Our Keepsake Journal is Here! 🎉

I lay there, trying hard to remember every detail from just a few weeks before. I had lain on the same bed, my husband beside me, the sweet tech close next to me. We had laughed, joked about my husband’s busy surgery schedule for the day . . . the air was buzzing with unspoken excitement. We stared in awe and called you our diamond ring. We reveled in the beauty of new life, the black and white flicker of your little heart and all that was to be. 

And now, just a few weeks later there we wereall assuming our same positions, all sitting exactly the same, and yet our hearts were postured with a different tone.

We fought to form words, and silence continued to win. I stared numbly ahead, trying hard to not see the blank screen next to menothing flickered, very little moved. We talked about my mundane work schedule . . . the air was heavy with uncertainty. We sat still. I maintained my composure and then the screen clicked offthe screen that once showed my future. 

Tears streamed down, and she gently grabbed my arm, “Honey, it just became real.” And she was right. My mother’s intuition was there from day one, and I had known it deep down . . . something felt off. But somewhere planted between the disappointment and grief, there was still a small seed of hope. A seed that was plucked out as I glanced over the empty screen.

RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured In Weeks

“In my profession, you would be shocked at how often I see this happen. It’s a silent struggle that women don’t want to talk about. It’s awkward to share, and instead of opening up about the grief, it’s easier to just push through and try to move on.”

She was preaching to the choirwe had walked through our first miscarriage just nine months before.

We knew we needed community, but how do you share a miscarriage announcement instead of a baby announcement? No fun picture or catchy slogan, just the sad reality of loss. Many of our closest friends and family had no idea what the past year had held. There was never a real reason for holding the information back, it came down to one thingit’s just plain hard to share. 

As we started to speak out, my friend who is a nurse shared how her hospital gives elephant pins to all the mothers who are going through a miscarriage. When a mother elephant is losing a baby, the other elephants circle around her, acknowledging that she needs community alongside her to grieve and mourn. She looked at me, “We’re here for you and will follow your lead on how to walk through this grief.” Others responded to our news with cliché phrases or unhelpful advicepromises of getting pregnant again right away or comparisons to their own loss.

And while every response was not exactly what we needed, we have appreciated every word of those trying their best to acknowledge the uneasiness.

Maybe you feel the same waymiscarriage is hard, and you don’t know how to respond. Maybe you are a momma who has never walked through this dark valley. To you, miscarriages feel like an unknown arena, and it feels weird to draw near. My heart bursts with happiness for you, but promise me you can snuggle on those babies and still find ways to enter the hard with any momma who may be struggling around you.

RELATED: Miscarriage is Sad, and It’s OK To Say it Out Loud

And for the mommas crying over their angel babies, know that I see you. I pray you feel loved in similar ways that helped me:

I hope you have someone like my tech who looks in your eyes, hands you a tissue, hugs you, and tells you it’s OK to cry.

I hope you have someone like my husband who takes your hand and pulls you out into the rain, letting the earth cry its tears over you. Someone who stands there silently, letting you sit in the pain and guarding you fiercely from getting lost within it. 

I hope you have someone like my mom who will weep real, hard tears over the phone.

Someone who knows how to fill in the miles between you with silence and tears. Someone who reminds you, “It was so much easier when you were a child and I could put a Band-Aid on your pain. And yet in life, we are all called to walk through suffering that a mom can’t fix for her child with just a simple Band-Aid.” 

I hope you find a friend who doesn’t forget to check in but understands the importance of not texting you and reminding you of your situation each day. A friend who admits the hard season even if she happens to say the wrong or cliché thing.

RELATED: 5 Things to Say to a Woman After a Miscarriage

I write this today with one purpose. Friend, speak up. Don’t rob your family and community the opportunity of loving on you, the opportunity for someone to graciously sit at the table and say, “Hey, I’ve been there too.” Your hard season may look different than mine, but guess whatthere’s room at our table. 

Whether you’re a “fertile Myrtle” or an angel baby momma, it’s time we have each others’ backs. It’s possible to celebrate together at baby showers, and still sit together in the pain of loss. Let’s rejoice on the mountaintops, mourn the lows, and link arms on this crazy journey of life.

Speak up, momma, it’s time to end this unspoken season of motherhood.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Natalie Kliewer

I am dedicated to soaking in every sweet morsel of toddlerhood. I am a working mom, writer, and podcaster with a love for Jesus, lists, coffee, and outdoorsy things. Genuine friendships are my jam and I am committed to finding a balance of intentionality within relationships and all areas of our home. You can find me over at www.simplicitybeckons.com; https://www.instagram.com/simplicity.beckons/; https://www.facebook.com/simplicitybeckons; Simplicity Beckons Podcast on Spotify and iTunes

I Obsessed over Her Heartbeat Because She’s My Rainbow Baby

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother and teen daughter with ice cream cones, color photo

I delivered a stillborn sleeping baby boy five years before my rainbow baby. I carried this sweet baby boy for seven whole months with no indication that he wouldn’t live. Listening to his heartbeat at each prenatal visit until one day there was no heartbeat to hear. It crushed me. ”I’m sorry but your baby is dead,” are words I’ll never be able to unhear. And because of these words, I had no words. For what felt like weeks, I spoke only in tears as they streamed down my cheeks. But I know it couldn’t have been that long. Because...

Keep Reading

We’re Walking the Road of Twin Loss Together

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother and son walk along beach holding hands

He climbed into our bed last week, holding the teddy bear that came home in his twin brother’s hospital grief box almost 10 years earlier. “Mom, I really miss my brother. And do you see that picture of me over there with you, me and his picture in your belly? It makes me really, really sad when I look at it.” A week later, he was having a bad day and said, “I wish I could trade places with my brother.” No, he’s not disturbed or mentally ill. He’s a happy-go-lucky little boy who is grieving the brother who grew...

Keep Reading

Until I See You in Heaven, I’ll Cherish Precious Memories of You

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Toddler girl with bald head, color photo

Your memory floats through my mind so often that I’m often seeing two moments at once. I see the one that happened in the past, and I see the one I now live each day. These two often compete in my mind for importance. I can see you in the play of all young children. Listening to their fun, I hear your laughter clearly though others around me do not. A smile might cross my face at the funny thing you said once upon a time that is just a memory now prompted by someone else’s young child. The world...

Keep Reading

The Day My Mother Died I Thought My Faith Did Too

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Holding older woman's hand

She left this world with an endless faith while mine became broken and shattered. She taught me to believe in God’s love and his faithfulness. But in losing her, I couldn’t feel it so I believed it to be nonexistent. I felt alone in ways like I’d never known before. I felt helpless and hopeless. I felt like He had abandoned my mother and betrayed me by taking her too soon. He didn’t feel near the brokenhearted. He felt invisible and unreal. The day my mother died I felt alone and faithless while still clinging to her belief of heaven....

Keep Reading

Can I Still Trust Jesus after Losing My Child?

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Sad woman with hands on face

Everyone knows there is a time to be born and a time to die. We expect both of those unavoidable events in our lives, but we don’t expect them to come just 1342 days apart. For my baby daughter, cancer decided that the number of her days would be so many fewer than the hopeful expectation my heart held as her mama. I had dreams that began the moment the two pink lines faintly appeared on the early morning pregnancy test. I had hopes that grew with every sneak peek provided during my many routine ultrasounds. I had formed a...

Keep Reading

To the Healthcare Workers Who Held My Broken Heart

In: Grief, Loss
Baby hat with hospital certificate announcing stillbirth, color photo

We all have hard days at work. Those days that push our physical, mental, and emotional limits out of bounds and don’t play fair. 18 years ago, I walked into an OB/GYN emergency room feeling like something was off, just weeks away from greeting our first child. As I reflect on that day, which seems like a lifetime ago and also just yesterday, I find myself holding space for the way my journey catalyzed a series of impossibly hard days at work for some of the people who have some of the most important jobs in the world. RELATED: To...

Keep Reading

Giving Voice to the Babies We Bury

In: Grief, Loss
Woman looking up to the sky, silhouette at sunset

In the 1940s, between my grandmother’s fourth child and my father, she experienced the premature birth of a baby. Family history doesn’t say how far along she was, just that my grandfather buried the baby in the basement of the house I would later grow up in. This was never something I heard my grandmother talk about, and it was a shock to most of us when we read her history. However, I think it’s indicative of what women for generations have done. We have buried our grief and not talked about the losses we have experienced in losing children through...

Keep Reading

I Asked the Questions and Mother Had the Answers. Now What?

In: Grief, Living, Loss
Older woman smiling at wedding table, black-and-white photo

No one is really ever prepared for loss. Moreover, there is no tutorial on all that comes with it. Whether you’ve lost an earring, a job, a relationship, your mind, or a relative, there is one common truth to loss. Whatever you may have lost . . . is gone. While I was pregnant with my oldest son, my mother would rub my belly with her trembling hands and answer all my questions. She had all the answers, and I listened to every single one of them. This deviated from the norm in our relationship. My mother was a stern...

Keep Reading

A Friend Gone Too Soon Leaves a Hole in Your Heart

In: Friendship, Grief, Loss
Two women hugging, color older photo

The last living memory I have of my best friend before she died was centered around a Scrabble board. One letter at a time, we searched for those seven letters that would bring us victory. Placing our last words to each other, tallying up points we didn’t know the meaning of at the time. Sharing laughter we didn’t know we’d never share again. Back in those days, we didn’t have Instagram or Facebook or Snapchat or whatever other things teenagers sneak onto their phones to capture the moments. So the memory is a bit hazy. Not because it was way...

Keep Reading

Grief Lingers in Hospital Walls

In: Grief, Loss
Hospital hallway

We drive by a hospital. It’s not the one my mother was in, but it still brings the same sting and reminders. It brings pain just looking in the windows, knowing what’s inside. Sickness. Death. Dying. Probably other things too, but my mind doesn’t know those. It knows the devastation of test results, and surgeries, and cancer—my mother’s cancer. It only took 10 seconds to pass that hospital as we drove on the interstate, but the feeling of that view is still sitting with me, just like grief has done since the moment my mother passed. RELATED: The Day She Dies It’s ironic...

Keep Reading