Oops, my body did it again.

It failed me.

It failed me big time.

I lost another unborn babe. If you’re able to keep up that makes three now. Not consecutively, but THREE nonetheless.

This time feels different. It feels different because I had zero bleeding, everything appeared fine, we even had two promising ultrasounds. And then I faintly heard “no cardiac activity” as I stared at the black and white image of a tiny, tiny lifeless baby inside me. Still inside of me. Still.

My husband explained it as a gut punch, I describe it as a soul punch; the icing on top of the worst flavored cake I’ve ever eaten.

I’m sad, we’re sad. We’re heartbroken, but now have to carry on with our little 9 month munchkin who has zero idea of the hurt we’re feeling. Zero idea of what he is missing. We will try to give him a sibling, we will try to create the busy, full home we so badly desire, but he-we-will never get to know this little one.

This one that was a baby, not a tumor. This one that was our happy surprise, our early goal.

We shared our news, good and bad, with many close and we’ve grieved with those we love. I say this to say-I want to talk about it. It needs talking about.

This is not a stigma, this is not taboo, this is real life, real loss.

This is vulnerability by definition and this is heartbreak through and through.

Today I said goodbye to that little life and I felt it slip away, alone, in a cold and bright room. But, because of our sharing and our openness I came home surrounded by the most love I’ve felt in a long time. The most love from blood family and from chosen family.

In the midst of chaos (that seems to never end) and in the midst of again, some of the darkest days, I am reminded of the special world Mike and I have nourished, and the amazing humans we are so honored to have surround us.

Words are not enough for the grief AND gratitude that absolutely fills my home, and my heart.