How much I cried that day

“No one will ever know how much I cried that day.”

It’s a quote that took my breath away as I scrolled across a loss site one day. Maybe because it’s so incredibly accurate: I don’t think I’ve ever cried as much in my life than the day we got to meet and say goodbye to our first son. I also think it rings true because it speaks to just how misunderstood this type of loss is.

It’s not a miscarriage and it’s not the death of a baby we ever got to see alive. It’s hard for our society to wrap its heads around this loss and the impact it has on the family. I had to give birth to a dead baby. As disturbing as that sounds, it was even worse going through it. It was a deeply isolating experience because no one, not even my husband could understand what it was like. I was the one who felt Samuel’s first movement and I was the one who felt his last. I had to pull it together to get through a silent C-section and come to terms with the guilt I had and the nagging question, “could I have prevented it?”

No, no one knows how much I cried that day. Not even my closest family members.

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