During a recent gathering on Mother’s Day, my family and I met a lovely group with four children. My youngest, 8-year-old Max, paused to admire them and quietly remarked, “That could have been our family.”
As my heart ached and tears threatened, I pulled him close and kissed his head. I understood what he was feeling, but words failed me. He doesn’t grasp the truth; he believes there are two children missing from our family—two pregnancies I lost.
Max stumbled upon this idea of “missing kids” unexpectedly. My mother, a passionate genealogist, was showing him and my daughter their family tree. They noticed two additional “leaves” sprouting from my branch and read the notes about the babies I had lost. Naturally, my mother felt terrible and carefully explained that after my daughter was born, I had two pregnancies that didn’t make it, causing sadness for both Mommy and Daddy—hence, the absence of prior mention.
Even after a decade since those losses, the grief still lingers. It has transformed from a suffocating weight to a gentle squeeze around my heart, reminding me of what might have been. Occasionally, I can forget, but then the heartache resurfaces unexpectedly, catching my breath. I miss those two babies dearly.
The first pregnancy ended during my first trimester. Despite its brief duration, that little life was cherished. After waiting so long to conceive again, my husband and I were ecstatic when I finally got pregnant. We envisioned a life filled with joy, names picked out, and dreams for our growing family. But during a routine check-up, the doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. I wept uncontrollably, not ready to say goodbye. My body clung to that life, but it was gone.
The second pregnancy ended early in the second trimester. Following the heartbreak of the first loss, we hesitated to fully invest emotionally. Yet, upon hearing the heartbeat at our 9-week appointment, our hopes soared. But by the next visit, silence filled the room. Once again, my heart and body struggled to let go, but we learned that the baby—a boy—had also passed away.
I haven’t shared all the details with my kids; they only know there are two missing children. This realization weighs particularly heavy on Max. He often points out families with four kids, reminding me that we could have had a family of six.
How do I explain that those pregnancies must have ended for him to be here? That we had originally planned for two children? I can’t. So, I hold him tight, sharing in the grief of our loss together.
It’s a complex emotional struggle. I mourn for the two lost pregnancies while wrestling with guilt, knowing that had either gone to term, I might not have my beloved son. This sweet boy, who brings so much joy to my life, stands as a reminder of the intricate dance between sorrow and gratitude.
When those feelings become overwhelming, I imagine that both lost pregnancies were my son in a previous form, fighting to be part of our family. Maybe he longed to be here so much that he persevered through the challenges until he finally arrived.
Max continues to express his desire for those two missing kids. He occasionally asks if I plan to have another baby, eagerly offering to share his room if it’s a boy or even suggesting his sister’s room for a girl.
I simply hug him again, kissing the top of his head. “Our family is perfect just the way it is,” I tell him.
And it truly is. Because it must be. With my two children here on earth and the two missing kids—my little angels watching over us from above.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the heart-wrenching experience of miscarriage and its impact on family dynamics. It explores how to discuss these losses with children and the bittersweet emotions that accompany both grief and joy in family life.
Keyphrase: miscarriage and family dynamics
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