By Marissa Khosh 
I had four miscarriages. And it has changed me. It has changed what my family was supposed to look like. It has changed where I’m at right now in life. It has changed my future. It has changed our family’s future.
I have two daughters I love to death. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But our life with these two daughters isn’t the same as it would have been if there had never been any losses. Those losses never leave you.
That doesn’t mean I don’t love what my family is right now. I love that my older daughter finally got a sibling at five years old. I love that she’s old enough to help out and think her little sister is cute instead of a mommy-attention-stealer. There are benefits to having such a large age gap even if it was not intended to be that way.
I love that my younger daughter will always look up to her big sister for fun, advice, and comfort because she will always be more experienced in life. I love that my younger daughter has a good example to follow. Someone more mature who can really teach her things.
But I still had four miscarriages. One of them was our first baby. The other three were between our two daughters. Each one was its own kind of hard and grief. Distinct impressions left in my life that will never be erased. And the parts of me that have been changed by their lives—their losses—can never go back.
Sometimes I wish with all my heart that I could be innocently excited about the thought of pregnancy and more children. But I don’t think it will ever be that way again. I don’t know that I ever want to experience it again, which breaks my heart.
My family was supposed to be bigger . . . with more children. But I had four miscarriages.
Those miscarriages stole more from me than the lives that were lost. They stole my innocence and joy in pregnancy. They stole my desire to plan and prep for a new baby. They even stole some of my happy memories.
I was so wonderfully happy when I was pregnant with our first baby and again when I was pregnant with our older daughter. But after four miscarriages, I can hardly remember what that excitement felt like anymore.
Each miscarriage had its own emotions that impacted the next pregnancy. With the first, I was mostly very sad, and I wanted another baby as soon as possible. The next pregnancy was my older daughter. And I was so happy to have my hoped-for healthy pregnancy.
With the second miscarriage, I was mostly just angry. It was a complete molar pregnancy. There was no baby. What a cruel trick my body had played on me for 16 weeks. I wanted nothing to do with my body’s idea of conception for a while after that.
When I was pregnant again six months later, I was ready to hope again, but very cautious. I was afraid of another molar pregnancy. But I loved this hoped-for baby right away. So much.
But then that second pink line began to fade. The blood test was inconclusive. And then the heavy bleeding started. I was hurt, sad, and so disappointed to lose this baby. But we had already lost so much time. So we jumped right into the next pregnancy.
This time I felt very doubtful about the success of the pregnancy. I felt perhaps even cynical about it. And yet, I was still completely shocked when the bleeding started once again.
But this time, as I witnessed my fourth miscarriage … something inside of me broke. I felt it. I felt something inside of me snap off and disappear. I’m still not sure what word would name the part of me that was destroyed at that moment. I just know that, so far, it has never grown back.
I don’t know the why for any of my losses. I’m not sure if it’s ever possible to fully recover from them. It feels as though each loss was another layer of grief that can’t be reversed. And ultimately, after several layers, you find yourself a different person in some ways.
I had four miscarriages. And I’ll never be the same.
So I write. I write for me. I write for you. I write for the mama who is having a miscarriage. I write for the mama trying to conceive after miscarriage. I write for the mama pregnant after miscarriage. I write for the mama still grieving years later even if she has living children.
I’m not sure why I had four miscarriages. But I am sure that those losses will not be without a purpose. My family does not look how I pictured it would years ago. But it is beautiful even if it has invisible holes.
So I will write and I will be thankful for what I have been given—even though I am not the same person I used to be. Maybe this different version of me is better suited to God’s plan for my future. I’m sure I will find out one day.
by Sylvia Schroeder 
