When I was a little girl, I wanted to be many things when I grew up. I wanted to be an obstetrician, a librarian, a dancer, and even an FBI agent! But more than anything I just wanted to be a mother. That desire only grew over the years. There was just something magical about the idea of motherhood. 

When I got married in 2022, there was a renewed sense of excitement that that dream might finally come true. So I was thoroughly shocked to discover that I was pregnant on October 26, 2022 in the same month that I was married! I couldn’t believe how fortuitous this seemed because my closest friend was also pregnant. I immediately made a connection to the story of Mary and Elizabeth as I did all of the things we mamas do when we first find out, after we stop hyperventilating with joy and maybe a tiny bit of uncertainty.

I remember the first moment I wondered what might happen if we lost our baby. I tried to brush it off, but I kept feeling a sense of unease. I kept telling myself to trust in God’s will.

Our first appointment came early as I was considered high risk due to my age and medical history. I remember sitting in the waiting room and choosing a chair that was in a pool of soft sunlight hoping it would calm my nerves as I softly tapped my foot. I remember the first time we saw the heartbeat and then the soft voice of the nurse telling me something was wrong. The baby’s heartbeat was low and measured behind. I was supposed to be 7w3d and she was only measuring at 6 weeks.

Suddenly, the paper that crinkled every time I moved felt scratchy and the joy was sucked out of the room. The Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor came in and spoke as I stared at the floor. I’ll never forget how he got on his knees just so that I would look at him. It felt like the world had stopped spinning. Despite his words about how there was still hope and things might turn around, I felt like I knew what was about to happen. We were scheduled to go back in a week to see whether the heartbeat had increased.

I was told to prepare for the possibility that the heartbeat might have stopped. My shoes felt so heavy as I walked back to our car.

My regular OB wanted her own assessment and so I went in to see her the following day on November 16, 2022. I was able to see my baby’s heartbeat again. It had dropped, but she said not to panic. She said maybe it was going up and down. Two days before our follow-up, I had been offered an image while praying the Rosary before Mass: Our Blessed Mother holding a sweet, chubby baby girl in her arms. She had sweet rosy cheeks and beautiful blonde ringlets like my husband has. I told my husband and we named the baby Genevieve. The image still offers me tremendous peace. If only I could paint! I would surely paint it and frame it to remember where our sweet little girl is today. 

The wait until the follow-up felt like an entire calendar year. Each day that passed seemed to stretch out over months like a spool of ribbon that just unraveled and unraveled some more. My heart was in my throat when I laid on the MTM’s table again the following week. The scratchy paper didn’t feel exciting and the warm jelly made me nervous. My heart and soul searched for that tiny flicker that day.

 The tech was silent and kept moving the wand around. I think I held my breath until I heard the words, “I’m so sorry. I’m not finding a heartbeat today.” All that fell out of my mouth was, “Yeah,” as fat, ugly tear drops fell down my cheeks and into my ears. Our baby was gone. I heard the words “Missed Miscarriage” and was handed some information and we left. I had been staring at a tiny lamb in the room and the nurse told me to go ahead and take it with me. 

Leaving the doctor’s office, my husband tried to cheer me up, but his heart was broken too. I would have to wait to miscarry or choose to take a medication to make it happen. The words were swirling in my mind.

My emotions felt like an anchor around my heart. My grief was a million pounds.

I don’t even know how I sat in a restaurant eating that night, but we were trying to grasp at normalcy. There’s also no denying that pasta makes for great comfort food. When we sat down and said Grace and got to the “And may the souls of the faithful departed rest In peace. Amen”, my husband’s voice cracked just the tiniest amount and I blinked rapidly trying to stop the tears. It was a very quiet dinner.

For the next week or two, I waited for our Genevieve to be born. Is it right to say she was born? I don’t know a better word for it. Her heartbeat had stopped at 6w2d but I had carried her for somewhere between 9-10 weeks because the sac had continued to grow. I was assured I wouldn’t see what would look like a baby. While that was true, I knew the moment I delivered her one snowy night on December 4, 2022 (despite having taken the Cytotec on November 28th and having intense contractions on and off for hours the first night) 

Right away, I got my husband to help me bury her. I found a tiny box and we placed holy medals in the corners of the box. It was so cold that night. It was late and the wind had a bite to it as we stood around the box as it snowed and prayed together. It felt so solemn and it made me think of Our Blessed Mother in Bethlehem and then again at the Cross. What must it have felt like for her to lose Jesus? What were other mamas feeling right now? 

Very quickly, I decided to give my grief a job. I didn’t want to sit in a puddle of sad tears. It’s just not how I handle grief. When I lost my first husband to Cystic Fibrosis at the age of 19, I tried to pretend it didn’t happen emotionally. I knew better this time. Networking has always been my thing and so I found a way to get some slightly imperfect prayer cards and offered them to women in my online support groups. I was shocked at the response! To this date I’ve had between 130-140 requests and that number just continues to grow. 

I wanted to name my project and that is when Mama Bear Mission went from a thought to a reality. My husband helped me make the logo and something about the image comforted me. Before my wedding, my Maid of Honor had told me that if I was never able to have my own kids, maybe I could be a spiritual mother to other women. It made me think of a Mama Bear.

I felt like God was setting my soul on fire to serve other grieving mamas, and His plan of how it would happen unfolded day by day.

It felt and still feels like quite an adventure. I spoke to my good friend, Elaine, who had been my RCIA sponsor who promised to support me, and I also spoke up at my Endow group about the prayer cards I was sending out. The support was amazing! I told them I wanted to buy some weighted teddy bears to offer to local hospitals to give to women who had lost their baby. This project is ongoing and I’ve created seventeen care packages so far. The hospitals here in Montana seem to love them. The teddy bear part of the Mama Bear Mission would would later be named Project Genevieve in memory of my sweet girl who made me a mama. It is so healing to even type her name, so having permission to say it frequently when discussing the project is like a balm to my grief. 

My goal is to offer reminders of His peace. I realized other mamas were just like me in many ways. They needed and still need someone to come and scatter joy like fireflies for them along this dark grief journey. They need a reminder to look up and remember who they are. They need a reminder that our sweet babies are praying for us in Heaven. If I am so blessed to get to Heaven one day, I hope the first embrace will be from my sweet Genevieve. She only lived for a short while on Earth, but she inspires me daily to lean on Jesus.

For more information on the Mama Bear Mission or Project Genevieve, contact mamabearmission@gmail.com.