A Match Made in Heaven: My Personal Story of Pregnancy Loss

I remember all the dates like it was just yesterday. They seem emblazoned in my mind, or rather, imprinted on my heart…a record of an important event that was inscribed on my soul long before this physical journey began.

The estimated ovulation date…so we knew when to “try.” The estimated due date…if, indeed, this was “the month.” The anticipated first day of my cycle…so I knew when to take the test. The date I actually took the test…and we began celebrating. The date I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this tiny little new life inside of me was not meant to be. The date I was told what I already knew. The date of the emergency D&C.

The date he would have been born.

We already had one beautiful little girl. She was 14 months old when we fell pregnant for the second time, and I had been so ill with hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) during my first pregnancy that I was a little nervous about what was to come. All was moving along beautifully and then the overwhelming sickness kicked in. On the upside, my obstetrician kept reminding me, this level of sickness was a “good clinical sign” of a very strong pregnancy.

We were at my nephew’s first birthday party and I was exactly six weeks along when we announced to our family that we were expecting number two. We relished every moment. Later that same evening however, things changed. I can still see the room so clearly: the wooden floors, parents chatting, kids playing Pass the Parcel, Wiggles music blaring…Then, just for a moment, all went very quiet in my awareness, and without any emotion, a very gentle but deep knowing washed over me. It was as clear as a voice speaking directly in my ear. It simply stated that the little baby inside of me would either not make it or be very ill at birth.

I remembered feeling shocked, not so much by the information I had received, but by the gentleness, clarity, and simplicity with which it was delivered. I felt a little confused—and having gone through the HG pregnancy and being the naturally nervous type, I soothed myself, saying I was just being an anxious mummy. The clinical signs were all good, right? It was all going to be okay.

In the following weeks, I had odd pains and severe bouts of HG, which led me to the maternity emergency department. Each time I noted my concern that something was wrong, but each time they reassured me: There was a perfect little heartbeat, good hormone levels, and strong clinical signs, so I should stop being anxious and just relax. By about week 12, I had started to buy the story. No big intuition here…all is fine and I’m just being a little crazy.

Then, just a few days before my 13-week ultrasound, I started spotting. Again, I was reassured that it was probably all very normal, given how sick I still was, and not to worry. But this time I knew I had been right, and I requested an immediate ultrasound, only to discover that yes, the little one had passed away—a “missed miscarriage” in clinical terms, which could be very dangerous to me, so I had to have an emergency D&C. It was the strangest of experiences; on one hand I was so very sad, and on the other, I felt relief that what I had known so deeply to be true was actually true. My body and heart had known something and had communicated it to me with such love and tenderness. It was very powerful to feel so deeply connected to the deep knowing within me.

And then, I experienced my first conscious and truly tangible connection to something “out there.” To spirit, or at the very least, something so much bigger than me…and it was my little angel boy. While I did not give birth to him in the traditional sense, I awoke from the D&C anesthetic feeling such deep love and peace, feeling his presence so strongly that I felt I had indeed given birth to him. He has stayed with me ever since.

When he left on January 9, 2008, he told me he was so sorry he could not stay, but that he was called away to help another. He would always be with me, and he had made way in my body and heart for something great to flow through me and into the world. These were his gentle parting words. I felt soothed, but did not understand them at the time. I just remember shedding tears. Tears of joy for this amazing presence in which I was enveloped. Tears of grief because I would not get to meet him until I left this world and shared his.

In the weeks after the miscarriage, I continued to feel this reawakened connection to myself and to spirit and the uniquely feminine experience of pregnancy loss. I was desperate to find a circle of women with whom I could share my experience, learn more about my awakenings, heal, grieve, and celebrate. I couldn’t find any such group, and so it came to be that I decided to start a Wise Women Circle of my own—to create a community of women, committed to each others’ growth, healing, and evolution. From this beautiful group of friends gathering together in this way, I found my soul’s calling.

Today, eight years to the month when he was conceived, I find myself crying for the first time in a very, very long time, as I feel him with me more than ever, yet now I truly miss his physical presence. Who could imagine you could miss someone you haven’t really met?

So today, while I nourish and love myself through the sadness, I give deep gratitude for my angel baby. He led me through a big experience of simultaneous loss and gain, pure love and devastation. He opened me up in the most gentle and loving way to the eternal nature of spirit, of energy, of life, of my connection to it all. And in so doing, he reconnected me to myself. To my heart. To my body. To my soul. He reawakened within me the remembrance of who I am, my soul’s dreams, my divine gifts. And he gave me the chance to reclaim the light I had unwittingly dimmed on my journey so far.