But something was wrong; my doctor couldnt hear a heartbeat.
She told me it was still early and suggested I come back in a week and we would retry.
Six days later, I raced into her office.
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I knew I was far from the only woman to go through a pregnancy loss.
But I was devastated.
My husband was devastated.
He handled it in his own way; he withdrew and stewed it out.
I cried and got drunk.
Two years passed, and then I became the mother of a beautiful, spirited, much loved son.
I mentioned it to my husband.
Thats dark, he said.
I dont want to think about it.
She asked other members to contribute ideas for ways she could do that.
I was moved by the conversation and read the thread with fascination.
The ideas other moms offered were heartfelt and touching.
The thread also raised a lot of questions for me: Was it too late to memorialize mine?
Should I make a run at include my husband, or should I do it on my own?
If I were to choose a way, how would I go about remembering my unborn almost-a-daughter?
And was it OK to call her my daughter, since thats how it felt to me?
Here are their stories.
Were both big antique jewelry fans, so we knew we wanted an antique.
She experienced three miscarriages, one before her daughter was born and two before her second daughter was born.
Writing is a way for me to immortalize them, somehow, she explained.
I believe people live on through stories about them.
I felt such a lack of control, it was a way to do something concrete.
The experience of her first miscarriage was drawn out due to it being anincomplete miscarriagethat required surgery.
But during that time they diagnosed my infertility issue and were able to correct it, she shared.
After her first loss, she chose to keep the ultrasound photos in a little box.
After her second miscarriage, she said she is still undecided about whether shell commemorate it.
I Googled 21-week-old fetus, which is always fun, and got the average measurements, she explained.
I looked through my then 17-month-old sons stuffed animals to find one that was about that size."
She found a little stuffed Grover (from Sesame Street) toy that seemed just right.
She told me, [It] fit in my palm perfectly.
In a few years, Amy became pregnant again and said she felt terrified.
She had another healthy boy.
I felt nuts doing it, but it also felt sweet, she remembered.
Now my boys are 6 and 2 12.
Grover would be 4 12.
I eventually let Grover out of his box for good when my 2 year old found him.
Now he lays and plays among us just like a normal kid.
There is something powerful in a shared-in-real-life story, she said.
She contributed to that post: I was supposed to bring a bundle of joy home this very month.
We knew we were having a boy, and I named him River.
My husband wasnt into naming, but it was important to me, she explained.
Its a song we have sung to my son since he was little.
I didnt cry, it was cathartic.
/ The river is flowing, down to the sea.
/ Mama, carry me.
Your child I will always be.
/ Mama, carry me.
/ Down to the sea, down to the sea, down to the sea.
She elaborated in our interview: I think about my lost babies around their would-be due dates.
I think how old they would have been and how different life would be.
I dont do anything special in those moments.
I just envision how life would have been different.
As a performer and comedian, I opted to use that medium.
I wasnt sad; I was surrounded by friends and in my element.
We recorded the show, and I have it for posterity.
We didnt say anything, she told me.
I will when the time is right.
That is the choice that fits me best.
I suppose those whove experienced it use the tools we have to get through it.
Writers write, nature lovers plant trees, foodies cook, spiritual people pray or hold a ceremony.
Some people choose to just let it go for one reason or another.
