Motherhood After Loss: My Stillbirth Story, Faith Journey, and Rainbow Baby
Welcome, mama. This is my personal story of love, loss, and healing. I share it with hope that it brings comfort and connection to others walking a similar journey. Read more about healing after baby loss.
Trigger Warning: This story contains sensitive content about pregnancy loss. Please take care as you read. I’m sharing the raw, personal truth of my journey through unimaginable loss and the miracle of renewed joy. If you need support, March of Dimes – Coping With Pregnancy Loss offers helpful resources.
Starting Our Family Journey
Becoming a mom was a dream my husband and I held onto for years. We had planned to start our family sooner, but COVID delayed everything. When we finally began trying, each month felt endless. Then, in May 2023, it happened—I saw those two pink lines. I was pregnant. I was going to be a mother.
We celebrated with joy and disbelief. After months of waiting, our hearts were so full. Every appointment brought good news—our baby was growing well. By the time I made it through the first trimester, I started to feel safe. Hopeful. Excited.
A Shattering Diagnosis at 20 Weeks
August 2023 will forever be etched in my memory. Routine bloodwork had raised concerns about spina bifida, so we were referred to a perinatal specialist for a closer look during our 20-week anatomy scan. Learn more about spina bifida from the CDC.
After the scan, we were brought into a quiet consultation room. The doctor struggled to find the words. Then, with a heavy heart, she gently told us that our baby’s lungs were not developing. There was no amniotic fluid. The chance of survival was nearly nonexistent.
Everything went still. I couldn’t breathe. I asked question after question, hoping something had been misunderstood. My OB confirmed the devastating news. I was carrying a child I would not get to keep.
Labor Without Warning
Two days later, I went into labor—without realizing it at first. I was vomiting, cramping, and terrified. I called my OB’s office, and they told me to go straight to the hospital.
The drive was over an hour long, and every mile felt like an eternity. I was overwhelmed with pain, fear, and disbelief. I kept wondering if I’d make it to the hospital in time or if I would give birth in the car. When we finally arrived, I saw blood. After registering, I was taken to a back room, and for reasons I didn’t fully understand, my husband couldn’t come with me right away. I was in unbearable pain and completely alone.
My baby’s umbilical cord was emerging. There was so much blood. My heart raced with panic. I cried out for help and stumbled into the hallway, desperate and scared. Instead of receiving the compassion I desperately needed, a nurse coldly reminded me that I had been told to lie down. I felt so unseen in that moment—frightened, vulnerable, and completely out of control.
Confirming the Loss
I was wheeled to the Labor and Delivery Unit, still in shock. Nurses moved in and out of the room as my OB talked about the plan ahead. He seemed to believe I’d be in labor for a while. But when he examined me again, everything changed. With a gentle tone, he told me, “She’s already been delivered.”
My husband asked what I couldn’t: “Is she breathing?”
The doctor shook his head. She was gone.
Oddly, I felt a flicker of peace—I didn’t have to witness her last breath. When the nurse asked if we wanted to see her, my husband said yes. I’m forever grateful he did.
She was tiny, beautiful, and perfect.
Anne, the hospital’s grief specialist, brought us a hand-painted memory box. Inside were her footprints, a soft hat and blanket, a tiny bear, and a poem. I still treasure it.
Planning the Unthinkable
No one prepares you for arranging a funeral for your baby.
I had to sign a form that said “Mother,” and I broke into sobs. We chose cremation and picked a funeral home far from where we lived. We couldn’t bear the thought of driving by it every day.
The director told us she might be too small for ashes, but she had them. We brought them home, though we keep them tucked away. Some grief is too heavy to face daily.
Navigating Life After Loss
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to be with my cat—something familiar. My OB discharged me the next morning.
Even basic tasks felt impossible. I didn’t know what to wear. Maternity clothes didn’t feel right, but neither did regular ones. I was no longer pregnant, but not yet healed.
I felt hollow. I didn’t want to see anyone. My husband and I leaned on each other, holding space for the grief we shared.
Unexpected Grace
I’ll never forget the nurse who made sure we had keepsakes of our daughter, Baby Girl, or the quiet strength Anne offered in those fragile moments. And I’ll always remember how my OB took my hand without saying a word. In that moment, he wasn’t just my doctor—he was a fellow human, holding space for my grief.
Turning Toward Faith
I was heartbroken and full of questions. I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew I needed God close.
Some days I cried out. Other days I sat in silence. But even in the heaviness, I still reached for my faith.
A devotional for grieving mothers gave me comfort. Bible stories reminded me that healing was possible—that others had faced darkness and still found light. You might find comfort in You might find comfort in GriefShare daily devotionals.
Small Steps Toward Healing
Returning to work as a therapist gave me something to hold on to, but I couldn’t take on clients facing pregnancy loss. It was too much.
I started setting small goals: get dressed. Make the bed. Breathe.
I remember sitting outside on Labor Day while the world carried on. I felt so disconnected. But one day, I took a walk with my husband. The sun touched my skin. Birds sang. And I cried—because I felt a spark of life again.
A Message in the Shower
One day, I stood in the shower and asked, “God, am I meant to be a mother?”
And I felt it. A deep, quiet knowing: You’re not done. You’re going to have a daughter.
In July 2024, I gave birth to our rainbow baby, Samantha. Her name means “God has heard.” I shared more about this sacred chapter in this post honoring both my babies — the one I lost and the one I now hold in my arms.
God answered my prayer.
💖 You Are Not Alone
If you’ve endured the loss of a baby, please hear this: you are not alone. Your pain matters. Your baby matters. And your story is worthy of being told.
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