Un-telling is the Hardest Part

“Mommy, why is the baby in trouble?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror at my three-year old daughter as we pulled out of the hospital parking lot.  Tears silently fell as I choked back stifled sobs.

A puzzled look fell over her face.  “Is the baby in trouble because it hurt you?” she whispered.

“Did daddy tell you the baby was having trouble?”

Kolby nodded yes.

It was a conversation I wasn’t equipped for.  How was I going to explain to Kolby that the baby brother (or sister) she wished for with a penny and a prayer in the fountain at Starbucks was gone? 

How do you translate an ectopic miscarriage to a toddler?

“Sweetheart, the baby isn’t in mommy’s tummy anymore.  Now he is in heaven.”

Kolby scrunched up her face and gulped.  “My baby is with Jesus in heaven? But that’s so far away and I won’t see him.”

“Someday you will.  Someday we’ll meet him.”

Kolby sighed in sadness and closed her eyes.  Within minutes she fell asleep.

I breathed a sigh of relief.  The first of many tough conversations was over.  It’s the un-telling I dread the most.  The reason we hide our pregnancies for the first three months is for this exact moment.

Because it freaking sucks to un-tell the good news we were just starting to tentatively share.

This isn’t my first miscarriage.  I’ve had six over the last fifteen years with one well into my second trimester.  And just because I pass a “pregnancy milestone,” I know there are no guarantees. 

Life is a gift and it is sacred.  My three children are miracles.

Death and loss are never easy.  It always hurts, always feels unnatural and it ALWAYS rips apart the fabric of a mother’s heart.

So when I un-tell…yet again, please give me a hug.  Grab my hand and don’t feel like you have to say anything of relevance.  I don’t need to hear a scripture verse or a platitude.  At this point, I’ve pretty much heard them all. 

Sometimes the comfort and solace of Christ is best experienced in the un-said.  It’s in the flowers sent, the bread on my door for PB & J’s, the notes and texts and fingers squeezed.  It’s the family picnic in my bedroom on a scary Saturday night where all five of us laughed and prayed and hoped for the best in the worst of times. 

So here is my un-tell…

I lost a baby.  It didn’t work out this time.  I’m a little raw.  I cry easily.  I might avoid you but only because I don’t trust myself yet to have a normal conversation.  I’m also feeling tremendously blessed and loved.  I’m sad and I’m happy.

And just so you know, the baby’s not in ANY trouble.  He’s at a party right now in heaven.

Preach the Gospel at all times… and when necessary, use words. – Saint Francis of Assisi


  1. Ali Woodard says:

    You are in my prayers, sweet Sam.

  2. I’m so sorry 🙁 You are right, there are no words.

  3. Anonymous says:

    So sorry Sam:(

  4. Anonymous says:

    A hug through words — praying for you & your family.

  5. Love to you and all of yours.

  6. Katherine Halbeck says:

    Big hugs honey. So sorry to read of your loss. Love you!

  7. I am so sorry Sam. I am sending you great BIG hugs and love.

  8. Anonymous says:

    So so sorry

  9. I had not read this post before I saw you today. The moment you told me, I had the “what do I say?” panic float through my mind. As I ran to the back room I immediately began praying for you and for the right words. They never seemed to come, but as you were leaving I hope you felt loved and you felt pretty. In that moment, it’s all I knew how to give. I’m praying blessings down on you and Tim and your family today.

    • First of all, you were and are perfect. You have a huge heart and wisdom like a sage. Sometimes I have to blink to remember you are so young and yet so grounded in the Lord. I did feel pretty and loved and I am so blessed to know you.

  10. Hi Sam, a friend of mine forwarded me your post because she read it and thought of me. In reading your story, I’m crying right now with you and for you because I know all the feelings and sorrow you have. I am there with you. After almost a year of infertility, we were overjoyed to finally be pregnant, then, we lost our first baby last year at 15 weeks, it was heart-breaking. After another year and a half of infertility treatments, we are still waiting to be parents. It is a hard journey, yet, I am closer than ever to our loving Savior. Sometimes, people tell me, “it’s all in God’s time”, and I want to scream! That is so NOT the thing to say to someone in this circumstance! 🙂 But, I know they mean well, and I know it is hard to know what to say to someone who is experiencing tragedy. I am so sorry you have had to go through this six times, I can’t imagine. Your post was so honoring to those little lives whom we will meet someday in heaven. Thank you for putting words to the feelings and emotions and for sharing your story, not everyone can do that, so I think you are pretty amazing! Oh, and last year when we found out our baby was a little girl, and we had named her Samantha…baby Sammy 🙂

    • Hi Amanda,
      I am so sorry it took me a while to reply. It’s been one of the tougher seasons in life. I am so sorry for your heartbreak. I will pray and pray and pray some more that you will get pregnant. I know it is the cry of every mother’s heart to have a child. Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability! I cried when you said the baby’s name was Samantha. I lost a boy at 16 weeks. I named him Cade. Here’s to God’s favor as we continue to raise our hands and surrender!

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