I am 1 in 4, a mother who has experienced child loss through pregnancy. My miscarriage was my 3rd loss. Each loss packed a different punch. All to bring to the surface an intense amount of pain that impacted each other. All of my life sufferings were brought into my grief, and they imploded.

A lost future that each parent dreamed of. An embrace that never happened. A hole in a mother’s heart. The idea that we were made for heaven, but earth brings an elevated amount of pain. An amount of pain that I found very hard to carry. A cross that I felt was too big for me.

A silence that is painful. The feeling of how do I go on from here. A crossroads in our faith that leaves us so overwhelmed. The wrestle with God: Why? Why Me? Do you love me? Are you even good?

Anxiety + Depression + PTSD + Trauma + Fear + Pain + Sadness

The desire to contracept and sterilize because after three losses, how can we possibly be open to life again. The shame and embarrassment for not being able to carry this cross. The foolishness to think that I could ever be happy again. The emotional spiral would collide. Then the effect of emotions would cause.

Exhaustion + Forgetfulness + Loneliness + Isolation + The Far Away Look + Redirected pain onto others + And the list goes on!

These emotions, ideas, thoughts, reality, facts, and truths are nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed. Untruths. Lies of the enemy. The pain often is too hard to deal with alone. For some of us, we never got the chance to tell anyone before the loss happened, so we mourn even more in silence. We isolate. We deflect. We minimize. We make our grief small and minor. We allow people not to feel uncomfortable at our expense. It’s all apart of a process of coping with a pain that is so foreign to us. 

The pain that follows the loss of a child is real, and you are not alone.

Child loss is a lot of silence. That is why we live in this realm where we think we are the only one suffering a loss so significant. Most of it is because no one knows what to say. Not even some days could I articulate how intense the pain was—tears through silence. Lots of “I’m sorries” Apologizing for crying, apologizing for making a happy moment sad, apologizing for not showing up. Apologizing for making others uncomfortable. A whole lot of apologizing.

But nothing was more painful and hurt me more when people stopped acknowledging my pain. This act of moving forward shamed me for the prolonged heartache that I was experiencing. I wanted to feel joy. I wanted to be at peace. I wanted to be happy again, but I didn’t know-how. I needed someone to teach me how to thrive after loss.

Over time, the number of people who remembered the hard days or would say their names has severely dwindled. I don’t fault people for that. Their lives have moved forward, as has mine. Our losses aren’t fresh for them like it is for us every day trying to move forward towards healing and restoration, remembering everything that I am missing because they are not here with us. 

It’s answering the question "how many kids you have" often and having to have that conversation with strangers.

I understand that many can’t relate to this pain, nor would I want them to be able to, so it’s harder to find ways to continue to support us. However, the lack of acknowledgment from the many makes me so grateful for the acknowledgment from the few—the few who make it a point to remember.

For those who still walk with me in my grief 15 years post-loss of Talon, 10+ years post-loss of Emma Grace, and eight years post-loss of Christian Ryan, THANK YOU. 

I can’t tell you how much you have helped me get to the place I am today. Your love and prayers have carried me to a place I was okay to give Jesus my pain. It was not giving up on me that made the difference. It was knowing you cared and showing me love. That love was Christ alive in you, and I saw it.

Every time someone speaks their name remembers their birthday, reaches out on October 17th, their death anniversaries, and checks in on me brings a ray of hope into my heart. These love notes show me the love of the Father, the mercy and compassion of the Son, the life of the Spirit, and the care of the Holy Mother.

Today I encourage you to reach out to someone who has experienced the loss of a child and speak the child’s name. 

If you have experienced the loss of a child and haven’t named your baby, name your child. When we get to Heaven, we will want to know who we are meeting. They will be there with open arms welcoming us home. 

Our home, where there is no pain, is Heaven.

In memory of:

Talon Antoine Breaux - 10/16/2005 to 10/31/2005 - 15 days old

Emma Grace Breaux - 10/16/2005 to 9/10/2009 - 3 years 10 months

Christian Ryan Breaux - March 6, 2012 - 11 weeks in Utero