A Poem for Pregnancy Loss

Editor’s Note: This poem looks at one mom's journey through miscarriage and may be difficult for some to read. We encourage you to process your own experience alongside an in-person community (friends, pastors, counselors, etc.) that can help hold your hand and encourage your heart through this heavy season. You can also find additional resources on our Suffering & Loss page.

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An unexpected surprise early in summer
The accompanying nausea begins
Mentally, I prepare, and my mind spins
What will this one be like? 
I tell Jon, and he grins. 

Weeks go by in the summer’s heat
A trip to the beach, sharing the good news
Our family, surprised and amused 
We’d caught them off guard in a family photo 
Their looks of confusion right on cue. 

I knew something was wrong—
The bleeding a bit too heavy
The nausea had become less steady
I was fairly certain that this life God had placed in me 
Was ending and I should be ready.

The doctor confirmed what we had suspected
A simple “I’m so sorry” and she closed the door
I chose to go home, not knowing what I was in for
The waiting, the worry, and the actual delivery—
Why didn’t they prepare me more? 

I’ve ushered in life alongside many mothers
But for this, I was not prepared
Sadly, I just wasn’t aware
How awful it would be to physically feel 
The loss of this life I’d held near. 

My pastor weeps with us 
On our couch on Maple Street
My church, serving us as his hands and feet 
Caring for us, loving us, letting me rest,
Filling in those gaps where I am beat. 

The questions begin: 12 weeks—is my loss legitimate? 
The evidence of life, I could see 
Genesis 3 felt so deeply in me
Yet I still question: Do I have the right to mourn? 
Compared to her, I am early.

Why do I compare my loss to hers? 
Lord, I know you count that life precious
Why do I find myself jealous? 
The insecurity I feel, questioning if my loss is real—
It robs me of the way you bless us. 

You see, they say comparison is the thief of joy
But, I think it’s also the thief of sadness
The fact that we’re sad points us
To the fact that the world is not right
We need to feel it—the heaviness of our current status. 

To understand and accept that this world is not well
That our bodies and babies are in an in-between state
Of turmoil and chaos so great 
We have only to cling to the hope of our Lord
Being with him, we eagerly await.

“Save space for grief,” they say
“Give yourself time to mourn” 
But grief doesn’t take a specific form 
It creeps in the quiet, the unexpected moments
And so, hesitantly and reluctantly, we move on.

We wonder, What now? 
Preparations halted
Our bodies, exhausted
But it is with great care 
That God moves us along in the work he started.

The following days are mostly a blur
God gives me moments to reassure me he’s there
A mantis out my window, hands folded in prayer
It’s odd, I know 
But that little creature let me know that God—he cares.

You see, joy and sadness
They inhabit the same story
Both can be present without eclipsing God’s glory
We’ll carry the pain and the memories 
We’ll remind ourselves that we need not worry.

I do not mean to sound trite 
But there’s a chance I’ll miss the enormity 
Of God’s transcendence and his authority 
If my heart is constantly tuned and turned 
To making comprehension my priority.

Still, in my heart, I echo the laments 
Of those prophets, priests, and kings
Their psalms, I also sing 
But their sovereign God is my sovereign God 
Until I am with him forever, under his care and protection, I cling.