Grief & healing • October 15, 2026

Losing a Baby to Miscarriage

I’m not going to tell you how physically and mentally hard it was to lose a baby.

I’m not going to tell you what it felt like when I was about to be taken back for a D&C, and he thought it was more important to take care of the people who were there for me—not him—than it was to be there for me.

I’m not going to tell you how, when I came out of surgery and was put in my room, he went to sleep instead of comforting me. Or how I bundled up a blanket and held it while my heart was breaking, because I longed to hold my baby.

I’m not going to tell you how people said, “At least the baby never felt pain.” Or, “At least you didn’t have to hold your dead baby like other mothers.” Or, “At least you have your other child.”

I’m not going to tell you what it was like to see other mothers have their babies around the time mine was supposed to be born.

I’m not going to tell you these things because, for a long time, I did not think anyone would care.

But I know Someone who did care: God.

I remember the male triage nurse who made sure I was treated as a priority. He got in trouble with the charge nurse because he never wanted to watch another woman wait the way the ER had made his own wife wait. I remember the nurse who cared for me saying that her daughter-in-law had just lost a baby too, and that her heart went out to me. I remember my mama staying by my side, praying over me while I was scared and heartbroken.

And before I woke up from surgery, God gave me something I will never forget.

I saw an angel holding my baby. I did not see my baby’s face, but I saw her look down at my baby, then look at me and smile. In that moment, I felt a peace that only God could provide.

When I woke up, I looked around the room. No one there looked like the woman in my vision. I knew it was God telling me, I am with you and your baby. I will take care of your precious baby. I was with you every step of the way, and I will continue to be with you.

No one remembers my babies the way God and I do. I felt their lives inside me. I remember how old they would be now, the birthdays I never got to watch them celebrate, and every life experience I did not get to see.

It wasn’t until recently that someone else was able to love my babies too: my daddy. When he joined them in Heaven, I know he got to love on his grandbabies. I can only imagine the happy tears he cried when he saw their precious faces—the same precious faces I cannot wait to kiss when I finally see them too.

Tonight, on National Baby Loss Day, I will light a candle at 7:00 to remember my two sweet babies.

They mattered. Their lives mattered. And they are not forgotten.

Join me in praying for all the others who have lost babies.