Shop the fall collection ➔

I found out I was pregnant on October 8th, 2014. It was the one year anniversary of my stepdad’s death. I took the little blue plus symbol as a divine sign; a “Hello” and “I’m still here,” from him. This pregnancy would be blessed. It was serendipitous, meant to be.

I went to work that day, but my mind was elsewhere. Every chance I got, I found myself googling things like, “Is a faint positive pregnancy test really positive?” and “When will my due date be?” I was in awe that I had a life growing inside of me. I couldn’t quite believe it. I took so many pregnancy tests in the days that followed that my husband and best friend—the only two who were in on the secret—both joked about buying stock in Clearblue.

We didn’t tell anyone else just yet. I had done my research, I knew that this was the type of thing I wanted to keep under wraps for a bit until I was “in the clear.”

The weekend before our first ultrasound, I miscarried. I was scared, confused, and most of all heartbroken. I skipped work on Monday and stayed home, curled up in a ball in my bed seeing—but not really watching—show after show on Netflix.

Breaking the news of the miscarriage to our parents, who hadn’t even known yet that I was pregnant, provoked a unique kind of sadness. I felt slightly ashamed, almost like I was revoking a gift. It was a far cry from the exciting reveal we had planned.

The time that followed was lonely, so lonely. In retrospect, I often wonder if it would have hurt more or less had more people known. I didn’t want people to take pity, or walk on eggshells around me, but it also hurt that I was going through the motions of my everyday life while inwardly, I ached.
It took time, but the fog began to lift at some point, and we decided to try once again to build our family.

People don’t always talk about the profound ways that a miscarriage changes you. They don’t tell you that every time an acquaintance announces a pregnancy, every time you see a pregnant woman in a store or a diaper commercial on TV, your heart cracks just a little bit. They don’t talk about how even though you’ll come to learn just how common miscarriage is, that knowledge doesn’t keep you from feeling alone. They don’t tell you how you will search for answers; how you will sob to your husband asking why all these other women were able to have beautiful pregnancies and babies, and why you didn’t. They don’t talk about how much it stings each time a doctor asks how many pregnancies you have had, and you have to disclose the one that ended too soon. They don’t talk about the crippling fear you experience throughout the entire first trimester of subsequent pregnancies. Truthfully, people usually just don’t talk about it at all.

We never really talked about it, either. Most of our family was never told, and we didn’t tell our friends. It saddens me to say that I truly wondered if it even mattered—if I even deserved to feel as devastated as I did. After all, we had only known about our blessing for a couple of weeks.

This afternoon, I finally got around to catching up on This is Us. I had read enough headlines in recent weeks to know what the episode about Kate was going to be about.

I lay there, cuddling my snoring baby as his toddler brother, the brother who was conceived only two months after our loss, was asleep in the other room. I watched Kate’s heartbreaking miscarriage unravel as I relived my own.

It was today, watching my favorite show—three years, two babies, and endless blessings after the loss of my first pregnancy—that I finally received the validation that I didn’t realize I had been searching for all of this time.

The dialogue between Kate and Rebecca spoke to my soul and in just a couple of short lines, put into words every emotion I had felt about my own miscarriage:

“How could I be this sad? I never even met the baby, never held him–or her–wasn’t even old enough for me to know.”

“He was so real to me. The second I found out I was pregnant with you, you were all so real to me.”

It doesn’t matter if you knew you were expecting for a minute, or a day, or weeks, or months—you have every right to feel every ounce of that sharp, raw, stinging emotion.

I only knew for sixteen days that I was pregnant, but those sixteen days were everything.

Casey Huff

Casey is a middle school teacher turned stay-at-home-mama to three littles. It's her mission as a writer to shine light on the beauty and chaos of life through the lenses of motherhood, marriage, and mental health. To read more, go hang out with Casey at: Facebook: Bouncing Forward Instagram: @bouncing_forward

Grief Is Persistent But God Is Faithful

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Woman praying by ocean

The loss of a parent doesn’t just sting, it leaves you with an irreplaceable hole in your heart. It’s been two years since my loving daddy went home to be with Jesus, and the loss I feel is still unimaginable.  I know in my heart he’s in a better place that is absent of pain and distress. However, his physical presence and wisdom are so dearly missed here on this earth.  He left behind an army of a family who adored him and looked to him for solid guidance. No matter how hard I try to look to the bright...

Keep Reading

l Will Never Stop Missing My Sister

In: Cancer, Grief, Loss
Woman in red shirt

It might be 16 years too late to properly depict the depressive senses that engulfed my whole being when I lost my only sister Aurora to colon cancer in 2006. Painful flashbacks continue to fill my everyday life at the most inopportune moments that  writing about it might somehow alleviate my grief. I remember getting that random phone call from her one sunny day in September 2006 and how guilt automatically hit me. It had been a while since I last saw her. “It’s positive,” she said. Backed with years of joking around and playing tricks on her since childhood,...

Keep Reading

My Parents Are Both Gone Now, and I’m Struggling

In: Grief
Man holding smiling infant, color photo

I lost my dad at the beginning of the summer. The last time I saw him, my daughter and I picked him up from the hospital after his bout of pneumonia. She talked to him about her last day of kindergarten and how she would now be a first-grader. He sat cupping his warm mug of coffee in his favorite chair while his favorite blanket covered his legs. He smiled and giggled about the kindergarten stories. He and my daughter share the same birthday so he always had that Pop-Pop proud look on his face toward her. He was tired...

Keep Reading

Having Cancer at 34 Taught Me How to Live

In: Cancer
Husband and wife on boat, color photo

This picture came up in my Facebook memories today. It took my breath away for a moment, just like it has for nine years now. It was the last picture taken of me before my midwife found the lump and my life changed forever.  The first time I saw that photo, I realized I didn’t know that woman anymore. She was naive. Laying there in the sun without any inkling that a cancer was growing inside her. Look at her—unafraid and without anxiety. Less than 48 hours later, she would be gone, replaced by someone who was afraid of each...

Keep Reading

My Hands Are Full, but They Should Be Fuller

In: Grief, Loss
Family walking on beach

When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys. -Baroness Orczy I sat in the sand at the edge of the shore, looked out at the vast Atlantic Ocean, and watched the waves change the landscape with each crash. I absentmindedly dug a hole in the sand next to me, but then a wave came. The hole filled first with water. Then, wet sand caved in. The surface of...

Keep Reading

To My Sons in Heaven: Your Short Lives Changed Mine Forever

In: Grief
Woman at sunse

Dear Noah, Caleb, and Micah: I can’t believe it’s been nine years since I held you in my arms. My sweet sons, losing you broke me in a way that I never thought was possible. I have loved you every second of every day since we first heard of your pending arrival. RELATED: A Letter to my Daughter in Heaven With each day that you have spent in eternity, my love for you has grown exponentially. I have a vision of the day we will hug once more. I imagine that by then, my heart will have expanded so much...

Keep Reading

What If I Could Meet My Mom Now?

In: Grief, Grown Children
Retro photo of woman in sunglasses

I attempt to swallow. My heart is in my throat. I hold back tears. The woman who stands before me is 36 and looks a lot like me, but is not me. I squeeze my arms, pinch my thigh to make sure. I don’t wake up. “Hello.” Her voice is soprano and nasally like mine. Her black, Farrah Fawcett hair frames her round face. We are the same height. We share the same eyes. The same smile. The same white teeth. The same nose. The same long legs. She wears a baggy t-shirt with white-washed jeans, the kind that are...

Keep Reading

317 Days of Love

In: Grief, Motherhood
Smiling baby girl

She couldn’t speak, yet her life spoke to so many. 317 days she was on this earth. She couldn’t speak . . . only one word she said before she passed. One precious word: “Mama.” I can still hear it clear as day. I remember the moment she was born. I looked at her daddy with tear-streaked cheeks, shaking as I heard her cry. The nurse said, “You have a baby girl!” and I was in such awe. I looked at her daddy whispering, “We have a baby girl.” I was in complete adoration. From her dainty little fingers to...

Keep Reading

The Woman He Married Is Long Gone

In: Grief, Kids, Marriage
Young couple smiling

My husband has been married to at least five different women—and they’re all versions of me. His first wife was the 21-year-old version of me, who was a fit and focused college athlete. She was a driven, perfectionist dream-chaser. She was ready to push and sacrifice to chase the dream. No challenge was too hard—but then again, the hardest thing in her life was her organic chemistry final. She had the eternal optimism that comes with naivety and innocence. She loved him with eagerness and couldn’t wait to build a life with him. He often still daydreams of this first...

Keep Reading

Not Having My Mom Here Never Stops Hurting

In: Grief
Sad woman

Each phase of life since my mom died has brought different struggles, triumphs, and varieties of emotion. I always knew that grief was lifelong and complicated, however, I definitely underestimated the ways in which it changes as time goes on. I remember the beginning years as survival mode. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through each day until that day had passed and I was on to the next one. It was figuring out who I was and what my life was going to become during this awful new normal. Some days were harder than others and...

Keep Reading