Mama and M.E.

This is what infertility looks like.

It’s middle of the night tears, wondering if you’ll ever have a child of your own. It’s changing the subject when an acquaintance asks if you plan to have kids. It’s smiling at a baby shower even though your heart may be in pain.

This is infertility.

It’s getting excited each month as you pray for a miracle, only to feel defeated when the pregnancy test comes back negative. It’s meeting with doctors, endless blood tests, with sometimes no answer as to “why”. It’s spending hours awake in bed as the financial stress consumes you.

This is infertility.

It’s spending years trying not get pregnant, only to find out it’s nearly impossible when you’re ready. It’s daily pills, injections and bruises where you gave yourself shots. It’s cutting coupons for pregnancy tests, knowing you could save a dollar each month, also knowing that you will most likely need more tests the next month.

This is infertility.

It’s isolating. It’s blaming yourself for the medical challenges. It’s leaving you to wonder “why me”? It’s emotionally draining and physically painful. It’s watching the years pass by, knowing your biological clock is ticking.

This is infertility.

It’s planning out your dream nursery, but not knowing if you’ll ever create it. It’s keeping a list of baby names tucked away. It’s fighting back the tears when you see a pregnancy announcement.

This is infertility.

It’s finding strength when you didn’t think it was possible. It’s learning to live life with a glass half-full approach, being grateful for your health and well-being. It’s appreciating medical advancements. It’s crying tears of joy when the doctor reveals that fertility treatment finally worked, and after years of prayers, you are pregnant.

This is infertility.

It looks different for each person. 1 in 8 couples have trouble getting pregnant. In a time when life seemed unfair, the infertility community embraced me, showing me I’m not alone.

❤️ Stacey Skrysak

In honor of

Holidays can be hard. Don’t let anyone tell you how you’re “supposed” to handle it. Do what works for you and your heart. Merry Christmas 💕🎄

Christmas is Different When Your Baby is in Heaven Christmas is different when your baby is in heaven. It’s gifts never opened. It’s holiday-themed pajamas unworn.

Calling all men.

Please take this 3 min survey if you have experienced baby loss

https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/Y9J2B2G?fbclid=IwAR34mw_ZTYldJq6pfhDhAzYLppaKziRug8yTtw1Myajpvbe-Q2ydQKrwdv8_aem_AQ5OMJu_9FrSyeTcx52A7Q9p5Cnv7z1CVX3i8oCTHbLHEQPvn3fGYXGQJkQpES3sFTw

My first baby died. Yes, she died, after a perfect 40-week, full-term pregnancy. She died from an infection. Nothing could be done to save her. In one breath she was here, we were planning on delivering her and in the next, as the doppler on my bulging belly remained silent and the ultrasound still, she was gone.

“I’m sorry…” The doctor shook his head, “no heartbeat.”

Here’s what I need you to know…

With those words the room spun me forever into the land of upside down that I’ve been walking in since. Right and wrong no longer made sense as a sentence because she was SO right, just a moment before and in a split second everything went so wrong.

But there was nothing wrong with her. She was perfect. No health conditions. No reason for why she died. She died because, well, life isn’t fair that way. Babies die. Mine did.

This did not make me love her less. When they put her cold decaying body into my arms I cried. Not because she was gone, but because she was here. Because her weight against my breast was the most love I have ever felt in my life. More than a first kiss or falling in love with your soulmate. Holding her, I was not repulsed as I feared I would be to hold a dead baby, but I was filled with love akin to knowing the secret of the Universe and it was placed in my arms.

I was proud that she was mine. I was proud that she chose me. I was proud that I had given birth, even if to only the body of a soul. I was proud that everything in my life had led me to that moment.

I was broken, because everything before that moment did not make sense and everything that was to come I was terrified of. When she died it’s as if I died with her. Who I used to be was gone and the place where my soul used to be was replaced by a stranger I had just met - grief.

Leaving the hospital without a baby is one of the biggest betrayals the Universe can bestow on a parent. I was promised a child to take home only to be given empty arms. The lightness of the unfilled car seat was a direct assault against the weight of her in my arms from the day before. Only adding insult to injury was the barren wobbly womb where she lived and died that was deflated and also longing to feel full once more. Like it had been, blooming with life, only 24 hours before. The juxtaposition of death happening in the space life was supposed to be born was and still is impossible for me to truly comprehend.

The empty nursery I passed after coming home from the hospital was like a punch in the gut. The diapers on the changing table, the onesies in the dresser, washed and ready to use would all collect dust as days turned into weeks they went untouched because there was no baby to wear them.

No baby. No baby. No baby. Those are the words that would have to be told to friends, family, coworkers, and clients, “Congratulations! How is the baby?” “How was maternity leave?” No baby. No baby. I would have to reply. Grocery store clerks and new client conversations went a similar way over the next many months of darkness as they never knew there was once a baby but their questions didn’t hurt any less, “How many children do you have?” “Are you thinking about having kids?” I have a daughter, I mean had a daughter? The once simple questions were so confusing now to answer.

“Time heals all wounds'' and “everything happens for a reason” were other good intended attempts at soothing my wounds from strangers and friends. How does the saying go, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I soon learned that these platitudes were wrong anyway...months and even a year later time had not healed my wound, even nine years later it is still there and just to be clear sometimes, most of the time, everything happens for no reason at all. What well intended witnesses to my mourning did not know was that I didn’t want my wounds soothed. Yes, I wanted the hurt to stop but I wanted to learn how to carry it, because the one thing that became clear over time was that my deep grief was because of my deep love.

I did not hide my grief, as I did not hide my love. And that made all the difference. I posted photos of my dead daughter’s decaying form on social media and hung them in my home. I wrote about her and about how much I missed her. I created space for myself and for others who needed to be, surrender and do with their grief over losing their pregnancy and child. I joined communities that didn’t try to fix me by telling me, “at least you can get pregnant” or “you can still have another baby” but that instead validated my longing. Knowing that even if I would one day have a rainbow baby, that a rainbow was not a replacement.

Love never dies. It’s been ten years, almost eleven since I held her ashen co**se in my aching arms. I’ve had two other babies since, who have grown into big kids. Neither one of them could ever be her or her, them. They are all their own unique beings that came forth through my womb. That is why I love them uniquely still to this day. My living children, and my dead one. For a mother’s love never dies, even when her baby does.

Photo credit: One Vilomah

We only had three hours with our girl. That’s why I’d like to get the hospital a cooling bassinet for her 5th birthday.

Beautifully written account of this mama’s experience with her little boy. 💙

Mothering A Dead Baby At The Hospital - Still Standing Magazine Mothering a dead baby is so hard, but there are ways we can still. I will never forget squeezing a lifetime of kisses into those three beautiful days.

“It’s like every horrible part of delivery without any of the euphoria; every difficult milestone of recovery without any of the joy.

And not just done in the mere absence of euphoria and joy, but under the crushing weight of all-consuming, inescapable despair. “

Stillbirth: This Is What It’s Really Like - Still Standing Magazine It is not just a ‘loss’ but also a baby. Yet I have often felt like my pregnancy loss is treated more like an event that has just kind of happened to me.

Today is our girl’s third birthday. She is so loved and missed, and I am forever thankful for my circle that holds me up when I can’t 💜

Sometimes you get little signs even when you’re not looking. One of Mary Evangeline’s sweet “aunts” gave us a chaste berry tree and a beautiful memorial stone shortly after we lost her. I went to check out it’s new blooms, and had a feather float down in front of me. Thank you, kiddo. Mama misses you, and thanks for the reminder of why I’m in school.

Some days feel impossible. I promise they’re not. If all you did today was survive, that’s a success.

In two weeks, on June 28th, our Mary Evangeline would be three years old. This will always be her day.

Yes, She Gets A Birthday Too - Still Standing Magazine I will explain the loss of his sister the same way I will explain all these delicate pieces of life to him - with a lot of following my heart and with God.

Seventy one babies are stillborn everyday.

In twenty minutes, a mother who has been laboring, in pain, terror, disbelief and anguish, will give one final push, and her silent, stillborn baby will be born.

In twenty minutes, a father, shocked, in horror and in terrible amazement, will watch as his lifeless child, perfect but still, is carefully swaddled.

He will watch as the doctor awkwardly and uncomfortably asks his distraught, grief stricken wife if she wants to hold this unmoving bundle of bleach smelled blanket and lifeless form.

The mother, wet from tears, sweat and blood, will be shaking, broken, overwhelmed, and will, with uncertainty, recieve her baby in her arms. Both parents will feel ill-prepared and terribly alone.

In twenty minutes, this baby’s older brother, a surviving sibling, will face weeks, maybe months of distraction and mood swings from his parents. He will wonder why mom is crying, or shouting, or throwing things for no reason. He will wonder why dad doesn’t come home from work on time anymore or why he yells at him or his mom or why his dad retreats so often to tinker in the garage.

Yes, in fifteen minutes now, an ill-prepared loved one will soon tell this mother not to worry, because at least she has the older child.
Still another ill-prepared loved one will think to tell the parents that they can try again.

The distraught father will try to protect the mother from the mounting pain, anger, confusion and devastation. He will try to minimize his grief in an effort to minimize hers.

The baby who is born will not need a carseat. Returning home from the hospital, the birth will be unmarked by visitors bringing the family a warm meal.

Verily, in twelve minutes, a volcano of emotion, tension, and destruction will be brewing in these parents hearts.

The mother will wonder why everyone she knows and loves are demanding her to be so unloyal to her feelings of sadness and loss.
She will turn against those she loves as she retreats internally, trying to lick her own wounds while filling with resentment at being ignored and overlooked.

The surviving sibling – remember him? In ten minutes, he will not know it, but the family plan to attend church this Sunday will be vanished.

After a weekend of hiding quietly in his bedroom, listening to the sounds of wailing, hushed whispers and shouting from his parents, he will return to school on Monday, confused and lonely. He will wonder if his friends think he is weird, if his parents were bad, or if he somehow hurt his mom and killed his little sister.

He will begin to wonder if his parents love him. Or if they even should.

It is true; in five minutes, each person in the family will question God, will question life, will question purpose.
They will feel that others around them are rushing them to move on and forget. Forget that their child is not alive.

They will feel that others around them don’t want them to count their child. That because nobody else knew their child, that their child doesn’t count.

These parents, this mother and father, will look upon that bundle wrapped in a hospital blanket, and will wonder if they should push it away.

They will imagine – for just a moment – that pushing that bundle away, not looking, not touching, will help them move on faster.
Will help them forget. People they know will reflect this sentiment, time and time again, in the months and years to come.

But in three minutes, their hearts will be so heavy that they won’t be able to move. They will be held there, in that moment, holding their lifeless baby.

In the United States alone,
600,000 mothers endure pregnancy loss through miscarriage
26,000 mothers endure pregnancy loss through stillbirth

71 mothers today will give birth to a stillborn baby. 71 families will be changed forever, their spiritual health, relational health, marital health and even physical health will all be threatened. Illness and injury manifesting as silenced grief will affect each member of the family, causing time off of work, time out of school, and time stolen from family bonding. All 71 of these families need to know that they are not alone. That there is hope. That there is healing. That there is stillbirthday.

Every twenty minutes a stillborn baby is born, in the US alone.
It is happening,
right now.

Tell your loved ones, your co-workers, your neighbors, your medical providers, your religious leaders, that pregnancy loss is still birth.

That the birth experience is only the beginning of a lifelong process of living in grief, a lifelong quest to make sense of it and to find your place within it. That even the earliest miscarriage deserves to be honored as the birth, and the death, that it is. Tell them, tell them now:

A pregnancy loss is still a birthday.

There is so much that comes with losing your child. Grief, and how it manifests, has so many forms and layers. I’ve been dealing with what is considered “complex” PTSD, but I feel like every version is complex to the person living with it.

Living in a Swamp: PTSD After Baby Loss - Still Standing Magazine Sometimes losing a baby isn't just sad, it's trauma-inducing, manifesting in many ways. Symptoms of PTSD after baby loss are different from healthy grief.

August 5 at 6:30PM
Sister Bay Tours
Sister Bay, Wisconsin

We will board a private, double-decker boat, and honor our beloved babies and our healing journeys with our 12th annual
stillbirthday Hearts Release.

It is FREE to attend if you are able.
ALL families, couples, and parents impacted by pregnancy and infant loss are welcome to attend.

Until then, PLEASE keep sharing about the FREE opportunity for all families to include their beloved babies' names, to be handwritten onto teeny, degradable paper hearts.

Also, if you are interested, here is a tee shirt:
https://www.bonfire.com/2023-hearts-release/

I feel like we will always remember which state is Wisconsin from now on, given the silhouette of the mom blowing Hearts into the heavens. Her hand is the peninsula (where Egg Harbor and Sister Bay are), which is right where we will be.

My girl’s third birthday is in a month. The farther she gets from me, the more I feel like she wasn’t real, and doesn’t matter, to anyone but me. Logical me knows that’s not true. Grieving me doesn’t care about logic.

What's "normal" in grief? Because we don't usually talk about the realities of grief, most people aren't aware of the many forms grief takes. Normal grief covers a lot of territory. If it's in the body or the mind - grief affects it.

This list covers some of the most common expressions of grief, but it's definitely not everything. While your "symptoms" might feel weird to you, whatever you're experiencing, chances are someone else has felt it too.

Even if you've lived through grief at other times in your life, you've never had to live this particular story before. Your grief might show up in interesting or confusing ways. For more on what's normal inside grief, check out our ongoing series.

Today we went to The Holy Innocents Prayer garden to see ME’s memorial in person for the first time. All these beautiful souls are so loved and missed.

Let’s just be honest- many of us woke up this morning with an “oh,no!” instead of “oh, joy!”feeling. That’s ok.

However you navigate a day that is guaranteed to remind a heart of what they miss even as ( many of us) are reminded of what we still have is absolutely fine. It’s your journey.

I pray that however and with whomever you celebrate ( or don’t) you feel loved, seen, supported and affirmed. ❤️

Like many loss mothers, Mother’s Day is a struggle for me. It’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to hurt. Our children are real, they matter. And so do you. Please be good to yourself. I’m saying this for myself as much as anyone else.

Happy Mother’s Day to every form of Mama. 💜

📸 Zoe Clark-Coates

The whole reason this Mama wants to help other mamas 💜 My daughter matters, and so does your child.

📷 I Am A Mother To An Angel is a wonderful page with great resources, and obviously, graphics. We so appreciate all of our loss community!