A nurse sat by me and told me that she was sorry. I grabbed her crying asking her what happened. She just stared at me. 

Even though I begged for a C-section, they told me I had to deliver her naturally and would begin the process of inducing me. I just kept telling my husband how scared I was.

Would I hold her?

Would I be strong enough to see her face? And, would she look normal?

A few hours later my OB came in. She held my hand and cried and said, I too lost a baby. Please hold her and spend time with her.

Two days later, it was time to deliver my daughter, who we had already named.

Violet Ann

When she was delivered, there was only the sound of my loud cries. My father told me that the doctor had been crying too. I asked the nurse if she looked normal so I could prepare myself. They wheeled her out wrapped in a handmade knitted hat and blanket. She had a small bear next to her. My family and I took turns holding her. She was warm, with the most beautiful and peaceful face. I could only bear to hold her for a few minutes, and when I asked if she could bring her back they told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea. 

The feelings following, were something beyond description

Being wheeled out of that hospital, in a wheelchair with no baby to a house where the only screams and cries are your own. When you wake up and feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and you just beg that this is all a dream. That first Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, all the firsts. One was more gut wrenching then the other.

I was pregnant again, 4 months after burying my first born

I hated that everyone just thought I would be happy again or when a stranger would ask if this was my first. How could I pretend she didn’t exist?

No, this is not my first. My first is in heaven.

The looks of pity and discomfort from my response. I cried at every single sonogram appointment with my subsequent pregnancies. Until I saw that heartbeat on the screen, I felt like I was going to be sick. When my son Logan was born, I thought things would be different. But, at night when I would nurse him to sleep in the dark, I would sometimes get confused or pretend it was her. I would look in to his eyes and wonder if that is how she would look at me.

Two years later, I was blessed with a daughter

She looks exactly like Violet. For three years, I was unable to look at girly dresses or go down an aisle in a store with pink blankets and bows. But, after my daughter Teagan was born, something healed inside of me. It is almost as if Violet sent her down to me. You see, my husband and I were told we could never have children on our own, yet here she was, our blessing. 

 

When I was pregnant with Violet, I was so excited to teach her everything about the world but, it was her who has taught me

She has taught me how to be grateful, compassionate, and to love and appreciate every moment of this life, good or bad. Every step I take, is for the ones that she never could. Even though parenting after loss is complicated; a balance of a world filled with joy, followed by just as much sadness. If I had to do it all over again, I would still choose her. As long as I live, I will speak her name proudly.

For she is part of me, and I am part of her.

I will tell my story, and I will not be silent. Through it all, I will help the women that are new to this club that no one wants to be a part of. 

SaveSave

Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post Violet Ann – Break The Silence, Nicole Heinze’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

As a social work therapist, I have spent the past decade supporting people through trauma, tragedy and all forms of challenge and change. But in 2014, I experienced first hand what it takes to survive the unthinkable.

My daughter Nora suddenly and unexpectedly passed away when she was one day old.

She simply stopped breathing in my arms.

At first, my pregnancy had been normal and healthy. There were no forewarnings or indications that anything was wrong. After all, I had every piece of her nursery and our home ready and waiting for our new life together. But just like getting struck by lightning, I suddenly found myself amongst a small percentage of rare and unusual stories. Everything I felt that was solid and certain in my life smashed into a million pieces in a single moment.

No Therapist Training Could Have Prepared Me

Later I remember someone saying to me in the early days of my grief “You might have an easier time getting through this because this is the work that you do.” I remember being aware of the good intentions behind their words at the time. Yet I also thought it was absolutely ludicrous to assume my position as a therapist somehow trained me to deal with the death of my daughter. In no way did I feel equipped to deal with this.

However, in hindsight I realized there were in fact some truth in what this person had said. My work taught me several important things over the years. I am very grateful, because I believe it helped me work my way out of the darkness of loss.

One of those things was this: I knew for a fact that this experience will change me. I saw enough as a therapist to know. There’s no way to come out the other side of something like this unaltered.

Emotional Crossroads

So I was very acutely aware that I was now standing at a crossroads. Either I could become bitter, hardened and spend the rest of my life feeling like a victim, or I could grow. I could expand. Find a way to come out the other side of this as a stronger, better version of myself.

I chose the later. Firmly,  I believe this will always be a work in progress. There is no final point of arrival.

I also knew I needed to fully commit myself to the goal of surviving. That there’s a very real risk that I could be swept away completely by the ocean of despair that I been dropped into.

And I knew I needed to fight my way through for one very specific reason. Moreover, if I crumbled and self-destructed- that would be the story told about my little girl. Later, in hushed tones within my circle of friends and family, she would be referred to as the reason why her mother was now a mess. So I refused to let that to become her legacy.

The Love and Loss Project

After her death, I began various projects. I started fundraising for maternity organizations. Then I delivered care packs to bereaved moms in hospitals. Compelled, I needed to share her love and light in some way. But I also knew I needed to offer something more concrete. To fill the gaps in the services and support systems which I participated in. So I created the Love & Loss Project, an online comfort and inspiration station. Here, as a therapist, I share tools, strategies and support for bereaved families.

I will always be Nora’s mother. To honor her, I am dedicated to living my life as brightly as possible, my little bright-eyed girl.

That is what I believe she would want for me.

That is what I wanted for her.

So I aim to live my life with as much purpose, passion, joy and adventure as I possible. In doing so, I help others to do the same. This is how I am refusing to let my daughter’s life end as a tragedy. Instead, I am turning her brief and beautiful life story into a love story.

Thank you for being a part of that with me, here.

April Boyd, MSM http://www.lovelossproject.com

For More information on April’s Love and Loss Project, please check out her youtube video.
https://youtu.be/JrqqU–E5kg

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Liz’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Mandi’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Jacinta’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

admin

A photography project founded in late 2014 by Alexia Garcia, photographer a Alegares Photography. Breastfeeding World aims to promote breastfeeding and encourage new moms to nurse their babies through the art of photography and story telling.

The post A Therapist’s Experience- Losing My Daughter appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

A Story of Hope – A Stillbirth Story

“Looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior, Jesus Christ.” Titus 2:13

~November 16, 2011~

Our lives  changed forever that day. It started off like any other day. My husband, Nathan, left for work, and it was my day off, so I was having a relaxing morning at home. Right before noon, I realized that I hadn’t felt the baby move all morning. I thought it was odd, but I could have just missed it. I tried all of the “tricks” to get baby to move. Nothing. Beginning to panic, I push on my belly, expecting to feel little hands or feet push back. I feel them, but they aren’t pushing back. Now I know something is wrong. It was 12:30pm.

When I got to the hospital, the nurses hooked me up to a monitor to check for a heartbeat. Nothing. This whole time I was praying. Praying that the baby was really okay. I hadn’t given up yet. My doctor always had a hard time finding the heartbeat. After two different nurses tried, they brought in an ultrasound tech. Nathan got there as they started doing the ultrasound.

Still no one said anything, but I’d had an ultrasound done before. I knew what they looked like. There was no flutter showing the heartbeat. There was no movement at all. Our baby was gone.

It’s was one thing to know, but to hear the doctor say it out loud . . . I wanted to scream.

It was the worst moment of my life.  I wanted them out. Why was it taking them so long to leave the room? They finally left and we were alone. We couldn’t hold it in any longer. We broke down and cried. Cried harder than we had ever cried. How could this be? Everything was fine just a couple of days ago. I was less than a week away from my due date. Everything was ready for us to bring home our little one. We were ready. We would never get the chance to bring our baby home, though. She was already with the Lord.

I have a hard time keeping everything that happened after that straight.

It all seems like a blur. We were in shock. All we could do was sit there, heartbroken and empty, and cry.

Because I was hardly dilated, the doctor administered a medicine to help speed it along. During that time, Nathan made the necessary phone calls to our parents and a few close friends in town. God surely did bless us with great friends. For the rest of the evening, we were not alone. They were a wonderful distraction during this awful waiting period. When there was still no change after 8 hours and my contractions barely painful we decided that I’d try to get some sleep and we’d start again in the morning. It was a long night, and neither of us got very much sleep.

~November 17, 2011~

I woke up at about 7:30am, and at 9:43am. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was 6 pounds, 12.7 ounces and 19 1/2 inches long. Hope Ann. It was not the original name we picked out, but it fit. The Biblical definition of hope is “a strong and confident expectation”. I know that one day I will see my daughter again. She is waiting for me in Heaven.

Lauren Lewis

Lauren Lewis is no stranger to childcare development, having spent over 10 years as a nanny or family childcare provider. She’s the wife of a travel geek, mother of two vivacious children, and has an amazing talent for trailing lost things behind her a la Hansel and Gretel. Her passion for lifting up women and advocating for children pours out in her work as a Central Indiana Event Coordinator, Writer, and Social Media Relations Director for Breastfeeding World. Her life is full of busy, crazy and LOUD. It is full of love and hope, ups and downs. And coffee, always lots of coffee- but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

www.raisinglaurenslittle.wordpress.com

The post A Story of Hope- A Stillbirth Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

The Pregnancy Loss and Infant Death Alliance has released a statement on Lactation after Perinatal Loss. According the website, PLIDA is “An alliance of professional groups,, institutions, and individuals who provide care and support to families who experience perinatal loss.” Their goal is to be a source of support for professional caregivers. The recent statement on lactation after perinatal loss is important to lending support to bereaved families.

Mothers, when they are denied the ability to offer their child breast-milk, feel an intense grief

PLIDA quotes several mothers in regards to their grief in not being able to feed their baby.

• The things that made me sad were really just the realities of losing a baby. Like, I couldn’t hold her, I couldn’t, I couldn’t nurse her… (Lathrop, 2010b)
• But when your baby dies… there’s not much you’re going to do for your baby. You’re not going to feed your baby… (Lathrop, 2010a, p. 141)
• I had lost the baby and I remember when my milk came in, that being a really bittersweet moment. Like it was, on the one hand it was sad, because, you know I had all this milk and I couldn’t feed this baby… (Limbo & Lathrop, 2014, p. 53).
• I think a big part of a mother’s experience is being able to feed your child. You know, not being able to do that was odd. (Lathrop, 2010b)
•  I nursed my first child. And so I— I kind of feel like that’s just what you do. You know, that’s kind of a mother, maternal thing that happens: when you have a baby, you are nursing. And I was— I kind of grieved about that, before I even had the baby. (Lathrop, 2010b)
• The interviewer reminded one mother that she had expressed a few drops of breast milk and placed them on her dead baby’s lips, a symbolic act of caregiving. (Kobler, Limbo, & Kavanaugh, 2007; Limbo & Lathrop, 2014, p. 53).

Grief Caregivers Yield Heavy Influences

PLIDA remains firm that caregivers need to be aware of the influence they yield when supporting a bereaved family. Therefore they recommend any caregiving staff- nurses, doctors, clergy, midwives, doulas, funeral directors, etc,- be well versed in self-care education and coping skills. The Pregnancy Loss and Infant Death Association encourages these bereavement counselors to inform the mother of the chances of lactogenesis. Milk tends to “come in” at about 30-40 hours after the loss or birth of their baby.

Rituals and parenting opportunities related to breastfeeding—whether they be cultural, religious, or familial— can provide some form of reconciliation to the loss being experienced by the mother and her family.

Next, the PLIDA statement on Lactation after Perinatal Loss is careful to emphasize to caregivers that the “most important aspect is to listen to her (the mother’s)  wishes, desires, and hopes, and to advocate for these to the extent possible in your care setting.” Particularly, this is important in regards to the mother’s desire for skin to skin, offering a breast to her dying baby, or to place a few drops of colostrum to an already passed infants lips, or whatever choices she makes about her milk.

Options for Bereaved Mother’s Milk

Fortunately, the Lactation after Loss Statement provides several options for a mother choosing to commemorate her loss via her breastmilk. Some of these options include:

• Taking a Keepsake of her Breastmilk. Some mothers may later choose to use this sample to create jewelry from it, such as Beyond the Willow Tree does.
• Pump and Donate her milk to a human milk donation bank
• Pump to provide milk to other infants in need, which also can help a mother to find some meaning in experiencing her loss.

PLIDA Recommended Lactation Support:

Human Milk Banking Association of North America (to locate an appropriate milk bank for donations): https://www.hmbana.org
International Lactation Consultant Association (professional organization of International Board Certified Lactation Consultants who can provide assistance to mothers): http://www.ilca.org
La Leche League International (mother-to-mother support, encouragement, information, and education about breastfeeding): http://www.llli.org

[col1]Robyn’s Story [/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Liz’s Story[/col3]

Lauren Lewis

Lauren Lewis is no stranger to childcare development, having spent over 10 years as a nanny or family childcare provider. She’s the wife of a travel geek, mother of two vivacious children, and has an amazing talent for trailing lost things behind her a la Hansel and Gretel. Her passion for lifting up women and advocating for children pours out in her work as a Central Indiana Event Coordinator, Writer, and Social Media Relations Director for Breastfeeding World. Her life is full of busy, crazy and LOUD. It is full of love and hope, ups and downs. And coffee, always lots of coffee- but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

www.raisinglaurenslittle.wordpress.com

The post PLIDA Statement: Lactation After Perinatal Loss appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

I got pregnant in March, not long after my wedding. Later, when I went to the doctor, although I had a pre-existing health condition, he told me not to worry. He told me everything was going along well. I live on an island, so at the time, our care was limited.

As far as I knew, everything was going fine.

I went to the doctor for a routine check up, plus to find out the baby’s gender. During the  ultrasound, the doctor told me that my child was on the big side. He told us that I needed to go off-island to the big city, to get a second opinion.

On August 3rd, with my mother and my husband in tow, we traveled for our ultrasound. I knew there was no heartbeat. The doctors tried everything from buzzing my stomach to turning me from side to side. But my child had passed away. I heard myself cry.

It was a cry that no mother should have to cry.

They started asking me all these questions: Why wasn’t I on medication? What were my treatment protocols? My head was spinning.

They didn’t have room for me deliver her that day. So, I went home, back to the Island. I carried her for three more days. During those three days, in my head, I thought they were wrong.

I swore that I could feel her, I swore that I could feel movement.

But what I was feeling, was small uterine contractions. That Sunday, I went to the big city hospital again. I was put in the Maternity Ward. I could hear so many babies crying.

Monday, my daughter was born still.

I was so out of it. It was like a movie. I knew she was a girl before they even told me. In her short time on Earth, in my belly, she brought me the most incredible Joy. So, I named her Joya. They asked me if I wanted to take her home. I was so confused. I said no. They put her cremated remains in the garden of the hospital.

I came back home to this emptiness, it was horrific. So many of my so-called friends stayed away from me. My family didn’t know what to say, so they said: “you can try again”. Even the doctor that treated me said that I could just, try again: “It was just a fetus”.

That was 20 days after my daughter was born still. My doctor hadn’t even contacted me to see if I was ok. I remember yelling, saying she was my child. I was more than halfway to my due date.

She was a person.

Eventually, a girlfriend of mine got me help. I wouldn’t have made it through without the help of a local nurse. She listened to me cry.

I went for my follow-up in the big city. They told me that my medical care was subpar, that I should consult a lawyer. I found out that the OBGYN that was treating me, was not a board-certified physician. I ended up suing and I won.

It took me 7 years to get what I wanted. I wanted him not to practice anymore.

15 years ago, when this happened, we just didn’t talk about it. I suffered for years. There were bouts of depression, suicidal thoughts and an emptiness that nothing could fill. I would look at mother’s that I thought were inept, I wanted their babies. I felt they didn’t deserve them. My marriage fell apart. My husband had a baby with someone that I thought was a close friend. It was such a rough patch.

One day, I met a man by sheer coincidence. Three years later, we got married and we became pregnant. I was sad to find out it was a girl, I was sure that she was going to die before I even had the chance to meet her. When she was born, I wouldn’t hold her until many doctors had checked on her, I needed to make sure that she was okay.

I lived in constant fear that she was going to die.

I felt guilty for having another child after my daughter Joya. To me, It was like I was dishonouring her by moving on. With counseling and medication, I got through that.

Now, I have a daughter, a son and a brand new baby boy. They are all healthy. I still mourn Joya, not everyday but often. The experience I went through helps me to help others. I am no longer silent.

It hurts a lot, it will hurt forever.

Sometimes I have dreams of what she might look like, what she might be like. She was due on Christmas day, so that’s always a bittersweet day for me. My husband honors her memory, even though she wasn’t his child. Our children know about their sister in heaven and talk to her quite frequently.

I focus on the truth that, though her life was so short. It was not in vain, she saved other babies from her same demise.

Because I live in a small community, I see the doctor every once in awhile. I say hello, I make him talk to me. I make him look at my other children and say hello to them. Still, I have a piece of her baby blanket that I was making for her. It is packed away safely. But, sometimes I pull it out and I have a good cry. Time does make it easier, the grief is like an ocean. It comes in waves. I have learned to say it’s okay,  not to be okay. I forgave the doctor a long time ago. The forgiveness is for me, not for him.

I had a daughter on August 6th, her name was Joya. My daughter would be 15 years old. I believe she would have been amazing.

I miss her, I love her and as long as I’m living, my baby she will be.

Olivia Butler

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence 

[col1]Robyn’s Story [/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Save

Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post “Joya Was My Child”- How a small town doctor’s illegal practices ended in her still birth appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

She was the most Beautiful Girl I ever laid eyes on

CuddleCot Donations Allowed Us Some Time to Say Good-Bye

I look back now and wish that I would have held her and never let her go.

We have a 5 year old Son who was looking forward to meeting his baby sister.

The nurses who took care of us in the Hospital did what they could to make this horrible process a little easier

Home without Kenley

This time, my body failed me in a much bigger way. It took my baby, and still allowed my milk to come in. It had missed the memo that we are without a child to feed.

Support through our grief

I’ve found strength through blogging

Lauren Lewis

Lauren Lewis is no stranger to childcare development, having spent over 10 years as a nanny or family childcare provider. She’s the wife of a travel geek, mother of two vivacious children, and has an amazing talent for trailing lost things behind her a la Hansel and Gretel. Her passion for lifting up women and advocating for children pours out in her work as a Central Indiana Event Coordinator, Writer, and Social Media Relations Director for Breastfeeding World. Her life is full of busy, crazy and LOUD. It is full of love and hope, ups and downs. And coffee, always lots of coffee- but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

www.raisinglaurenslittle.wordpress.com

The post Saying Goodbye Too Soon- Randi Hayes Remembers Kenley appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

2 days later, I started spotting and lost the baby.

I was devastated.

I couldn’t work as I recovered from the surgery and was left wondering why my body betrayed me so much. Why were my hopes lifted so high only to be dropped down so, so low?

After my first miscarriage I thought nothing could ever be worse. It was my first pregnancy and I hadn’t even known I was pregnant. But, I was determined to heal and start trying again. I healed, we tried, and

I have a beautiful 9 year old to show for it.

When we decided to try for number 2, I was petrified. In September of 2009 I was pregnant. I was cautiously optimistic.  On January 2, 2010, at 18 weeks pregnant, I lost the baby. There was no definitive reason why I lost the baby. I delivered the baby at home. I never knew if it was a boy or girl, but I did get to hold the baby.  Again, I found myself wondering why my body allowed this to happen. I felt this baby kick. I was obviously pregnant. It amazed me how many other women I met had also experienced a second trimester loss.

There is a light at the end of this tunnel.

On January 2, 2011 I brought my amazing son home from the hospital.  One year to the day after losing my second baby, I was bringing another one home. The perfect one. The one that drives me nuts at times but will have that something special. Always. He saved me.

When I went on to have a third, I was terrified every single day of my pregnancy. I knew my pattern and I wondered if I could stand another loss. Thankfully, I had nothing to worry this about time. She is not a rainbow baby, but I know how lucky I am to have her.

I am so blessed by my family. Only parenthood can hold such highs and lows.

Janice Topol

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence 

[col1]Robyn’s Story [/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

–

[col1][/col1]

[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post Only Parenthood Can Hold Such Highs & Lows – Janice’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

I was heartbroken, ashamed and completely and totally alone.

[left][/left]

[right]I was terrified that I would never complete my family with a child. When I did get pregnant with my rainbow baby, I spent the entire pregnancy scared and trying to not get too attached. Lo and behold, Isabella was born perfect. A pain in the ass but a lovable one.

Recently, my husband and I decided to try for a second one. I got pregnant and although miscarriage whispered across my thoughts, I felt safe. After all, I had already been the statistic. My previous miscarriage felt like a shield of armor.[/right]

 It surely wouldn’t happen again.

Believing that, we excitedly told my family as well as my husband’s. A few short days later, we found out that we are experiencing another miscarriage. I am going through it as I write this.

Miscarriage can make a woman feel powerless, betrayed by her own body and empty.

I also feel like a disappointment to everyone we told. My in-laws will not get that 8th grandchild, my sister will not get that second niece or nephew. This time around I have an amazing support group. However, what it comes down to, I need to reconcile this within myself. I’m writing this at the request of a close friend who wanted to give me that chance to vent, while allowing other women to possibly find something to identify with. Honestly, this isn’t pretty and it’s pretty raw, but I want everyone to know miscarriage just happens. It’s random and indiscriminate and as long as you aren’t doing harmful things,

It’s not your fault

I’m still coming to terms with that and I’m hoping my words can help even one person. Miscarriage needs a voice and for its stigma to be removed. I can only hope this is a step in the right direction.

Robyn Bonavita

Update: A day before going in for my recommended D&C, I went into the doctor for one last sonogram. At this sonogram, a heartbeat was detected. It was slow, but it was there. My world was, once again, thrown upside down. It sounded like good news, but was it? Was my baby healthy? The doctor was unsure if there would still be a heartbeat three days later. We went back today. We found a stronger heartbeat! Now, we are at the point where things are progressing well, but the baby is measuring small. We don’t know which way this pregnancy will go, but we do know, that dealing with a possible miscarriage is so difficult. My emotions have been everywhere, the main feeling is fear. I fear everything at this point. Deep down, I know, I will get through this. I might become broken in the process, but it will eventually get better. 

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

[col1]Becca’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Anika’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post A Voice For Miscarriage – Robyn’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

Wendy & Killian

One of life’s most painful losses it that of a child.

Miscarriage, still birth and infant loss cause a pain that is devastating. We feel a strong and natural love for our child. To lose your little one to death before they have had a chance at life is unfair, cruel even. We are left to wonder what might have been. A pair of empty arms can seem emptier than ever before. Faced with such a painful experience, we urge you to remember that it is normal, necessary and healthy to grieve.

Becca remembers her son on his due date.

You should not have to do it alone.

No more should you hear that “it is natural” or “for the best”, for it is neither when you feel such emptiness. Your loss is real, realer than most can ever understand. It is time that we remove this taboo. We know that you will never move on, and as you step forward through this journey, your baby travels with you. It is time that we all remember your baby as you do because THAT is what is truly natural.

For the remainder of the month, we will be sharing the raw stories of miscarriage, still birth and infant loss. We are honored to give voice to our children, gone far too soon. We stand with you and we would like to let other families know that they are not alone. For you, all of our mothers who had to say goodbye before they said hello,

we break the silence.

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post Breaking The Silence Series: Miscarriage, Still Birth & Infant Loss appeared first on Breastfeeding World.