I named her Leah Naomi. 

She was a beautiful child — in my mind. She was not meant to be. In fact, I didn’t even know whether the baby was a boy or girl; I just knew I lost someone I already loved. 

Not the Way I Pictured

It was fall of 1999. I’d waited rather impatiently on the first ultrasound. My clothes were getting tighter, but I didn’t care. I was thrilled with the expectancy of a new life in our family of three. My oldest son was three. This one would be almost exactly four years younger.

As I went into the room that day, I already knew what to expect. I’d see a tiny, pulsating light. My baby’s heartbeat. 

Only it never happened. Not the way I pictured. 

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Ronald Reagan proclaimed October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. “When a child loses a parent they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses their partner they are widowed. When parents lose their child there is no word to describe them … simply that they are still parents.” If you have lost a baby, you aren’t alone.

The technician looked, but there was no heartbeat. She kept moving the ultrasound device, but I knew. I knew even before they ushered me into a quiet room what that meant. The doctor came in and sat down on the bed beside me. “Did you want this pregnancy?” she asked. Of course, yes. I was horrified she asked. “You’ll just pass it at some point.” I don’t remember anything else she said. I’m sure it was for the best.

No Miracle

I waited over a month before I went back to the doctor. I guess I was lying to myself. “Maybe I didn’t get the date right,” I thought. “Maybe there’ll be a miracle.” There wasn’t. As I sat in the waiting room, I noticed that I was only feet away from the ultrasound room. I held back tears as long as I could.

Then a very pregnant woman exited, laughing about her ultrasound pictures, clearly excited about her pregnancy. She was right to be excited. A new life was growing inside her. But not me. Although still inside of me, my baby was gone. I lost it.

My doctor that day was a man. It struck me that he was so much more empathetic than my female doctor. “In a way, it’s more difficult for women who lose their baby early,” he told me quietly. “No one grieves with them because they can’t see that she’s pregnant.” His kindness meant so much to me. I’ll never forget it.

The first doctor was wrong. I didn’t “pass it.” I lay in the hospital bed after surgery and cried. The paperwork just said, “products of conception.” 

Because I was so early into the pregnancy, I didn’t know I could bury my child. I learned that only recently, when colleague Jennifer Hartline suffered a miscarriage and wrote about her experience.

God is Good

I’d like to say I handled the loss with grace, the picture of a perfect Christian, but I can’t. I began running every day and lost 90 pounds within several months. I hurt, but even in my hurt I knew that God is good. I didn’t blame Him; I just didn’t understand why I lost my child. Still, He comforted me. And by the next year, I was pregnant with my son, Julian David. He’s now 17 years old.

Just a couple of years ago, I received a beautiful certificate from the Catholic Church acknowledging Leah Naomi’s life. She was. She existed. Then she was gone. She would have been 18 in August. I still think about her. What would she look like? What would she have accomplished? I will never, ever forget her.

If you have suffered the loss of a child, you are not alone. Reach out to Jesus for comfort and peace. Only He can bind your wounds. “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Ps. 147:3). For more information about organizations that provide support following the loss of a pregnancy, click here.