And then, The Worst Thing happened.

We saw our baby yesterday — big head and little arms, a perfect little t-rex. It actually looked like a baby. And I wanted to be so happy, but something was missing. That rapid blip blip blip that had been so obvious the first time we saw her. I didn’t want to ask; I couldn’t bare for it to be real. But I also couldn’t stand the silence.

“There’s no heartbeat, is there?”

“No. I’ve been looking. I’m so sorry.”

And in that moment, our baby was gone. Her life was over before it even started and my own heart was obliterated.

Shattered and destroyed.

All the air was gone and the tears came so fast. So steady. So constantly. Even still, right now.

I know it’s not my fault, but I’m still so so so sorry. So sad. I feel terrible that after struggling for years with infertility, Generations gave us this most precious gift and I couldn’t carry it. That I failed to be a mom and to give Seth the chance to be a dad.

The cruelest part is that she’s still there, inside of me. That my body still feels her in the ways that have always been known only to me — the nausea and the fatigue and the incredibly tender and swollen breasts. The little bloat to my belly, the uncomfortable tightness of my pants. My body doesn’t understand yet. Only my heart.

My heart feels it acutely — the pregnancy is over, our baby is gone, and life has once again careened off the rails. We have no plans right now except to continue breathing in and breathing out and to let the tears come when they do. I’ll probably spend some time today boxing up the Painful Things, the gifts and maternity clothes and other stuff that suddenly seems like useless, premature, wishful thinking. All the while, hoping that time will pass and work its magic as only time can work on pain.

17 thoughts on “And then, The Worst Thing happened.

  1. I am so so sorry and sad for you and Seth. I wish there was something that I, or anyone for that matter, could do to ease your heart break. Your post does speak volumes about your character and bravery.

  2. Oh sweet Rachel! I am so sorry! I know my words don’t meet the needs of filling the sorrow you and your husband are feeling right now, but please know that my words come from my heart and soul!
    God, please wrap Your loving arms around Rachel, Seth and their baby! Comfort these parents as they morn the loss of their child! Allow them to feel Your strength, tenderness and love. I pray this in the name of Jesus Christ or Savior and Lord! AMEN!

  3. Oh no, dear Rachel. This actually happened to my husband and I. Ours was at 16 weeks. Since I was high risk (over 30), I was being monitored by a neonatologist. That visit was heartbreaking…the sonographer looking for the heartbeat, and none was there. Having to schedule a D&C…wondering what went wrong. It was hard. It took a while to get over. But I can say, that we did get pregnant again with darling Daniel who is now 5. There is hope, please don’t lose that. I have you in my thoughts.

  4. There are no words…..I am simply so sorry for your and Seth’s loss. May you be comforted by those who love you.

  5. Don’t give up Rach. God knows what he is doing. Hold your head high for your courage to undergo fertility treatments and your blazing strength to share your story with the world. There is a plan for you and Seth and it is a great one I have no doubt. I will be praying for you both. Sending hugs and of course if you need a real one, I am always willing to hug in person and wipe tears if need be. I love you

  6. I’m so sorry and so terribly sad for you and Seth. I can only imagine the heartbreak and I’m sure there are no words I can say to ease your sorrow but I want you to know you’re in our thoughts and prayers. Hugs & love from Jim & I.

  7. Rachel, I’m so sorry to read this. Thank you for sharing your pain with us, I pray we can help ease it, even if only marginally. You and Seth are in my prayers.

  8. Rachel-
    You are brave and beautiful. There are no words or answers or explanations and we don’t understand. For now, we share your pain a bit, because you hurt and that hurts us, because you have so courageously shared this journey with us. I am so sorry.

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