Grieving Miles: A Mother's Story of Pregnancy Loss and Healing

Content Warning: Pregnancy Loss

Pregnancy loss is incredibly common, yet we don’t talk about it. I, like many others, am working to change that by being open with my story and experience.

Before you start reading this, know that this blog includes some details of my losses, including the emotions that accompany them.

I have been pregnant five times and have two living children.

My first pregnancy ended in a missed miscarriage, the baby passed, but my body did not miscarry naturally. At 10 weeks pregnant, I needed a D & C. Once I healed, we were given the okay to try again. Shortly after, I was pregnant with our oldest son.

The first weeks of that pregnancy were filled with anxiety. I couldn’t have a carefree pregnancy because I was afraid of another loss. Then, I started feeling the baby move, and this eased my anxiety; I knew he was okay. At 39 weeks and 1 day, our oldest son was born. We were elated.

A few years after our eldest son was born, we decided to try for another. We got pregnant and miscarried again, this time around 6 weeks. Few people knew I was pregnant at that time. I opted to use medication to speed up the miscarriage process, but I was still faced with the task of telling the ones who knew that we had lost the baby. Each one responded the same way, “Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” followed by a platitude.

It was for the best. You get to try again, that’s fun. At least you have your son.

None of those changed the fact that we lost a child we loved. This baby was going to complete our family. We didn’t know this child at all. At that point, the pregnancy was just hopes and dreams. Still, we felt the loss. And with each platitude, I felt my grief was disregarded and minimized. A miscarriage is still a loss, but society doesn’t necessarily see it that way. We’re supposed to move on quickly. We’re expected to be strong and resilient.

Whoever described women as the fairer sex was so full of shit.

Our next pregnancy was Miles. I was initially cautiously optimistic. I was watched closely because of the two prior losses. I waited out the first trimester and felt a sense of relief at week 13. I was safe, the pregnancy would go to term, and our family would be complete.

As the pregnancy continued, I started to feel uneasy. The doctors assured me he was fine and that I was just anxious because of the prior losses. The chance of a loss this far along was slim.

I woke up the morning of March 8, 2015, feeling a few little nudges from Miles with breakfast. It was the beginning of my third trimester, and I remember smiling. We had hit viability. After breakfast, we met some friends for a playdate. Hours went by, and I realized I hadn’t felt anything. We hopped in the car, and I grabbed a handful of marshmallows we had in the snack bag. Miles always reacted to sugar. Even after gorging on marshmallows, there was still no movement. In a panic, I called my OB. He told me to go to a specific hospital that was best equipped to handle a significantly premature infant at the time. I found out there that Miles did not have a heartbeat. He had passed, and my heart broke. It felt like the world around me collapsed.

I delivered him on March 9, 2015.

A late-term pregnancy loss is an entirely different type of grief. It is isolating. The mother is the only one who really knew that baby. Sure, others had felt the baby move, but I knew his movement patterns. I had a sense of his personality. I knew which foods made him kick. I knew what movement put him to sleep. I knew him intimately, and I was the only one. He wasn’t just a fetus, he was my son.

Death is hard to handle. However, stillborn death somehow seems harder. People don’t know what to say or do.

Grief is grief, even if the child never takes a breath. He had value. And the grief was heavier than any other loss I experienced because I was alone in the intensity of this loss. No one else knew him the way I did. We had a special bond that no one else had. He was my son.

A pregnancy loss is a death.

Grief is a normal response. My best advice is to treat your friend how you would treat anyone who is grieving. Still, there are specific things you can do when someone has lost a pregnancy.

1. Let them grieve. Let them be sad, angry, hurt, whatever. There is no timeline for grief and no right way to grieve. Let them grieve in their own way.

   
   

2. Remember, pregnancy loss is a trauma. That child, no matter their gestational age, was loved. After a late-term loss, we have to put our bodies through labor and delivery or a C-section. Our bodies don’t know that the baby didn’t survive. We experience everything a mother experiences postpartum, including milk production. It’s a horrible reminder of the loss of life we experienced. Trauma is defined as a threat to life or a threat of serious bodily harm to you or someone else. Clearly, the loss of a child fits this definition, and the body has a natural response to such situations. Trauma symptoms, including nightmares and flashbacks, can occur. Be supportive of your friend if they talk about this. You may also want to encourage them to talk to someone with training and expertise in helping women navigate the trauma of pregnancy loss. And yes, some women absolutely develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after a pregnancy loss. PTSD is a recovery disorder, and the support and coping that follows the pregnancy loss is essential to determining the long-term effects. Help them face the trauma of the loss by creating a space that feels safe enough to express their feelings and talk about their child without platitudes.

3. Make sure they eat. Set up a meal train. Do things that you would do for anyone else who is grieving.

   
   

4. Make sure they know they aren’t alone. Grief can be a lonely process, and pregnancy loss is isolating. Text them, even if they don’t text back. Send flowers or care packages. Let them know they are loved and cared for. The worst thing you can do is pretend that the loss didn’t happen. Ignoring the loss will make them feel even more isolated. Addressing the loss won’t make the parents feel more depressed or sad, it will acknowledge their pain and help them feel seen.

   
   

5. If they named the baby, use the child’s name. Although you never met the baby, their mother knew them intimately. She felt them move. She had a sense of their budding personality, were they active or more subdued? She knew what foods they reacted most to. She knew where they liked to keep their foot. She lost her child. She is experiencing the loss of a person. Using the baby’s name helps to validate this.

   
   

6. Avoid platitudes. Things like “you can always try again” or “it was for the best” don’t help. In fact, they often make the person saying them feel better while minimizing the distress of the grieving person. Platitudes just detract from and invalidate real emotions. Avoid them at all costs. Stick to “I’m sorry for your loss” and “I want to help, can I sit with you?”

   
   

7. Offer to accompany them to appointments. After repeated losses, there’s a search for the “why,” especially if there were no obvious causes. The tests usually start with noninvasive procedures like bloodwork. After Miles’ death, once the pregnancy hormones were no longer detectable, it started with bloodwork to assess for genetic conditions. I turned out to be a carrier for a clotting condition, but it wasn’t associated with increased risk of pregnancy loss. So I was referred for more invasive tests, including vaginal ultrasounds and a hysterosalpingogram. Having support during those tests was vital, especially at the final one, where they told me there was a reason for Miles’ death and a quick surgery could reduce the chance of a subsequent loss. I was overwhelmed, and having someone with me who could help process that information made all the difference.

   
   

8. Visit them and sit with them. Grief is one of the strongest emotions we experience. Just sitting with someone and allowing them to feel is one of the most powerful things you can do. Be present. Comfort them when they need it. Don’t rush it.

   
   

9. Get them out of the house. There can be moments of joy and laughter even during grief. Go get coffee. Go for a walk. Remind them they’re still human. Especially during the medical testing phase, it’s easy to feel like a science project. Help them feel like a person again.

   
   

10. Advocate for them. Grief makes it hard to find your voice. Systems are built to support new mothers, not necessarily those who’ve experienced loss. For example, I wasn’t eligible for the standard 6-week maternity leave after Miles died, even though I still had to recover from delivery complications. I was pushed back into work before I was medically cleared, while colleagues were frustrated about covering for me. I could have used someone to advocate for my recovery and help me take the time I needed to heal.

    
    

11. Remember the partners. There are often other parents involved. They may not have gone through the delivery, but they experienced the loss, often helplessly. Watching someone you love go through a stillbirth is a trauma in itself. They are grieving too and are often forgotten. Don’t leave them out of the care and support.

    
    

There is still significant stigma surrounding pregnancy loss. By opening up the conversation and honoring the grief that accompanies it, we can reduce that stigma and make sure no woman grieves this loss alone.

Author: Dr. Jessica Hasson is a clinical and forensic psychologist. She started Project Miles to honor her stillborn son. The goal of Project Miles is to remind people that there is hope through acts of random kindness.

Dr. Hasson is also the owner of Pay It Forward Assessments, LLC, a mental health practice founded on the principle that quality mental health services, including psychological evaluations, should be available to all. She conducts 20 percent of her psychological assessments free of charge for individuals who otherwise could not afford them. Pay It Forward Assessments, LLC is a Sixx Cool Moms Approved Business.

Dr. Jessica Hasson