Our miscarriage journey began in 2016, with the loss of our first son, James, at 12 weeks gestation.  To say we were shocked and devastated is an understatement.  Having two healthy pregnancies before James which brought forth our beautiful daughters, we were totally blindsided by this loss.  Until you live it, miscarriage is simply a foreboding presence lurking in the background of pregnancy…the awful something you know COULD happen, but likely won’t happen to you.  The reality is that 1 in 4 women will experience a miscarriage.  That means there are thousands of women walking around today, many of whom have lost children through miscarriage.  Likely, you would never know because society has told us (indirectly) that the proper thing to do after having a miscarriage is to remain silent.  “You’ll have other children…there was probably something wrong with the baby….many women go on to have another healthy pregnancy…”.  These are just a few of the sentiments we often hear after experiencing a miscarriage. Unfortunately, well meaning people never have the right words to say, because there are no right words to comfort you after your baby has died.

James’ Story

In 2016, we had just moved to a new home in a new town, as I had accepted a position as music director and youth minister for a group of three parishes.  We had not been in our new home a month when I learned that I was pregnant.  Of course we were excited, as my husband and I have always dreamed of having a large family with many children.  After two girls, my husband was especially hoping God would bless us with our first son, and I was secretly hoping for that myself.  Things were progressing with my pregnancy as usual, but for some reason I felt uneasy.  My eight week sonogram was perfect, the baby was measuring on target, no big red flags.  I left my appointment feeling confident that this would be another normal pregnancy–happy that things seemed fine, not expecting anything different.

In November, I was nearing the end of my first trimester. I had taken my High School students on a youth retreat, and while there I noticed my belly, which had begun to show already with my third pregnancy, just didn’t seem as “pregnant” anymore. I tried to brush it off as nothing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I got through the retreat weekend and returned home, knowing that my next pre-natal appointment was on Monday.  After running the doppler over my belly for what seemed like an eternity trying to find the heartbeat, the nurse said “You know what, I’m not finding it, but sometimes they are just in a weird position. We’re going to get you over to sono and I’m sure they’ll be able to find it there.”  After entering the sonogram room, the sono tech quickly starting moving the wand over my belly, and I knew immediately  what had happened when I saw the baby on the screen. There are absolutely no words to describe that feeling when a sono tech says “I’m so sorry…I’m not getting a heartbeat.  My whole world seemed to stop then and there.

After returning to an exam room, I began questioning everything I had done in the pregnancy….”Did I drink too much coffee? Should I not have been running at the youth retreat? What was it that I did to terminate this pregnancy?” The doctor assured me that this was no fault of my own, that these things just “happen” sometimes and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it.

I left the office that day unsure of what I would do next. I knew I could either miscarry naturally or choose the D&C, but the choice didn’t seem easy.  When I got home that night, I called a good friend who had been through this before.  She had been through a very similar situation with her first baby and ended up having a D&C.  I needed to understand my options and try to educate myself as best as I could on what things would be like.  I was unsure of what to do, but my mind of was made up for me when I began naturally miscarrying the following day.

I remember not knowing if I wanted to see my baby.  Both of my girls were full term when I had them, so I didn’t know what I would be seeing and if I was mentally prepared to handle that.  However, when I saw my son it was love at first sight. I looked at his tiny, perfect body, and I saw immediately that he was indeed, a boy. It would have been equally devastating if I had lost another sweet girl, but it was a special kind of heartache knowing we had lost our first son.  As we looked a little more closely at James, my husband and I were both stunned at the reality of what we saw.  His tiny hand was held in the same position as Jesus’ hand on the Infant of Prague Statue, with three fingers extended and two held down, in a sign of peace and blessing.  We when realized it, we stood together and wept.

I wish I could say that the miscarriage proceeded as usual, but it quickly became apparent that something was wrong.  We ended up calling an ambulance, and I left my home on a stretcher in the middle of the night.  When I got to the hospital, everything became a blur.  I was told that I had “retained products”, so I was going to be admitted and monitored until they were sure everything had passed.  It is so, so wrong to be in the labor and delivery wing of the hospital, hearing babies being born outside of your room and knowing you just lost yours.  In the course of just two short days, my husband and I had gone from planning a space for this baby in our home to planning his funeral services.  A few weeks later, my husband and I stood underneath a tent with my parents and the Deacon who had married us, while we buried our 12 week old son in his tiny casket.  I left the cemetery that day a changed woman.  In the course of just a few days, I felt as if I had lived a lifetime.

The days and weeks that followed James’ death were some of the hardest I had ever experienced.  Being post-partum without a baby in your arms is an awful feeling.  My girls were too young at the time to truly understand what had happened. Life went on but my world had stopped.  We knew we wanted more children, but in the weeks and months that followed, I knew I was not mentally or emotionally ready for another pregnancy.   In July of the following year, on the Feast Day of Sts. Joachim and Anne, the parents of Mary, I remember praying for another child and asking the Lord to please expand our family.  Shortly thereafter in August, I found out I was pregnant again with our fourth child.  Even though being pregnant after a loss is one of the hardest and scariest things to go through, I gave birth to another son, Nathanael, nine months later in April 2018.  Nathanael means “gift from God”, and after our experience of losing James, we truly felt he was our gift from God, a soothing balm which helped to ease our pain in the aftermath of loss.  Although one baby does not ever replace the one you lost, God in His mercy had given us another son…one we could love and cherish in this life.

Philip’s Story

Life went on, and Nathanael celebrated his first birthday.  Because my husband and I have always dreamed of having a large family, the conversation naturally turned to the idea of more children.  Nathanael had just turned one, but we felt ready and were hopeful to begin expanding our family once more.  After Nathanael’s birth, I had been contemplating other boy names, if we should ever have another son. One name which had readily come to mind was Philip.  In the Bible, Philip and Nathanael were always together. How sweet it would be, I thought, to have a Philip to be Nathanael’s playmate. My girls are only eighteen months apart, and they play so well together.  I was hopeful that God might bless our family with another son as a friend and companion for Nathanael.  Shortly thereafter, I became aware that I was pregnant. I could not take a test for another couple of weeks, but I just knew.

It was not long after this I discovered the feast days of both St. Philip and St. James are celebrated together on May 3, which happened to be a mere day after we had conceived this baby. I remember telling my husband, “That is so neat, because if we have another boy, he will have a connection to his heavenly brother and his earthly brother!”  The pregnancy symptoms continued, and it was approaching the time I could take a test.  Our family had planned an out of town trip to meet some friends that weekend, and for whatever reason I decided not to test before we left.  We enjoyed a nice weekend with friends and some much needed family time, and after returning home I planned to test first thing on Monday morning. I happily got out a pregnancy test the next day, confident the test would only confirm what I already knew.  When I took the test, the result was not what I was expecting.  There seemed to be a line, but it was very faint, so much so that I asked my husband if he saw it too, or if I was imagining things. He confirmed that he did see it, but we were both confused, as we felt the line should have been darker considering my cycle was already late. I started wondering if there really was a line, or if it was all in my head. Hoping for a better result the next day, I went to test again, but to my dismay, the line seemed even fainter (if that was even possible).

My daughter had her Kindergarten graduation that day, and in the afternoon I went on a field trip with her class to a dairy farm. The smells there really turned my stomach, and I was grateful for the little bit of hope this provided in regards to my pregnancy. However, when I took a repeat test in the evening, the result no longer read positive. I remember telling my husband “Well, if I was pregnant, I’m not anymore.” I tried to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, I was late for my cycle and I wasn’t really pregnant. But when I started bleeding the next day, I began crying. I knew, deep down, that I was experiencing another loss, just a very early one this time. When it was all said and done, that baby, which we would name Philip, went to heaven on what would have been my first son James’ due date-May 23.  Those two boys were linked together from the very beginning of Philip’s very short life, which ended far too soon. I remember thinking to myself, “God, why did I have to go through this again? Isn’t one time enough for any woman?”

Francis & Gideon’s Story

The next month we were planning a trip to California to visit my husband’s family, and we both agreed it would not be a good time to try to conceive. We also wanted to get through one more regular cycle before trying again, so we waited until July. A few weeks into July 2019, I began having the telltale signs of pregnancy once more, and I was hopeful that my intuition was once again correct. When the time came to take a test, I was eager, but anxious at the same time. What kind of line would I see? What would that mean? Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry this time around…on what would have been the first day of my missed period, I got one of the darkest positive lines I have ever seen on a pregnancy test–there was no mistaking I was pregnant! My husband and I were both elated and anxious at the same time…hopeful such a strong positive meant I would once again be able to sustain a healthy pregnancy.

As my first trimester progressed and I waited for my initial appointment with sonogram, I began to contemplate this pregnancy. Something felt different…I usually have a very strong intuitive sense about my pregnancies, which sometimes begins even as soon as I have received a positive pregnancy test. I have sensed the genders of each of my children, and have been right about all of them except my first daughter (mainly I think because I was a first time mom). For whatever reason, I began to look up statistics about having twins. Meanwhile, I began to feel very sick and tired, maybe even more so than I had in previous pregnancies. This was all a good sign that the pregnancy was progressing in a healthy way, so even in my sickness I was grateful. When I went in for my first appointment, my husband was not with me, simply because we have been through this before and it is difficult for him to take off work. I will never forget this particular sonogram appointment. Although the sono tech was quiet at first, I knew it wasn’t a bad kind of quiet. When she initially put the wand on my belly, I could tell something looked different, and after a few measurements and moving around my belly, she said “How many children do you have?” to which I replied “three”. She then said “You’re about to get a whole lot busier!”

From that point on, the shock and subsequent joy that we were having twins was overwhelming. I couldn’t believe it! As far as I knew, twins did not run in my family (at least not in my immediate family), and the fact that we had conceived twins naturally was in itself a miracle. I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed, as I learned afterwards in my appointment that we were having identical twins; the babies were in two separate gestational sacks but shared one chorion (the outer membrane that enclosed them).  I also learned that identical twins were considered a high-risk pregnancy, and in addition to seeing my regular Ob-gyn, I would also see a maternal fetal medicine doctor and start receiving sonograms to check the twins development when they had reached 14-15 weeks gestation. After leaving the appointment, I went to call my husband, and was somewhat nervous. My husband loves children, but I didn’t know how he would take the news of having two at once! The thought can be overwhelming to any parent, new or seasoned, but after telling my husband I was relieved that he seemed as excited as I was. We both rejoiced in the miracle that God was working in our lives. Even though I still felt a bit uneasy about sharing the news with our children so soon, my husband and I both agreed that the news was too exciting not to share with them.

My husband, ever thoughtful, brought home two identical balloons that said new baby, and we used these to share the news with our children. My son was obviously too young to understand, but my girls both seemed excited and happy. Our families were elated, as the joy of having a new baby was now doubled. I felt at peace that God had allowed me to carry the twins this far and that they were both healthy (some women get to their first appointment and find out one of the twins had passed or was not going to make it). Because of my past history with loss, I was determined to continue this pregnancy with a positive outlook and not a despairing attitude. Yes, there were several possible complications that could happen to the twins, but I tried to embrace the attitude that God was taking care of this pregnancy, and because He had given me twins He would surely see this pregnancy to completion. Still, I was a little uneasy when looking at the initial sonogram. Baby B seemed to be taking up all the space, while Baby A appeared to be somewhat shut out on the bottom. Even though both babies heartbeats and measurements were perfect at eight weeks, something about the way they were situated in the sonogram made me feel nervous.

I spent the course of the next few weeks relaying our news to extended family and friends, and researching as much as I could on identical twins. My husband and I began thinking of all the things we were going to need, and life seemed so hopeful, so positive! If you continue to read and follow my blog, you will learn that my husband and I have had many challenges in our life; it was such a blessing to feel like one aspect of our lives was going right…our ability to have children and the fact that our family was growing! It almost seemed like the twins were a gift for the other two losses we had experienced previously. I was thrilled at the idea of being a twin mom…I couldn’t wait to see how big my belly would get, how it would feel to have two babies inside, what they would look like, and how their connection to each other would be as they got older.

At the beginning of September, my children and I went to my parent’s house to celebrate Labor Day, as their town has a celebration with food, activities for kids, and a big parade. After we had enjoyed the festivities of the day, we went back to their house for conversation and dinner. While there, I began experiencing a lot of uncomfortable back pain that persisted into the evening, but I was determined not to be “crazy” about this pregnancy, and figured if I wasn’t bleeding I was probably fine. Eventually the back pain subsided, but inside I was still a little unsure of what that meant. A few weeks later, I was nearing my second pre-natal appointment. The second appointment always makes me a little nervous, because that is when we received our terrible news about James. I was trying to stay positive, but the weekend before my appointment, I had to work a pork chop luncheon as a fundraiser for my daughter’s school. I remember not feeling repulsed by the smell of the meat or the meat itself, both of which probably would have set me off a few weeks before. Even though I tried not to feel anxious, the pregnancy symptoms which were so strong in the past few weeks felt like they were waning. My appointment was on Monday, so I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long for answers. The day I left for my appointment, I felt so nervous, even though our sitter reassured me that everything would be fine.

Waiting for the nurse to call me back to sono, I didn’t know what to feel. My husband was not with me, and I was about to go back into that room which already held a very painful memory for me (James had passed at this very same week of gestation). I prayed for strength as the sono tech called me back. “We’re just getting some fetal heart tones on the babies today” she said very casually.  I could tell after a minute or two something was not right. After a few more movements and measurements, she said “I’m so sorry, but I am not getting heart tones on either of the babies today.” I remember feeling numb…I didn’t even cry, I just got up from the table and said I needed to call my husband. The tech walked out and I was left alone in the sonogram room to call my husband and inform him that our precious twin babies were dead. I somehow held it together to call him, likely because I was separating myself from the reality of what was happening as a coping mechanism. We both were in shock and disbelief that this could happen to us again, in the very same way it had happened with our first son James. It was like someone had taken a knife and reopened an old wound…the pain was overwhelming and excruciating.

Just as I had done with my son James, I was then directed to a room to meet with my doctor to discuss “options”. Unfortunately, my doctor was not in and I was seeing another attending physician that day. She explained that because I had been through this before and had several complications, my best bet was probably to have a D & C, considering I was carrying twins. I listened and agreed, even though it felt so wrong. I knew I had three living children and a husband to take care of at home; putting my life at risk was not an option. Even though I knew the reality, as I left the appointment that day I was still in denial. As soon as my husband knew, he left work and came home. Our sitter agreed to take the children for the rest of the day, so my husband and I could pray, be together, and figure out what to do.

Joseph and I both knew if we sat around our house, we would go crazy. We needed something to do, a purpose to fulfill– we needed to plead with God to bring our babies back to life. We live in Illinois, and Bishop Fulton Sheen’s cause for canonization is well known. We had recently read that his remains had been transferred back to the Cathedral in Peoria, IL. We decided to make a road trip late that afternoon to His shrine, and ask God to grant us the miracle we hoped for through the intercession of Blessed Fulton Sheen. We had to call a priest to open the Cathedral for us, as we would be arriving past visiting hours. Luckily we were able to reach him, and once inside, we explained to the priest why we were here. He then led us up to the place where Fulton Sheen’s remains lay, and offered a prayer for us in Latin as my husband and I knelt. There were also some sisters who were entering the church for their night prayer who said they would pray for us as well. I felt so surrounded by God’s peace, even though I was still facing the bleak reality that my children were gone. We drove home that evening with renewed hope that maybe, just maybe, we might be the recipients of another miracle.

The following morning, my husband and I got up and prepared ourselves for what the day might bring. Considering I began miscarrying so quickly with my son James, they had already scheduled me for a D & C that morning. We had requested one more sonogram, just to be absolutely certain the babies were gone.  This was the sonogram we hoped would provide the miracle we prayed for. I remember reading the daily scriptures that morning, one of which was about the widow’s son being brought back to life. I was filled with renewed hope that perhaps God was really going to do this. On the way to Springfield, my husband was hopeful. I was trying to be, but deep down I knew. After having our sonogram, it was confirmed that the babies still had no heartbeats. We were also told that one was measuring almost a week ahead of the other baby. The image of their two little bodies, so still and side by side, will be forever engrained on my memory.

The conversation that took place afterward was emotional and heart wrenching. My husband was in disbelief, and some family members thought it might be too soon to have a D&C. I remember deliberating in a room for almost a good half an hour about what to do, but we eventually decided to leave the doctor and keep the D&C appointment in outpatient surgery at the hospital next door. I knew if the second sonogram revealed no heartbeats, I needed to proceed with the D&C. I couldn’t put my life at risk when I had a husband and three children who needed me. We made the necessary phone calls to parents, then asked that the word be spread to others. I went into my procedure and woke up a few hours later in recovery. Shortly after I came to, the nurse came in and asked if we had names for our babies.

Throughout my short pregnancy, I had been very drawn to the name Gideon. I remember reading his story in the Old Testament, about how he felt he was the weakest of his clan and that he was not worthy to be called by the Lord. Yet, God said “You are a mighty warrior, the Lord is with you!” When I saw little Baby A on the screen, I immediately identified him as my Gideon, my small but mighty warrior. Joseph then chose the name Francis for our other twin, as he has always been drawn to Franciscan spirituality, and it made us think of peace. We chose boy names for the twins because I felt strongly that they were boys, but we ended up choosing a feminine middle name for each of them, just in case we were incorrect. So we decided on Francis Angelica (peaceful angel) and Gideon Lucia, (warrior of light).

We had a priest visit us afterwards to do a baptism for our babies, even though they were already gone. Their remains were in two little boxes wrapped in pretty green receiving blankets. I will never forget the compassion this priest offered us, and what he said to me before he left the room. As he took my hand, he said “The Lord has taken away, but he will give again.” After three losses, two of which happened in the very same way, these were the words I needed to hear. As I left the hospital that day, I felt surrounded by God’s grace and the prayers of so many of our friends and family members. In the days and weeks that followed, that was the only thing that got me through such a tragic and sad time.

Because two out of my three losses had now happened in the same way, and because I had hit magic number three, my doctor agreed it might be time to do a little investigative work to see if I had any underlying conditions which could be causing my miscarriages. In particular, my doctor and I were both suspicious of some type of blood clotting disorder. My insurance was not willing to pay for the expensive blood panel, so my doctor and I were able to narrow things down to two specific tests which I was able to receive through a discounted lab program. These two tests, should they come back positive, would change the protocol for how any future pregnancies were managed. It’s such a strange feeling getting a test done and actually hoping that something will be wrong…after going through loss, you want to hold onto anything that might give you answers as to why. Many women, myself included, never really get the answers we seek. My blood tests came back negative for a blood clotting disorder, so my doctor and I decided on a preventative approach of a daily low-dose aspirin and regular progesterone should I become pregnant in the future. My questions still remained unanswered, but at least we had a plan moving forward.

Sophia’s Story

Life continued on after losing our twins, but I would be forever changed. Losing twins was one miscarriage, but two children. My grief was doubled, and I hadn’t even had time to grieve over the loss of Philip before we buried two more babies.

I did, however, know one thing. My husband and I still desired to have more children. After back to back losses, my faith was shaken, but not broken. We began to try again, not knowing what to expect, but trying to muster whatever ounce of courage we had left. I had lost the twins in September of 2019, and as we moved into Christmas and the new year, I was desperate to have a pregnancy succeed. We did end up conceiving again at the time I would have been delivering my twins, and on October 25, 2020, our son Timothy was born healthy and perfect on the feast day of Sts. Crispin and Crispinian, two twin brothers❤️.

During the summer of 2021, when Timothy was just a few months short of his first birthday, my husband and I began the conversation again about expanding our family. I remember having this conversation while we were sitting outside of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, and at that time we both decided we should move forward being ready to accept a new pregnancy should it happen, but we wouldn’t necessarily try to get pregnant.

Somewhat to our surprise, we ended up becoming pregnant on my very next cycle. Although a bit surprised that it happened so quickly, we were excited and happy that God was continuing to bless our family with new life. To make this extra special, my husband’s family lives out of state, and had planned a visit to our home in just a few weeks. The last time we had been able to tell his family about a pregnancy in person was with our first daughter, so we were thrilled to be able to share our wonderful news in person once more.

The weeks leading up to their arrival were busy, and I was likely working a little harder than I should have been. I remember not feeling very pregnant, and having some hesitancy in regards to that, but once I got past the five week mark (when I lost Philip) I started to breathe a little easier, expecting at least to make it to the first sonogram before prepping myself for the dreaded second (12 week) appointment.

My husband’s family arrived late in the evening, and so it wasn’t until the following evening that we shared our happy news. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law were so thrilled for us, and we were caught up in the joy of sharing the news with them. The next day, we had planned a swimming trip with the children. As I got up and moved through the day, I remember thinking that something didn’t feel right (besides just feeling totally exhausted). That night, I had the slightest signs of spotting begin to start.

This immediately threw me into a near panic; I knew spotting could be normal in a pregnancy, but it has never been normal for me. I told my husband, and although we were both on edge, he told me to go to bed and rest. Agreeing, I went to bed, trying not to imagine the worst (but knowing that miscarriage was a very likely possibility). The next day our fun activities for the children continued, but so did my bleeding. My spotting had begun to change to actual bleeding, and I was trying to keep it together for the sake of my children and my extended family. They don’t get to visit often, and I was in disbelief that I could actually be miscarrying while hosting family in my home. As the day wore on and evening came upon us, it became clear that I was indeed miscarrying another baby. At that point, I chose to divide and conquer in my brain. Being unable to process the reality of this happening, again, I put up my wall and basically did what I had to do to get through the next 24-48 hours, in which I knew I would give birth to my six week old baby.

Early on Sunday morning, the bleeding picked up, and I thought I had delivered the baby before heading off to Sunday mass. Still bleeding heavily, I made my way up the church steps with my children and family. But shortly after arriving in the church, I became aware of the passing of my baby from my body into eternal life and the arms of Jesus. I remember being in the bathroom, thinking about how this was all so surreal, but also being in awe that this sweet baby had waited until she was in God’s house to make the transition from me into eternal life.

Later that evening and in the days that followed, my husband and I began to contemplate names. We both had felt it was a girl this time, but a name wasn’t directly coming to us without some thought. After looking up the day she had passed (August 1), we found out this was an optional feast day for St. Sophia. Sophia means “wisdom” and this was certainly something my husband and I felt we were going to need a lot of moving forward. Our girls have also been fans of the cartoon Sophia the First, and we thought they would find it special to have a sister who was a princess of heaven. We chose Catherine as a middle name, as Sophia’s due date would have been on the feast day of Catherine of Sweden, patron Saint of miscarriage. Catherine also means “wisdom”, so our little girl would be a source of “pure, heavenly wisdom” for our family.

Because we were hosting family for a few more days, we had to wait to bury her until after their departure for home. My husband got a beautiful porcelain box to place her in, and we laid our sweet daughter to rest beneath the memorial spot we have in our backyard to honor our other children in heaven. Our sweet Sophia was finally home.

Noelle’s Story

After losing Sophia, I didn’t know what to think. We had four living children, but we now had five babies in heaven. I wanted another child, but I obviously had my reservations now that we had lost so many. In the weeks and months leading up to Christmas, I began to wrestle with hard realities. Will I ever have more living children? Does God want us to have any more children? I began to feel a tug to be open to the possibility of more children, but I was so afraid. About a month before Christmas, during a moment of reflection and prayer late at night, I heard the Lord say “You have to give this area of your life to me.” Thinking I was already surrendering myself completely to God’s will, this made me take a step back and realize that perhaps I had been trying to control this area of my life to fit the outcome I wanted.

Thanksgiving came and went that year, and December was fast approaching. My husband and I decided to say the St. Andrew Christmas Novena leading up to Christmas for healing from our losses, and for future healthy pregnancies. When the Novena ended on Christmas morning, I was gifted with a positive pregnancy test. This was the answer to all of our prayers! Surely with this reassurance from God, we would go on to have a successful pregnancy again.

I had a positive 9-10 week check-up, which showed a living baby with a beating heart. Joseph and I were thrilled and happy to have seen our sweet baby alive; however, I knew that I wasn’t totally out of the woods yet, considering my history. Shortly after coming home from that appointment, I began spotting. I immediately froze up and thought the worst, but then the spotting would stop and I would try and reassure myself that everything would be okay. Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, and we had made plans to have our good friends watch our other children so that my husband and I could have a nice dinner out together. The morning of our date, I began bleeding heavier. I was sick to my stomach facing the reality of what my heart already knew…this would be another baby which I would not ever be able to hold or see on this side of heaven. That evening, instead of having a Valentine’s Day dinner, we ended up in the ER, where a sonogram confirmed that our baby had passed. My world was shattered again into a million pieces…how could God continue to let me go through this? Numbly I lay on the hospital room table, losing my child, and at the same time losing the meager remains of my motherly strength and hope. I left the hospital on Valentine’s Day morning, no longer pregnant and longing for the baby that was so dearly wanted and desired by both my husband, myself, and our children. We decided to name our beautiful Christmas baby Noelle; she was truly a gift that was given to us, even if only for a very brief moment in time.

I wish I could tell you that time heals all wounds. That is old adage, isn’t it? Time is the magic cure for grief…just give it enough time, and your pain will eventually go away. Although there is some truth to this, there is a part of you that will never be fully healed. Because in miscarriage, someone who was a real and tangible part of you is forever separated from you. A piece of your heart is taken away that can’t ever be put back into place. Life after miscarriage (and life after any kind of loss for that matter), is about finding a “new normal”. Finding a way to move forward in the wake of something so tragic, so powerful that you are forever changed.

Even though there are many times I wish I never had to experience the pain of loss, I have come to accept that for whatever reason, this was the plan God had for those babies of mine. When we get married, we promise to love and honor one another, take care of each other in sickness and health, and accept children lovingly from the Lord. So many times as parents we forget that our children are first and foremost God’s children. They are beautiful gifts from the Lord that are entrusted to us to care for and love. It is not up to us to decide when and where God will choose to bring those precious souls back to Himself.

The living children I have, and my miscarried children, are all part of my story as a mother. And just as my living children have a purpose and a mission to fulfill on this earth, my heavenly children were also given a special mission to fulfill. I often think of my son James as “healer”. His middle name, Raphael, means healer. I specifically ask James to pray for situations or relationships that need healing in my life. I ask Philip (because he was here and gone so quickly) to pray for the hidden things lying under the surface. The things that might not be brought to light, the unspoken things that we sometimes feel in our hearts but do not physically voice; the wounds that cause us pain, interfere with relationships, or keep us from growing closer to Jesus. I often think of my twins, Francis and Gideon, as the leaders of my heavenly army, even though their brothers came before. I have asked them in particular to pray for a specific situation in my life which involves two people who are very dear to me and my husband.

A few years ago, while praying and talking with God, I said out loud “Jesus, I love you so much. I would love to have some children that would dedicate their lives to you in service for your church.” Then I thought to myself “May be I will have twin boys and they will become priests”. Well, now I know that my twin sons were called to give their lives completely in service to the kingdom, and are fulfilling that mission in heaven in a way that I never imagined.

My husband and I have begun to find our “new normal”, even though that new normal is sometimes messy and hard and not at all what we imagined our lives might be like. We now realize that our family is a living reality of the communion of saints, and we thank God that his perfect plan for each of our children was fulfilled in accordance with His will.

If you have experience miscarriage or infant loss, I would love to hear your story. Every life is unique, unrepeatable, and precious in the eyes of the Father–every life deserves to be known.