Posted by: chlost | April 24, 2015


It happens.

It’s life.

Millions of people go through this.

We never have. That’s good, but it makes it very hard.

Our daughter-in-law and son found out this week that the much-wanted and already-loved baby they were expecting in November is no longer alive. The baby stopped growing after about 8 weeks.

They had a twelve-week doctor appointment this week, and went in happily expecting to hear the heartbeat of their first child for the first time. I was excited for them. That first time you hear your child’s heartbeat is indescribable.

Instead, they were told that the baby “was being uncooperative” and they had to return for an ultrasound. Two days later, the ultrasound technician’s face told them everything; the radiologist confirmed it.

They are no longer expectant parents.

We are no longer anticipating the fun and excitement of a new baby at Christmas. Our three granddaughters aren’t quite sure why there no longer will be a new cousin for a playmate. Merle and I were very happy about a fourth grandchild-maybe a boy, just to change things up after three granddaughters.

In my mind, I know that they will likely be pregnant again soon. I know that they will likely have a baby in the relatively near future.

But my heart is sad for them, and the little one whose arrival our entire family was excitedly anticipating. I had very nearly purchased a little baby outfit last weekend.

There is this downside to knowing so early about a pregnancy. Back in the day, we didn’t know we were pregnant until 3 or 4 months along. We may have miscarried before we ever realized we were pregnant. Now with the ability to know a woman is pregnant within just several days, the parent knows about every one of those early miscarriages.

My son and his wife had been very reticent about acknowledging the pregnancy. No one outside the family had been told. But they were just beginning to feel confident enough to make a more general announcement, which they planned to do in just a few more weeks. They had just started to allow themselves to start to think of possible names. They were saving up their PTO from work so that they would be able to be at home for the longest possible time.

It was a long week. My daughter-in-law told me they were staying home tonight to go to bed early. “All of this crying and stuff this week is exhausting,” she told me.

Yes, I agree. It is very exhausting.



  1. So sorry to hear about this.

  2. Sorry for your family’s loss.

  3. I’m so sorry this happened. I have not been through that heartbreak, but I know people who have.

    • Thank you. It is hard to watch. You can’t really do much to help.

  4. How terribly sad for all involved, I send my sympathies to you all.

    • Thank you. It has been a sad week.

  5. Sending hugs of compassion . . .

    • Thank you.

  6. I’m so sorry. It’s a heart-breaking thing. I miscarried at 10 weeks with my second pregnancy, after getting a heartbeat two weeks earlier. I was devastated. It’s remarkable how much you can love a baby long before it’s really a baby.

    • Oh, how hard that must have been. It is amazing how many people have shared their heart break, even after many years. Thank you.

  7. I’m sorry to hear about your kids’ disappointment. I miscarried, too, years ago, and it took a while to get over it. But, I now have two grown children, a boy and a girl. I still haven’t forgotten the miscarriage, though, even after all these years.

    • We are hopeful that they will go on to have more children, and soon. But I have realized how long this will stay with them. Thank you for your thoughts.

  8. I am so sorry about the loss of your precious grandbaby. Words seem insufficient for grief like this.

  9. I’m so sorry for your loss. There’s not much you can do to fix the problem, no, but there is lots to do to help, even if your son and daughter in law might not see it yet. A hug. A meal. Acknowledgement of the struggle. When I lost a baby at 17 weeks, I was desperate to be treated like I had lost a baby, not a pregnancy. Not every family is the same, but consider this as you see them through their pain.
    Hugs to you all. And hope for healing.

  10. This is devastating in ways that are hard to comprehend–because to outsides, it seems like the end of a would-have-been, but to the parents, it’s the end of a dream whose entirety you had been envisioning.

    I’m so sorry for your whole family.

  11. Oh, golly, friend, I’m sorry to read this. A sad loss that impacts the whole family. Peace be with you. And with them.

  12. I am so sorry for your family

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