To my husband, I’m sorry.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Something I never knew until I became a woman who suffered a pregnancy loss. I wasn’t sure what I should say or do this month, which is why I am posting something at the very last second. I was overwhelmed by the transparency, strength, and unity I saw on social media this month. Women sharing their stories of loss and being met with support and love from those who know exactly how it feels. A strange bond forms between two people who have shared a similar loss and I felt that bond this month, I didn’t feel so alone.

But I didn’t want to talk about myself today. I want to share a letter to my husband. An amazing man who loved, cared, and protected me from the world during the worst time of our lives. The dads of the sweet babies we lost are sometimes forgotten and I just wanted to let the father of my babies know that he is not.

Dear Husband,

This letter is long overdue. I have thought about it so many times, but never wanted to open up these wounds. That day in February, just five days before your birthday, I was not the only one who lost a baby. You did too. From the moment the doubts set in at the doctor’s office; as they searched for a heart beat you started to protect me. Trying not to give up hope, holding on until they finally confirmed that our baby was gone. You held me, you got me out of there, you practically carried me to the car. The whole time you stayed strong as I crumbled. I saw the tears start rolling down your cheeks, but still you stayed strong for me as I called my parents to tell them. When we got home everyone catered to me. You made phone calls and made sure everyone was ok. You protected me from the world, screening phone calls and repeating the words over and over that I couldn’t even utter. I’m sorry that I hardly asked if you were okay. I’m sorry I was selfish. The days I felt all alone, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were going through this too. I’m sorry that I made you explain to every person who came up to me after and asked how I was feeling that we lost the baby. I made you relive that day over and over and you never complained once. I put you through some rough days. I know you worried about what I was capable of. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough. I know I said I had nothing to live for, but I was wrong. I had you. I will never be able to repay you for what you did for me. I know you would never even think to ask me to. I do want to acknowledge your loss though. I know you had dreams too. We picked out names together, I didn’t do that alone. I know you struggled with fear when I got pregnant again. Still, everyone asked me how I was doing. Did they ask you? Miscarriage is hard because it refers to the woman loosing the pregnancy. But it wasn’t just a pregnancy, it was our baby. From the moment we knew I was pregnant, we loved that baby. We didn’t just lose a pregnancy we lost our child, our hopes and dreams for the future. I was not the only one loosing something that day. You did too and I’m sorry.


Your wife.

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