Hey Lovelies,

So I know this was already a weird week because I posted on Tuesday but I am going to deviate from my “I post squawk boxes in the middle of the month” plan because I want to share this now while it’s relevant and fresh.

Tuesday was the anniversary of the death of my dear friend’s baby. I was grieving hard and decided to publish a letter to her daughter. It was mostly for me to get my feelings out and I shared it in case anyone else with a similar experience would find comfort in the words.  As I was writing it on Monday I 100% checked with my friend before deciding to publish: her baby, her story, her call.  She was fine with it so I geared up to post the next day.

But I am not the only one who finds great catharsis in writing, my friend does as well. So that same evening she sent me her own feelings on that day. She wanted to know if it would be useful and helpful if we shared it more broadly than just between us. I think it is.

Here is my friend’s account of her feelings on Monday, the day between her daughter’s birth and death dates. Trigger warning for: infant death, pregnancy, and pregnancy after loss. A huge shout out to her bravery and compassion in continuing to share her story as it unfolds. The picture represents the intensity of being caught between a previous loss and the acceptance of new life. It’s a difficult and interesting place to be, I know many of you can relate.


The Chicken


The Odd Day Between

Written by: Moving Forward Momma

Published with the author’s permission.


Today is the odd day between D-Days.  A year ago yesterday I gave birth to my first child, M.  A year ago tomorrow we said goodbye to M and left the hospital empty handed.  Today it feels like the trauma of those two and a half days plus the sadness of the last year seem to weigh on me, the air seems thicker and my heart muscles seemed fatigue.

As I write this I am nearing the end of my first trimester with our second pregnancy.  Due to my traveling work schedule tomorrow was the only day that worked for us to see our doctor this week, it’s likely that tomorrow we’ll find out if the second pregnancy is with a male or female baby.

That’s right.  Tomorrow, a year to the day I held M in my arms as she took her last breath, we may find out if this little one will be a boy or girl.  The intense emotions flooding through me seem to be at odds with each other, not allowing each other to express themselves.  The sadness I have for M and this last year is distracted by the hope and joy of tomorrow.  The hope and joy of this pregnancy is squandered by the fear that I will never get out of this sadness.

I am constantly trying to find the line between honoring the past and being stuck in it.  I’ve asked myself that exact question many times, and now tonight I feel like there is no line; the future and past seem to be fighting with each other for priority in my heart.  My sense of time as a linear construct has now changed, it was just yesterday that I said goodbye to M and meeting this new baby may never even happen.  All that can exist in this moment is my imperfect human body trying to reckon with the most extreme of emotions.

Most days I am grateful.  Unlike women who have had miscarriages, I got to meet M, hold her, sing to her, memorize her face and amazingly long finger nails.  As brutal as it was, I got to have closure.  Unlike women who experience infertility I haven’t had to wait those dreadful days to take a pregnancy test, I was able to get pregnant easily both times.  There is so much heart ache to be had in the messy world of trying to bring home a healthy baby, there are probably people on every super market aisle gracefully carrying the burden of disappointments and longing.  I am grateful that I was able to get closure.  And now, I get the opportunity to hope and dream again.

One of the most important discoveries in this process has been that of my own strength, and the strength of my marriage.  It’s impossible to know what you are capable of until you are tested.  So today, amidst the confusing overwhelming pile of emotions, I am focusing on my strength and the resilience of my marriage.  If I choose to focus on the past then I will focus on how fearlessly I walked through grief, how generous and compassionate I was with everyone else walking with me, and how grateful I am for my husband being there with me every step of the way.

If you are one of those people in the aisle at the grocery store, silently carrying your own grief and devastation, I’m with you.  Keep going.  Keep hoping and dreaming.  If you focus on the past focus on the best of the past.  If you look to the future be brave enough to consistently imagine it to be a happy future filled with the family of your dreams.

Remember that fear serves nothing.  Hope and courage will not always get us to where we want to go, but they will make the journey sweeter and more beautiful.

Sending everyone love, strength and gratitude,

Moving Forward Mama


Squawk Box: The Odd Day Between

4 thoughts on “Squawk Box: The Odd Day Between

  • February 9, 2017 at 9:05 am

    I cannot even imagine what that feels like. And I don’t even know what to say, except that I admire your strength to move forward and also honour the past. Thank you for sharing your story. Best wishes to you on your current pregnancy.

    • February 9, 2017 at 11:04 am

      Thank you Renuka. Good luck to your on your life’s journeys as well 🙂

  • February 9, 2017 at 1:18 pm

    After 8 years of battling infertility, our 4th and final IVF cycle gave us our Evelyn, our only child. Tragically, our Evie was born prematurely on August 15, 2016 and passed away the next day in her daddy’s arms after a valiant 8 hr and 43 minute fight for her life. Some days, it feels as if we are drowning. Some days, I feel as though I too am dead and they just forgot to bury me. This month marks our 9th year on this journey-turned-odyssey and instead of holding our miracle in our arms, we carry her in our hearts. It is (as you know) unbearable, agonizing pain. The hopelessness and isolation we feel after such a long road, after coming so close to finally having our dreams realized, only to suffer devastation of the worst kind and to not know how, when or if another child will join your family…it is crippling fear. There will likely be no further pregnancies for us, and we plan to take the next step towards adoption when we can rustle up the funds but most importantly, when we feel our hearts are ready.

    Thank you for sharing your story and for sharing your sweet girl with us. I cannot imagine the mixed emotions that you carry with you each day — trying to balance the pain and grief with the excitement and anticipation of the growing life inside of you — but know that you are so strong and courageous. Your M is so very proud of you and I know in my heart that she helped handpick the little one who is set to join your family. Wishing you well as you continue to navigate this path.

    • February 9, 2017 at 3:03 pm

      Oh Melissa,

      My heart aches for you sister. Kudos for making it through the recent holidays without your dear Evelyn in your arms, I know they were harder than I expected and I had many more months to adjust than you did.

      When I saw your post the name Evelyn jumped out at me, that was my grandmother’s name and almost what we named our M. I’ve always loved that name. I’m glad to have some more associations with it.

      I wish I could come sit with you and share pictures. I know many people didn’t want to see M’s pictures because they thought it was too sad, but I saw proud of her and I thought she was so beautiful…I’m sure you felt the same way of Evie.

      Sending you so much love and strength. It doesn’t exactly get easier, you will just get stronger and more adjusted. So so sorry for your loss and heartache Melissa.
      Thank you for your words of encouragement.

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