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| My remembrance angel |
Pregnancy loss creates a strange kind of split-screen. On one side is your grief — raw, private, and consuming. On the other is the world, still full of new life and tiny miracles. Babies arrive. Bellies grow. Announcements are made. And you are left holding both sorrow and joy at once.
I know, because I’ve stood on both sides. When I was pregnant, I could talk endlessly about my son, about the future waiting just ahead. When I finally held him, I shared every moment, every photo. I didn’t do it to wound anyone. I did it because love has a way of spilling over.
I remind myself of that now, when my feed fills with baby showers, first ultrasounds, and swaddled newborns. My friends aren’t flaunting their happiness; they’re simply living inside it. And I want them to keep sharing. I want to see the glow.
The week I lost the baby, a friend delivered her daughter. I checked my phone compulsively for updates. When the photos came, I smiled. I sighed. I meant every word of congratulations. The joy was real, even as my own body broke down.
But the ache is real too. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to see what I lost. It hurts to imagine why my pregnancy ended while others continue without pause. It hurts to look at new babies and wonder if I’ll ever hold another of my own.
This is the paradox of loss: joy for others, grief for yourself. One does not cancel the other. They live together, side by side, like light through stained glass.
So yes, I feel the pangs. But I also celebrate. I will celebrate again if I get the chance, and I hope the people around me will meet me there. And if their joy comes with tears, I will understand — because I know how it feels to live in both.
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