Miscarriage: Grief and Grace by Lauren Accolla

Statistically, 1 in 4 (25%) pregnancies end prematurely in miscarriage. But who expects that will happen to them? When my husband and I found out we were pregnant for the first time, it was unexpected and not according to our “plan”. We were caught off guard, which caused some initial anxiety, but quickly we realized how blessed we were. The excitement grew, as we imagined our baby growing. We discussed excitedly how and when to share the news with our families, which we did shortly thereafter. The joy expressed by our families heightened our own and soon we were elated.

The highly anticipated date of our first ultrasound came. We were finally going to “meet” our baby! I can still recall grabbing my husband’s hand in eagerness. I heard the words, “I cannot find a heartbeat,” and immediately I lost my own. Suddenly I was thrown into a confused daze, not comprehending what I had just heard. Upon reflection, there are no words to describe my pain in that instant. I just kept asking, “Why?!” 

Grief is strange. It is common because death is common. In fact, death is our greatest commonality in life. Yet until we personally experience grief, it is oddly incomprehensible. If you ask someone that has experienced grief you will likely hear standard responses including, “I cannot talk about it, because no one else gets it”, or “No one asks me about it, so I assume they do not want me to talk about it”, or “It is unexplainable, so I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up.” These all sound eerily similar to unwarranted stigma surrounding mental illness, don’t they? 

I am a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, so I hear stories of struggles with grief and difficulties overcoming stigmas on a daily basis. I decided I wanted to hold myself accountable to practicing what I preach in my sessions, which meant being vulnerable and authentic about my experience, and not shying away from expressing grief or mental struggles. So, I told people about what had happened. I told family, I emailed extended family, I shared with friends, and I share openly to this day.

And you know what I found? I found an outpouring of love and support. I had multiple aunts share that they also had miscarriages, which I never knew. I had friends share with me their personal experiences of loss or of knowing others who had experienced similar loss.

There was an understanding of my situation that I had not expected. As I shared more, I received more grace from God that can come from loss and death. Eventually, I found peace. My husband and I named our baby and attended a burial service that our Catholic Mortuary administered. I long for my baby each day, but I know she is in God’s arms, and that one day I will meet her in Heaven (God willing!). 

Fast forward a few months to when we found out we were pregnant again. In an almost complete reversal, our excitement was minimal while our anxiety was high. What happened to the peace I had? What happened to my faith? What happened to my trust in God? It all seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety consumed me every single day. This time, I did not make it to my first ultrasound when the bleeding started. Internet searches told me that spotting was common, and not necessarily a sign of miscarriage, but my anxiety and gut told me otherwise.

I felt prepared to hear that there was no heartbeat again in the ultrasound. My fears came true. A second miscarriage with our second pregnancy. I call what I felt “compounded grief.” Not only was I grieving the death of another precious baby, but it triggered thoughts and emotions from my first loss. However, I could remember the benefits I experienced by leaning into the loss the first time, and I convinced myself to do the same this time.

I told more people. I sought help. I deepened my relationships with God and my husband. By the grace of God, the love and support returned. The anxiety dissipated, although the grief lasted. I have found that grief is not something that necessarily goes away completely, it just becomes more manageable over time. I found comfort knowing I had two angels in Heaven that I knew were praying for me daily.

In an effort to prevent another miscarriage, I worked with my doctor to get blood tests and switched NFP methods. I began to experience hope again. We conceived a third time, which led to a mental (and physical) battle between hope and anxiety. I cried the whole ride to our first ultrasound while praying a Divine Mercy Chaplet. This fear and anxiety persisted up to the moment of the ultrasound.

It is hard to explain the overwhelming relief hearing that we had a healthy baby with a healthy heartbeat. God blessed us with a healthy pregnancy and now our daughter is eighteen months old. I cherish her every day. I hope to be blessed with more children but try to leave it in God’s hands. 

These tragic miscarriages helped me learn to lean into my grief. I lean into my anxiety when it surfaces and make sure I cope with it to manage my symptoms. I lean into the difficulty of sharing with others because I want to play a small part in reducing the stigma. I lean into my faith, because “I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” John 15:5. I continue to form unseen bonds with my two angels in Heaven each day.  

If you are one of the 1 in 4, you are not alone. However, being part of a statistic does not reduce you to a number. Your loss matters. Your grief is valid. Your grief is real. The miscarriage is not your fault. You do not need to process it and grieve by yourself. I encourage you to talk about it. I encourage you to seek counseling for it. I encourage you to lean into the loss with faith. I pray for all of you who have experienced similar loss, all who are expectant mothers, and all who are waiting in hopeful anticipation to get pregnant, that each of you experience peace with God’s plan for you.