Today should have been one of the happiest days of my life. My husband and I should be meeting our baby today. Instead, we are not — and this day has become one I grieve and dread.
We lost Eli months ago, but today confirms that he will never be with us on this earth. The reality hardens the pain because my mind keeps replaying what should have happened, over and over, only to be met by what actually did. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. He arrived too soon and left too soon, yet he remains part of my heart, part of who I am, and part of our family.
Miscarriage is rarely discussed. Your whole future can fade away and you are expected to tuck the loss into silence. Society advises waiting until 12 weeks to announce a pregnancy to avoid painful conversations if something goes wrong. One day your body holds a miraculous process and the next it’s gone — and people expect life to move on as if nothing changed. Those may be social norms, but I refuse to let them erase my babies. I won’t pretend they never existed. We have two angels we never met in person, and they changed me forever. They are part of me and they left a mark on this world.
As this date approached, I wanted to connect with others who have walked this path. I searched for books that spoke honestly about pregnancy loss, books that would let me cry and also offer hope. In the bookstore I felt disheartened: there was no dedicated section for miscarriage and pregnancy loss. Online lists exist, but in a physical store I expected to find selections in parenting, women’s health, or self-help. I wasn’t up for asking an associate and breaking down in front of a stranger, so I left empty-handed.
Why is this subject so rarely written about? Why don’t our babies’ stories get the voices they deserve?
Recently, Facebook’s founder shared that he and his wife are expecting their fourth child and opened up about the loneliness and pain that can accompany pregnancy and loss. He noted that miscarriage isn’t talked about enough, which only increases isolation for those who experience it. The truth is many people go through this, yet the conversations are still too rare.
After losing Eli, my world collapsed. We had already lost one baby, Josie Florene, so I couldn’t believe it could happen again. From the moment the pink lines appear, your baby becomes everything. Nothing that came before seems to matter; every choice from that point on is shaped by the life growing inside you. Regardless of how many weeks you are pregnant, a mother’s love is real and lasting. Our babies belong to us always, no matter how brief their time on earth.
I never got to hold my babies or hear them cry. There is no nursery and no visible evidence of the lives that briefly lived inside me. Still, they are my children. Countless others experience the same heartbreak — babies who filled our hearts and left before we could hold them. Their stories deserve to be told. Don’t move forward in silence. Don’t isolate yourself. You don’t have to struggle alone.
As the day neared, I began writing letters to Eli. Writing helped me process grief and kept our connection alive. Those small conversations reminded me he is real and remains in my heart. I needed the validation of being a mother, which felt so fragile after these losses. Today, the day I should be holding my little miracle, I want to share some of those letters. I want Eli to be as real to you as he is to me. I want his story heard and to show the depth of my love for my angel.
My Sweet Eli,
Why? That’s the question that won’t leave me. Why are you not here? Why does it hurt so much? Why were you taken from me? I loved you from the moment I knew you were here. One day you were with me and then suddenly my everything was gone. I had everything when you were here, and now I feel so alone.
Nothing made me happier than being your mommy. Nothing gave me more purpose (aside from being Josie’s mother). You made me glow and walk taller. Even when tired, I had more energy because of you. You brought me to life and made me the best version of myself. You made my body more beautiful because it was your home. What a special gift. I love you.
xoxo,
Mommy
Dear Eli,
I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I only felt you for such a short time. I’m sorry I wasn’t always the parent I dreamed of being for you. I’m sorry I sometimes chose silence over talking about you to avoid pity or the pain of explaining. Sometimes, when people ask if I have children, I answer no because it’s easier than crying in front of a stranger. I’m sorry I stayed quiet when I wanted to speak about you, because to the world I had no one to hold and show — evidence that I am a mother too. I can’t pass you around for others to see, to touch, to say how tiny and perfect you were. I keep those memories close.
From the moment you joined our family, my past felt like another life. It was you, me, your daddy, and our sweet angel Josie. Nothing else mattered. You were our everything, and you remain our everything.
The day I learned you slipped away to meet your sister, a part of me died. I didn’t know how to live without you. We already lost Josie, and I couldn’t bear losing you too. I would have done anything to keep you with us.
I love you,
Mommy
Eli,
Today I should be meeting you for the first time. I have known you for nearly 40 weeks, but the final rehearsal should be over and opening night should be here. We should be experiencing the happiest day of our lives — the start of yours and the beginning of the life I was meant to live for. I should be holding you close, giving you warmth and security every day.
I imagine your tiny toes and fingers. You are perfect. I wish with every part of me that you were here; that longing aches. I tell myself you are in a better place, but my selfish heart wants you here. I don’t want to wait a lifetime to hold you. We should be celebrating your birthday today, your special day, and I will continue to celebrate you every day, always.
I miss you so much,
Mommy