Miscarriage - Seven Simple Words: I Am so Sorry for Your Loss

I feel like I'm standing at a podium right now. I see myself in front of you, saying, "My name is Ellen DuBois and I suffered a miscarriage in 1991".

However, back in 1991, I think the seats would have been empty, much like my womb. Perhaps there would be one person there who'd be thinking- Miscarriage? Why talk about what's not talked about? Why doesn't she just get on with it and move on with her life? He or she would then leave. The door would slam shut, echoing in the emptiness of the auditorium. I'd be left to deal with my grief alone, as I was eighteen plus years ago.

Ouch. Those words sting and believe me, I heard them. I've also spent the past three years hearing stories of other women who have heard those very same words, and then some.

I remember feeling so alone in my grief after my miscarriage- after losing my son. The first words I heard after my ultra-sound were, "The fetus is no long viable." I didn't even know what viable meant. The first words I heard after my D&C , (after being pregnant for almost four-and-a half months), were, "The fetal tissue was normal. Everything went fine. You can always have another."

And that was that. I could always have another. The baby I loved was...in some horrible waste receptical and I was supposed to jump right back on the pregnancy bandwagon and try to have another. Without a tear. Without closure. Without grieving, healing and some help.

Having my baby referred to as 'fetal tissue' didn't sit well with me, nor did the complete lack of compassion from the doctor. What I needed to hear were seven simple words: "I am so sorry for your loss." It would have made all the difference in the world.

No, those words wouldn't bring my baby back. They wouldn't change anything except this: they would have validated my loss. I didn't lose 'fetal tissue'. I lost the baby I fell in love with from the moment I knew I was pregnant.

Days full of tears rolled into weeks, months and yes, years of crying, depression, anxiety and isolation. I functioned, but I slipped into a dark, scary place. When would I feel like me again? Why couldn't I stop thinking about the baby I lost? When would I be able to tolerate being around, or even seeing pregnant women? Even the grocery store was too much. Each time I passed the baby food isle, the tears positioned themselves to break free and send me reeling into a crying fit in front of everyone. It was awful.

I hated the feeling of living a nightmare. I couldn't find any books to help me cope. Many times, I found books about having a baby, not losing one- especially to miscarriage.

Friends and family did their best to offer support. However, it was short lived because nobody around me really 'got it'. I didn't know anyone who suffered a miscarriage, and the Internet was not an option for support like it is today.

Somehow I weathered the storm and found myself on the road to healing and recovery after miscarriage. I didn't know it, but I was slowly finding my way back to myself- a changed self, but myself just the same. A self with a mission yet to be discovered.

The stamp of love my baby left upon my heart was there for good. I never forgot him, nor will I. I never held him, but he lives on in many, many ways.

Some eleven years later I wrote a small ebook about my journey to healing and recovery after miscarriage. Never in a million years did I dream of doing this, but I couldn't shake the feeling of needing to reach out to women who where suffering as I did. My small ebook was then rewritten into a much longer paperback entitled I Never Held You, with the help of Dr. Linda Backman, a professional grief counselor and therapist who wrote the foreword and several commentary chapters. In addition, some wonderful women also contributed their stories of life and healing after miscarriage, and told how they turned their pain into something positive for others after miscarriage. In my book I shared simple tips on how to get through the day, be around children, attend baby showers and more while dealing with feeling like you're going to 'lose it'. These life lessons were learned by me because they had to be. It was a matter of self-preservation during the years following my miscarriage and the many times I felt I was losing my mind- or going crazy.

I've gained so much more insight since my book and MiscarriageHelp.com were launched in 2006. Those who miscarried and share their painful stories still feel the same as I did and millions of others. They are riding an emotional roller coaster, and need connection, support, understanding and validation of their loss. Women and their families want and need to hear I am so sorry for your loss and crave the same compassion and sympathy, if not empathy, that a person who lost a child who lived on this earth needs.

When I was twenty-five and full of despair, pain, grief and anxiety after my miscarriage, nobody could have told me I'd be where I am today- reaching out to those who are suffering, often in silence, after losing their baby to miscarriage. I was too full of my own pain to see through the tears. However, by transforming my adversity into something positive for others, in this case miscarriage support, I was helped, too. I've gained strength from the brave souls who bare their hearts on MiscarriageHelp.com and know, more now than ever, that miscarriage awareness is key to helping women and their families recover. Through our words on MiscarriageHelp.com and many support sites like it, we are creating more miscarriage awareness each day and I will not tire of this mission.

I pray for the day when every woman, (and her family), who miscarries is offered the support she needs before ever leaving the hospital, and that someone- anyone, says these seven simple words: I am so sorry for your loss.