Say Something

Through my miscarriage, the loss of my baby, I have come to realize that there are formulaic things people say, well-intentioned but misguided.  People don't seem to realize that certain phrases just don't provide comfort in certain situations.  Other people's pain makes us uncomfortable, and it is instinctual to want to fill uncomfortable moments with words.  People are also uncomfortable with their inability to explain why someone is suffering, so they try to find words that they think will help them do that.

Though I understand this basic human reasoning, and have probably made the same mistakes myself, I have found myself lately wishing people knew better.  I've mostly been patient, and have accepted people's words as loving gestures.  I've tried my best to have grace with everyone, because I know no one would intentionally hurt me.  But nonetheless, I decided to make a list of things I wish people would not say to me to explain away my loss.

It was God's plan.  I've always been a "God's plan" kind of girl.  I have used this phrase often to explain my own changes in life, both losses and wins, and to comfort others in the same way.  Then, when the three-year-old daughter of one of my best friends passed away unexpectedly, I finally realized how painfully unhelpful those words really are in a time of loss or grief.  In my situation, I don't believe any part of God's plan includes me walking around with a dead baby inside of me for several days, and then having to have it vacuumed and scraped out of my uterus.  I believe that God has a plan for me, but it didn't include this tragedy.  This tragedy just happened, and though I'm sure someday I'll see how it fits INTO the plan, the phrase, "God has a plan," does not help me or comfort me in this saddest of times.  Silence is better.

You'll get pregnant again.  No one knows that.  And really, people don't know that's even what I want.  It is what I want, but people don't know that.  What if I never wanted to try again because I was too fearful?  Or what if my doctor had told me that I was unable to have another baby?  Saying this is proclaiming that you know more than you could possibly know about both mine and God's 'plan'.  It's also dismissive of this pregnancy, this baby, as something that can easily be replaced.  This baby was special to me, not just a poor shot for which I've been given a mulligan.

Without my miscarriage, I wouldn't have the children I have now, so in a way I'm thankful that it happened.  Several women have expressed this feeling to me, and I completely understand the logic.  For me personally, I had not planned to have three children.  Therefore, if I am lucky enough to get pregnant again and have a healthy baby, I know I will look at that baby and see it for the miracle that it is, just as I do my first child.  I know at some point I'll look at that baby and feel thankful for him or her, no matter the circumstances that led to his or her existence.  I also know that this is a gesture of sisterhood from women who have been in my shoes before.  However, to me, at this moment in time, these words imply that one baby's life is more important or worthy than the other's, and I just can't reconcile that with my feelings for my angel baby.

It wasn't meant to be.  Would you say that to a woman who lost a living child?  Because really, anything you wouldn't say to someone who lost a living child, you shouldn't say to someone who has miscarried.  It's completely understandable to me that others may not see a fetus as a living child, but to me, it was.  I formed a bond with that baby from the moment I discovered the miracle growing inside me, and every day of those blessed 16 weeks, I read about what my baby was doing developmentally inside me.  I talked to the baby, sang to the baby, rocked back and forth with my hand on my belly and prayed over the baby.  Before my baby stopped developing, he or she had a beating heart, fingers and toes, the ability to insert his or her thumb into the mouth, eyes that could move side to side, the beginnings of a developing voice, and next to come were fingerprints.  So to me, this baby existed, and therefore was meant to be.

The timing just wasn't right.  Actually, the timing was perfect, or I wouldn't have been pregnant in the first place.  Saying this dismisses the perfectly timed miracle that was growing inside me.  It implies that something just quit working because of a mechanical defect or because it was throwing God's plan off schedule.

You'll see your baby in Heaven.  While I believe this to be true, it does not comfort me now, here on earth, while I'm aching to hold my baby in my arms.         


At the end of the day, I realize that people need to say something to make themselves feel better, to feel that they have comforted a friend in need.  In light of that, here is a list of things that HAVE comforted me through this loss.

I love you.

I'm so sorry for your loss/pain/grief/etc., or just I'm sorry.

I understand, because I've been through it before.  Caution:  This line only helps if you actually have been through the same experience before.  Be cautious with this line.

If you need to talk, I'm here.

I know there is nothing I can say to ease your pain.  It helps to know that people recognize this fact.

How are you doing?  Someone who has experienced this type of loss doesn't get over it as quickly as you forget that it happened.  Especially a mother who has lost a baby who once grew inside her belly.  Her heart will ache even when she gets back to living life, when she goes to dinner parties, when she laughs and plays with her precious first child.  Her heart will ache, she will feel empty inside, and she will feel alone in her pain, so don't forget to check on her.


If you have a loved one who has experienced the loss of a child, say something, but be careful and thoughtful with the words that escape your lips.

If you are a parent who has lost a child, I welcome you to comment about words that have hurt or helped you along the way.