, I wanted them to have a good trip. I didn’t want to do anything that could risk ruining what they had spent their hard-earned money to pay for. 

So for the safety of my future-baby, for the good of my career, and with other people in mind, we decided to wait to try until after Peru. And I cried and cried and cried. 

I felt stupid for being sad, because it was my own choices that led here. I chose to host a group trip, and I selected the location without thinking about how altitude might play a factor in my ability to be a good host while pregnant. There was no one to blame but myself, and that made it all the worse. 

Peru + The Fear from the Shaman

Peru was an absolutely spectacular trip, and while I was, at this point, one year past my desired start time to have a baby, I was really grateful that I got to go on the trip with no worries. Our Machu Picchu hike was spectacular, the ceviche (that I wouldn’t have been able to eat while pregnant!) was delicious, and I was coming home on Cloud 9 knowing that we had such a perfect trip and that we were going to try to start our family now. 

On our last day in Peru, most of our guests had left. My mom, Matt, and I had a few hours to kill, so I spent some time researching activities that we could do in Peru before our flight out. I wanted something super local, that felt like a really immersive part of Peruvian culture. 

I found an experience giving an offering to Mother Earth with a local Incan Shaman. We hiked out to the middle of nowhere, found a temple to mother earth, and offered flowers and incense and coca leaves at the altar. I thought this was all we had signed up for, but I was mistaken. In addition to our offering, we were also going to be receiving a coca leaf reading from the Shaman! 

This ceremony was meant to be very sacred, so Matt, my mom and I were separated from one another, and each given individual time with the shaman to read our futures. Matt went first, and he came back raving about all of the weirdly niche events that the shaman had gotten right… fears, conflicts, and dreams. Then, my mom went, and she too came back amazed at the strange details the shaman knew about her and my dad. 

I don’t typically believe in psychics, but I think that the way this experience was laid in front of me felt more serene and reverential than a typical chat with a ghost whisperer. I’d done tarot card readings before and came out laughing about the stupid predictions they had come up with. But this old, wrinkled man had lived in the mountains of Peru for years and fasted on water and coca leaves. His teeth were falling out from chewing coca, and he was speaking in a native language, and it just felt more…. Real. 

When it was my turn to talk to the shaman, I was incredibly nervous. I thought for sure that he was going to tell me something about a negative turn my life would take because of MS and then I’d never be able to stop thinking about it. 

Instead, he began muttering to himself, singing, and throwing coca leaves onto a blanket in front of me. If the leaves landed upright, all was well. If the leaves landed flipped over, it meant you would have trouble in the area of your life that the leaf represented. All of my leaves landed upright. Except for one. 

“Have you had any trouble getting pregnant?” the shaman’s translator asked me.

“Hmmm, no,” I replied, although my brain was turning about the fact that we were meant to be trying tomorrow–  for the very first time. 

“Oh. Well, your family leaf is flipped over. This means that you are going to have a very hard time getting pregnant. It is going to take you a long time. You will be trying and trying and trying, and you are going to get stressed. But don’t get stressed, that is going to make it worse. You are going to need medical intervention too, in order for it to work. Don’t get discouraged. It will happen eventually.” 

Wow. Talk about the wind leaving your sails. I should have asked more questions, but I didn’t want to at the moment because I was scared of what else I was going to learn. Instead, I asked questions about my career, in a roundabout way of avoiding what I had just learned. 

I spent the next few days trying to convince myself of all of the ways the shaman was wrong. I told myself to stop taking it so seriously, because I don’t even believe in psychics anyways! But now, his prediction was sitting in the back of my mind, causing that very stress he had warned me against. 

We went home, and we tried, and I spent the next two weeks wondering if the shaman was going to be right. 

Now That You Have the Backstory… Here’s What Happened Next

A few weeks after the visit with the shaman, I was in my two week wait (commonly called the TWW in the TTC – aka Trying to Conceive – community…. Ahem, can you tell I did my research?), anxiously awaiting the opportunity to take a pregnancy test.

We packed up and headed down to Michigan for Cottage Summer and to start looking at houses. Sunday we hit the ground running. We saw 9 houses, one of which we adored and almost put an offer in on, but it was already off the market by the time we got home. I also fell down a flight of stairs in house #9, a split level with newly renovated, slippery wooden steps. I remember thinking, “Thank God I don’t know if I’m pregnant yet, or I would be freaking out about my baby right now.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of house hunting and big decisions. I cried in a stranger’s kitchen, overwhelmed by the speed and vastness of the decision we were being asked to make. How can you spend 15 minutes in a house and know that you want to spend $430,000 on it?

Eventually, we found ourselves coming back to one house over and over again. After a lot of second-guessing, we put in an offer.

Between the stress of deciding whether to buy a house and everything else that came with it, I had been sick to my stomach all day long. And while I realized I did, in fact, like the house, I was feeling deeply worried about buying any house in Michigan.

I was so nervous to commit to living there for three years that I spent the night tossing and turning. I made myself feel better by repeating that there was absolutely no way the sellers would accept our low offer.

“Don’t worry,” I told myself. “There’s no way you’re buying this house.”

But accept the offer they did. And before I knew it, we were under contract.

The timing couldn’t have been more chaotic. We had inspections, paperwork, deadlines, and seemingly endless decisions hanging over our heads. But for now, it was Thursday, the holiday was coming up, and there was nothing to be done over the weekend.

Time to enjoy the Fourth of July.

Fourth of July

You didn’t forget that I was also spending this whole time hoping that I was pregnant, right?

As the days of house hunting went by, I was getting closer and closer to the 12 Days Post Ovulation (DPO) mark, which is when I told myself I was allowed to take a test.

July 4 was 12 DPO. I slept in until 11:00 am (UNHEARD OF for me) and spent the day with my family.

That night, Matt and I hunkered down in a tiny little bedroom at the cottage and took our very first pregnancy test together. I had peed in a cup in the bathroom, dipped the stick, then put the stick (back in the package) under my shirt so I could sneak by all of my cousins and nephews and have some privacy with Matt to look at the results.

I hadn’t felt any symptoms of pregnancy in the slightest aside from some fatigue, which I had been associating with the home-buying process, so I was fully convinced that our test was going to be negative.

But after five of the longest minutes of my life, we flipped over the test together.

And there it was.

Faint, but present nonetheless.

Two lines.

I was pregnant.

(Video of us finding out we’re pregnant. It’s adorable, you should watch it 😉)

I’m Pregnant!!

I stared at that line forever, just giggling and repeating the word “wait” over and over and over again. I couldn’t believe it!! There was a baby!!

Matt and I were overjoyed. We were laughing and hyperventilating and hugging and it was one of the very best moments of my entire life. We kept talking about how we couldn’t believe it and how it didn’t feel real, which, in hindsight, is now pretty sad. Were we predicting something already?

That night, when Matt kissed me goodnight, he also kissed my belly. Already, we were building dreams about what this baby’s life would look like. Matt kept saying “he” because he had had a dream about a boy baby a few nights before, but I felt like it was a girl.

We came up with a cute little name for her, and started affectionately calling her the Junebug because she came to us in June (it wasn’t until later that we looked up junebugs and realized that they’re not super cute, but… whatever. I’m sure our Junebug was).

That night, we told only one person: my brother, Brandon. He was in on the secret with us, and all three of us decided to go into the cottage town the next day to get a test that said the word “pregnant” on it. Then we’d know for sure that it was real.

Living With Our Little Secret

We woke up the next day, and I felt like I was floating in a dream. We had this little secret, and every time Matt and I would make eye contact over breakfast or have a moment alone on the porch, that secret swam between the two of us. Our little Junebug and us, together at last.

It had only been one month of trying (take that, Shaman!!), but it felt like I had been waiting for her forever, especially as our timeline had kept getting pushed.

For the last year, I had felt like a little kid learning how to swim in the shallow end, with their parent slowly walking further and further backwards in the pool, telling their child, “Just a little further, I’m right here.”

I swam to the first meeting spot, then the next, and then the next, and finally, the thing I was chasing had stopped moving. It had given me time to catch up, and I was the pregnant-adult-woman-equivalent of a child beaming in their parents’ arms after swimming their furthest lap in the pool yet.

Telling Our People

Matt and I were so excited to tell our parents, but we wanted to make sure that we had confirmation from a doctor (aka that this was REAL!) before spreading the news any further.

We had gone to get that magical little test that said the word “pregnant” in black and white. I took the test in the Kroger bathroom, alongside another one, and snuck them both out to the car in the parking lot for Matt and I to look at the results together.

It said it!

It said the word!

We were feeling pretty confident now, but we still wanted that last gut check of going to see the doctor before we spread the news further. We floated through our home inspection on Monday, both of us now seeing the house in an entirely new light. One room quickly became our baby’s nursery, and I started to notice all of the places in the home where we would make cute memories together.

On Tuesday we went to see my OB, who confirmed that I was, indeed, pregnant! She took some blood to test my HCG Beta levels, which came back also testing positive for pregnancy, so we knew that we had the go-ahead to tell our parents.

We went to my parents’ house first and gave my dad his “Father’s Day present.” Inside were two mugs, one that said “I ❤️ Grandma” and one that said “I ❤️ Grandpa,” along with a onesie that said “First grandchild coming soon.”

My parents were shocked but excited, with my mom giving me the biggest hug! Soon we were already talking about what she wanted to be called for her “grandma name” and how she had already started thinking about my baby shower theme. 🥹 It felt so special to share that moment with them and to see how excited they were to become grandparents.

Soon we went over to Matt’s parents’ house where we were treated with equal amounts of love and excitement. I will always remember how excited Matt’s mom was and the size of the hug that she gave me. By the time we had left the house, she was already texting us about how she loved and missed our family of three. That was the first time I had thought of our family as a number bigger than two, and I went to bed with a smile on my face.

We were planning to tell the rest of my family the following Tuesday when we knew that everyone would be together up at our family’s cottage. In the meantime, we just had to keep our little secret for a little while longer. 

The Miscarriage

There’s a feeling I’m sure most new moms that have been trying for a baby are familiar with – you see the lines, and you know you’re pregnant, but that little being inside of you is so tiny and so vulnerable, there’s no physical proof of them yet. In order to make yourself feel better, to convince yourself that they’re still inside you, you take tests. Tests upon tests upon tests. 

In the first 5 days of my pregnancy, I took 6 tests. And while they all told me that I was pregnant, I still didn’t feel like it was real. 

Every morning, I would wake up and take a test, just to see those two lines again. To make sure my little junebug was still growing. 

At about my 6 week mark, just a few days after we found out that we were pregnant, I stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed with a pregnancy test in hand. I walked to the bathroom and found the styrofoam cup I had hidden in the cabinet the night before and, eyes still half shut, sat down and peed into the cup. 

I pulled the cup away, ready to dip the pregnancy test in it, but what I saw instead took my breath away. The cup was filled with blood. So, so much blood. 

There’s always a brief moment in situations like this – the situations where there is a distinct Before and After – where all you can do is close your eyes.

 That slow, long blink is the only thing standing between the person you were before, and the moment that you open your eyes to a totally new world. I held my eyes shut for a few seconds too long, hoping that if I just never opened them again, never looked at that stupid cup full of blood, I wouldn’t have to face the reality that was clearly staring me in the face: 

Our baby had died. 

But alas, no amount of squeezing my eyes shut could take me away from this reality. The cup was full of blood, our baby was dead, and I needed to go wake up my husband and tell him. 

I tiptoed back into the room just as Matt was rolling over. I sat down on the edge of the bed, kissed him on the cheek and said, “I have some really sad news. I’m bleeding a lot. I am definitely having a miscarriage right now.”

Truthfully, I have no idea what he said after that, and I also don’t really remember the rest of the day. 

I told my cousin on a walk, called and told my mom, and called the doctor to let them know what was going on. My doctor suggested that I go back to a local lab that day to give another blood draw to “confirm” the pregnancy loss, though there was no confirmation necessary in my mind.

Nothing the size of a sesame seed survives the loss of that much blood.

But back we went, and, of course, the levels came back confirming what we already knew. We had lost our little baby, before we could even see their face or hear their heartbeat. The little soul that we had loved and talked to and celebrated and kissed for the last 6 days suddenly was just… gone.

You hear that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Women are strong and they tend to spare you the details. But I will tell you that nothing prepares you for the moment you have to stare at your dead baby in the drain, and flush them away. There’s no funeral. No parting words. You just look at what, for a brief moment, held all of your love and dreams, and you have to send it down the house pipes, like it’s nothing more than toilet paper. 

And… that was it. Just like that, our Junebug was gone, flushed away, and I was no longer pregnant. It still feels like a fever dream. It was so magical and some of the happiest days of my life, and it was too short, and then all of a sudden our baby was gone, and there was nothing I could do. 

I had to sit for days, losing them, and talking to people at the cottage like it wasn’t the only thing I could think of. 

The kids want to go on a golf cart ride?  That’s great, but my baby died. 

Let’s make dinner? Happy to help, but I won’t be able to stop thinking about my baby.

X person is going through X thing? That’s sad, but right now, in this very moment, my baby is falling out of my body, and I can’t ever do anything to get them back. 

Of course, I didn’t say any of these things out loud for fear of making others uncomfortable, but it’s strange to live that two-faced life. I was trying to act like everything was normal, but a part of me was dying. 

I found myself getting mad at all of the things I could suddenly do that I couldn’t do 5 days ago. I went on a jetski ride, something I adore, but I came back after 5 minutes feeling hollow. I would have given anything to have not been able to ride that jet ski. 

Our family went out for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the island, but when the conversation turned to which of my cousins’ kids looked like which of their parents, I had to step outside. I was actively losing a baby in that moment, a baby that I will NEVER get to see. Would that baby have had my eyes? My husband’s lips? Would they have escaped the damning possibility of inheriting our big noses? 😉

For a brief moment, there was a piece of us combined, waiting to enter the world. But now it was gone, and we would never get to see what that person would have looked like, or how they would have talked, or the sports they would want to play. Would they have been a good artist? A great leader? A trouble maker we would have had to love through hard times? Would they have been funny like their dad? Headstrong like their mom? 

These are questions that we’ll never have answers to. And while it probably feels silly to some to feel this strongly over a person that only existed to us for 6 days, those 6 days were filled with love and dreams and visions of a life together. And then it was gone. 

Saying Goodbye

The next few days at the cottage were hard, but it was good to be distracted with family and sunshine and kids. 

On days one and two after the loss, I was processing the situation so much that I hardly cried. But on day three, it all came crashing down. Matt had woken up before me that day to go on a run, so by the time he came back, I was already awake and on the screened-in porch. When he came in to say good morning, I burst into tears, and basically didn’t stop crying the rest of the day. 

One of my little cousins (7 years old) saw me crying, and even though he didn’t know what was wrong, he followed me around all day long, giving me hugs. We played cards together, he helped me with chores, and we talked all day long. That sweet boy will never fully be able to understand all of the help his love gave me that day. 

By the end of the night, the sun was setting. The sunset at the cottage is one of my very favorite parts of life on earth. I grew up watching it. Matt proposed in front of it. We have celebrated good times and bad times in front of that sunset, but on this day, I saw the most beautiful, vibrant orange sunset that I have ever seen in my entire life. 

The sky was painted with purples and pinks and oranges, all reflecting off of the blue water. I looked out, and Matt was sitting on the dock, staring into it, so I went to join him. We sat together, hands intertwined, saying sweet and quiet goodbyes to our baby. We told them that we loved them, and the things we wished we would have seen with them one day. 

Just as the sun was crossing the horizon, more cousins came out to watch it. Soon, there were 8 of us, sitting arm in arm, watching that beautiful sky. And while most sunsets last for 20 minutes or so, this sunset sat lazily in that sky for hours, still shining that bright orange at 10:00.

Before we went inside, my cousin Meghan came out to take our photos in front of that sky. She took two photos of Matt and I, back to back, and when she showed us the preview, I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

The first photo was a photo of the two of us, smiles but sad eyes looking right into the camera. The next photo was identical, except for one difference. A little orb of light floating right next to our heads. Our Junebug saying hello and goodbye. 

What’s Next? 

For now, that’s where the story ends. Our house purchase is going through, and we’re supposed to close on Friday. The purchase has lost its luster though, as everything that once felt exciting has been dimmed by the absence of the little person we thought would be coming with us.

I’m eager to try again, but also worried that this loss has tainted the experience, and that I will never be able to revel in the joy of a positive test again. 

I got my MS infusion on Tuesday, so we aren’t allowed to try for babies for a while. What a strange situation I’m in… The glorious, magnificent, life-saving miracle drug that I prayed and prayed for is swimming in my veins as we speak, and while I’m grateful for it, always, I’m also resentful of the fact that it’s standing in between me and a baby right now. 

I’m feeling grateful for the people that have loved me through this situation, and also completely flabbergasted at the kinds of things people say to women going through miscarriage. Here is a good rule of thumb… If you wouldn’t say something equivalent to a person about if their already-born child or their father died, don’t say it to them about the miscarriage: 

• At least it was early, imagine how the moms miscarrying at 20 weeks feel = At least your child died when they were 5 years old instead of 3. 3 is super tragic but 5 is less sad. Imagine how bad the parents of a 3 year old dead child feel, you’re lucky you’re not them. 
• Maybe the universe knew that you were stressed about a house so it gave you only one thing to handle at a time = yeah it’s a good thing your dad died. I know you were stressed about that new job you got, so it’s a good thing the universe killed off your dad so you didn’t have to deal with that all at once. 
• At least you know you can get pregnant = sure, sure but it doesn’t help if I can’t keep the babies inside of me alive. 

I know all of those things are probably true. It IS probably worse to lose a baby further along in pregnancy. It IS true that I can get pregnant and that should bring me some peace. I know people mean well. They want to make me feel hopeful. But in the throes of grief, hearing those things didn’t feel empathetic or kind.

If you don’t know what to say, the easiest route to go is “I love you. I’m sorry this happened, and I’m here for you. Your baby is loved, and they were lucky to have lived their life, no matter how tragically short, having been loved so much by you.” 

And it’s true. Our baby’s existence was tragically short, but they were loved with ferocity, and they will not be forgotten. And I can’t wait for the day that I get to hold their sibling in our arms, a family of three, together at last.