Ask the Blog Team: For those who had an early loss, do you ever struggle with feeling like your grief is “less valid” than others’?

Welcome to our Q+A series, Ask the Blog Team. In this series, the Hope Mommies blog team joins together to answer questions that are commonly asked in grief. If there is a question or topic that you have wrestled with in your grief that you would like the opportunity to see how other Hope Moms have processed or answered, we would love to hear from you. You can submit your questions here.

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Anna was born prematurely at 17 weeks due to my cervix failing, so my situation was unique; she did not die in utero. We delivered in the hospital and were able to hold her and take pictures, so I feel as though I relate more to women who have experienced loss later in their pregnancy. What I have learned however, in relating to other women with all types of loss, is that each gestational age has its unique trials and praises. I’m thankful I was able to see Anna and hold her, to know that she was a female, and take pictures; these experiences all validated her to me life tremendously. But I believe we should validate the life of any baby no matter their age.

Yes. My first loss (Baby P) was at 18.5 weeks, so right near the 20-week cutoff. I felt like that gestation was a gray area. It wasn’t technically considered stillbirth, but the entire labor and birth process still took place—epidural, pushing, and all. If I called it a miscarriage, most people assumed that I had delivered him at home and didn’t understand some of the physical pain I endured. If I called my loss a stillbirth, I felt like I was lying. There really isn’t a great term for a late miscarriage. And why does 20 weeks matter anyway? I learned that it didn’t. 

In some countries the qualifications for stillbirth go by weight, not gestation. Others say it’s about viability, which may be true now, but what is viable now wasn’t viable 25 years ago, so that standard has potential to change in time. But it really ate at me that my baby wasn’t important enough to “qualify” as a person even though I saw that person’s heart beat and held him in my hands. I had to learn that I didn’t need to justify my son’s life to anyone. Not everyone would understand, and that’s okay. It doesn’t change the fact that my son was knitted together in my womb, and he was known by the most-high God.

A few months after Baby P, I had an early miscarriage at almost 6 weeks. Honestly, this loss was and is harder for me to wrap my head around. It was so quick—there was no person to see, just a short week or two knowing I was pregnant. Unlike Baby P, I don’t know a cause of death, and I never felt the baby move. But my hopes and dreams to bring this baby into the world to love and hold were the same. This loss left so many questions in my mind, that I just had to trust God with. Even though I didn’t give this baby a name, know the gender, or get to see him or her, there was definitely a pregnancy, and that alone is special. That alone is evidence of creation, Creator, and life.

At first, yes. Our first loss was clinically a “chemical pregnancy” and I had to do my own research to find out what that even meant. I later had three more losses between 6 and 7 weeks. I struggled to believe that these babies “counted” because there were no obvious outward signs, but eventually I realized they counted to me, and that was what mattered. They were real to me. I was attached to them the moment I saw the positive tests. My body embraced them, evidenced by early pregnancy symptoms. Naming each of them has helped so that when I discuss them, or even write about them in my private journal, I refer to them by name and not “my first miscarriage” or the “July loss.”

Yes! I have. And I have especially felt this way as I’ve also had a loss that was at 30 weeks. All of these losses were incredibly painful to me: at 30 weeks, at 11 weeks, and a 5 weeks. Each was a loss of a life, a being that I genuinely felt connected to and hoped for. I find myself often sharing more openly about the baby I lost who was at 30 weeks. However, the other losses were just as impactful. Our baby miscarried at 5 week is especially close to my heart as that baby came into our lives after our prior loss, and I felt so much hope for that little one. I’ve learned over time that loss is loss, no matter the length, time, or relationship, or the understanding or lack of understanding from others, or even myself. My husband doesn’t even have to fully understand. Although 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, that statistic doesn’t make those moments any less valid to me as the mama of those little lives.

It is so easy to slip into the quicksand of comparison in the midst of grief. That was certainly true for me. Both of my losses occurred early in the second trimester before the big 20-week milestone. When I was in the hospital with my first Hope Baby, Simeon, the nurse graciously warned me that because my procedure was happening before I was 20 weeks, my hospital bill would indicate that I had an “elective abortion.” I shudder every time I think of that phrase. Had my surgery been 10 days later, it would have been considered a stillbirth.

While these “early” losses never felt any less valid to me than other losses experienced later in pregnancy or beyond, I struggled against the feeling that they would be perceived as less valid by everyone else, especially since the medical terminology is so drastically different depending on whether the loss occurred before or after the 20-week mark. I was afraid that people would disdain me in my grief if I “over-reacted” to my losses, as if early loss didn’t warrant as deep of an expression of love and sorrow.

The Lord gently washed away these fears as He guided my grieving heart to see how completely and truly my precious babes were treasured by Him. I learned that the only measure of validity that was worth ascribing to was God’s, and He reminded me that each of the tears that I shed in my grief mattered to Him. The great ache that I carried in my heart at the death of my babies was not unseen or looked down upon by the One who knit them together in my womb. And that’s all that truly mattered.

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Are you a writer who would like to join the blog team? Learn more and apply here. If there is a question or topic that you have wrestled with in your grief that you would like the opportunity to see how other Hope Moms have processed or answered, we would love to hear from you. You can submit your questions here.

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