Balancing Grief, Joy, and Hope After Loss

Sam's Story

5/16/20255 min read

a man riding a skateboard down the side of a ramp
a man riding a skateboard down the side of a ramp

As women, we are told from a young age how “easy” it is to become pregnant and how to prevent that. What isn’t shared is the difficulty many face when they do very much want to bring a baby home. My journey is one where fertility was present, the odds were against us, and the platitudes from others were abundant.

My husband and I waited for “the right time” to attempt to conceive a baby. We were very fortunate to quickly be successful, only to have what is coined “a chemical pregnancy.” This loss rocked me. I was “barely” pregnant in the eyes of others, but the miscarriage caused me a great deal of distress. The high of the excitement with a positive test, followed by the crash of no longer being pregnant, and the physical changes that were occurring in my body… All accompanied with wondering if I did something to cause this? I was shaken by the miscarriage, and I openly talked about it with some people in my life. The majority of times, I received unhelpful platitudes such as “some people don’t even know they are pregnant that early,” “at least you know you can get pregnant,” etc. My pain was minimized secondary to disenfranchised grief and likely the general discomfort of others.

Assuming it was something I did “wrong,” I opted to better educate myself on fertility. I poured into podcasts and books, and made lifestyle changes. We decided to try again on my second cycle following the miscarriage. Neither my husband nor I knew if we were ready, as we feared another loss. Much to our surprise, I tested positive again - I was pregnant. This time, I tracked daily for weeks, as I was incredibly anxious I would miscarry. I couldn’t believe it - We passed the 12 week mark, and I really believed we would bring our baby home, as society tends to misinform that this is the “safe zone” of pregnancy. We found out the baby’s sex - a girl - and immediately named her, Vera Rose, after two special women. The pregnancy was a “typical healthy pregnancy,” and seemed on track, until the anatomy scan at 21 weeks, that is.

At the anatomy scan, we learned that our daughter had severe ventriculomegaly, an impaired cerebellum, and an issue with her heart. I knew it was over, but through the anticipatory grief-fog, I somehow managed to continue to have hope of surgeries and a decent outcome. With more scans and a consult with the maternal fetal medicine team, we learned that Vera Rose was being kept alive by the placenta. The fluid in her brain was continuing to build rapidly, which would result in hydrocephalus and put me at risk - not that I thought of or cared about myself at that point, I could only think about what was best for my baby. Vera was so deeply loved and wanted. We made the devastating decision for me to receive a compassionate induction at 23 weeks 2 days pregnant. Birthing Vera was the most beautifully painful experience of my entire life. I will forever cherish the memories we had with her at the hospital, but some of those memories will forever haunt me as well. She was a beautiful, still, angel, but her light was so obvious. We later learned that my husband and I are recessive carriers of a rare genetic disorder, and we absolutely made the right decision to protect our daughter.

The following several months were filled with immense grief, coming to grips with no longer being pregnant, yet very much still identifying as a mother. Others seemed to recognize my motherhood more than they did prior, but it was still obviously “different.” I continued to receive hurtful platitudes about “natural selection,” and “everything happening for a reason.” These comments did and still do enrage me, as they completely minimize the pain I and others endure. I leaned into podcasts and books once again, even a support group this time with the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Network. I grieved my loss of Vera outwardly, and this connected with me with many other people who recognized and could truly empathize with my pain and experience. This is what saved me. Even in the darkest of times, when I really felt alone, I knew I wasn’t, thanks to the many mothers who spoke out about their experiences too.

Finding purpose again was another aspect that changed my life and how I continued to mourn my daughter. Recognizing that I can still parent Vera even though she is not physically here continues to help me daily. She is very much a part of my life, and I include her in just about everything I do. Some people fully accept this about me, and I’m sure some do not understand, but that is not for me to worry about. I started a fundraiser in my daughter’s honour - The Vera Rose Memorial Fundraiser - where we have raised funds to donate in-kind care packages, resources, and books to the hospital to help other parents of pregnancy loss to feel less alone during their devastating experiences. I created postpartum grief affirmation cards for bereaved mothers that I sell for fundraising, to be able to continue building funds to replenish the care items to the hospital and community (both Sarnia-Lambton and London, ON). It is my mission to bring awareness to the reality of pregnancy loss, while supporting mothers and families who experience such tragedies of losing much wanted babies, and advocating for societal changes regarding the disenfranchised grief that occurs with pregnancy loss. It helps me continue to feel close with Vera too.

My journey doesn’t end there though. I continued to yearn to bring a living baby home. I found the courage to try to conceive again, several months after saying “see you later” to Vera Rose. I became pregnant right away, and found out about six weeks into the pregnancy that I was pregnant with twins. Two heart beats! My husband and I were shocked. Truly shocked, yet saw this as a blessing, a gift from Vera. Very sadly for us, about a month later, we discovered that “Twin B” no longer had a heart beat and did not survive. Now I was carrying life and death within me at the same time. Why was the universe being so cruel? Had we not endured enough already? I have theories about why this happened the way it happened, and that is a story for another time. For now, I continue to navigate the journey of pregnancy after loss, balancing grief and joy, and being oh so hopeful of bringing Vera’s little sibling home. Pregnancy after loss requires mental fortitude for sure, and for us we knew we were ready to embark on this journey when our desire to bring a baby home outweighed our fear of another loss. We are cautiously optimistic that this baby will come home with us, and they will be raised knowing about their big sister Vera in the stars.

Please know you are not alone. With love,

Vera Rose’s mom, Sam

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