Dearest bereaved parents. Maybe you lost your baby recently, maybe long ago. Maybe you saw them take their first breath, even grew up a little, maybe they were born still, or you lost them some other way. And the amount of trauma in the way we lost them may be different for everyone, but here we all are missing our babies.

There are some things for me that make the load feel less heavy. Wave of Light is one of those things. Each year, on October 15th, light a candle at 19.00 or 7pm local time. This creates a "wave of light" around the globe.

I'll post a photo tonight when the candle is lit. I hope you'll do the same so we can watch the Wave propagating over the world today.💖

I'll light a candle for our little Amber tonight, but also for Pascal, Sofi, Nova, Isobel, sweet baby E. Micah, Brennan, Hugo, Robert, and all the others I've ever learned about, and all the others I'll never learn about. For all babies lost in the past, lost recently and lost years from now. We honor you.

I am not sure how popular this is worldwide but wanted to mention it because it is one thing that I have been looking forward to. I will be lighting a whole bunch for all our babies. Sending love.

We lost our baby girl at 19 weeks in August 25 and baby boy at 21+1 in September 26. We weren’t offered a cerclage in our second pregnancy due to my cervix measuring 30mm. We had cervical monitoring & 400mg cyclogest twice daily.

I’ve been proactive in getting a referral to Tommys miscarriage clinic. I’m seeing Prof Quenby on the 29th of January.

I’ve also had a teams call with Dr Nigel Simpson of Leeds general to get his thoughts on what he thinks happened with our losses.
Nigel has said he thinks incompetent cervix however he suggested reviewing the placenta pathology for both our babies when we get them to be sure about any infections.

Has anyone seen Prof Quenby after two second trimester losses? What tests should I expect? I know they take into consideration symptoms pre pregnancy etc but generally what tests would they be doing? I’ve always had concerns over inflammation because of persistent bloating daily so I’d like to look into that more.

I have also spoke with a Dr Melanie Griffin at St Michael’s Hospital in Bristol briefly explained my history and she suggested a cerclage, she can do either a Shirodka or Mc Donald. Both my babies were born at Gloucestershire Royal however the care I received on my second pregnancy wasn’t the best so I have decided to travel to St Michael’s for better monitoring on my cervix.

I was initially more wanting a transabdominal but after speaking with both Dr Simpson and Dr Griffin the Shirodka seems to be just as effective.

I cannot go through another loss. I’m turning 30 this week my partner is 36 and we’ve been trying to start a family for 6 years. We had 3 years of infertility followed by two second trimester losses. I’ve done everything I can possibly do to ensure my body is as healthy as it can be for both pregnancy’s.

We lost our baby girl after my 20-week anatomy scan in June. Things were well and she was perfect until they noticed my cervix was dilated. I had cervical insufficiency. She was our firstborn after years of trying. I also had severe pp preeclampsia and severe anxiety. It was a really a scary time.

Our nurse was our angel and gave us so much love, care, and therapy. She said let the helpers help and if you feel like telling grandparents, they can be the news spreaders (because obviously, who wants to have that same conversation over and over).

My family and extended family have been surprisingly so supportive and have offered words of encouragement and prayers. My husband’s extended family is a different story. He and his cousins all very close and grew up together. His parents and his aunts/uncles would be at work and all the kids went to their grandparents house after school. It is a very cliquey family dynamic. Also very gossipy, so for sure everyone would’ve heard about this. Not a single one of them reached out. There was just one- that was it. No one acknowledged it. And it’s surprising bc 99% of them are parents. We weren’t expecting anything but husband noticed out of the blue that no one from his side of the family reached out to him. Instead, it was ignored. All the threads he was a part of, people brushed over it.

I feel sad for him because he’s always been very loyal and loving with his family and the one time he needs love and support, no one’s there yet if any of their kids are having birthday parties, they’re constantly texting him to RSVP and we always show up. I know people react to loss different but it’s just odd. This is probably going to change the trajectory of our relationships and dynamics with his family moving forward…

We had a miscarriage at 12 weeks at the beginning of July this year. It was the single biggest heart break I have ever felt.

In the grief, I have completely lost myself. I used to be a happy, social person and now I am just so sad. Even on good days, the sadness just sits there.

I don’t know how to cope with this new version of myself. I want the old me back. I want to be happy again but it doesn’t matter how much I try, how much therapy I do, I can’t seem to claw my way back to her.

I know realistically I will never meet that version of myself again but I want to be happy. I want to get as close to her as possible.

My partner is the most loving, supportive amazing man and he never puts pressure on me to heal or feel a certain way but I want to get better for him.

Getting better for myself just isn’t working right now because every time I do something nice or something good, I get plagued by intrusive thoughts. You know, the classics, “you would have been almost 7 months pregnant now…” etc.

I know I will carry this sadness for the rest of my life in some capacity but I need to get back some semblance of myself.

What did you do to help you heal?

I lost my baby girl just on the 4th of October at 37 w 6d and I can't imagine going through something like this again. I also can't imagine loving other children if I ever have any as much as I love her. Has anyone gone through something similar? Do you have any children now? Do you love them equally as much? Did you manage to have a healthy pregnancy?

No matter where I go, supermarket, clothes stores, public parks, Mexican take out at night, doctor. There are prams appearing in my face or new parents just stopping in the middle of aisles parading babies in their arms!

Something like that used to bring joy and I'd interact with their little ones. I still find them cute but it's a dagger to my heart. Why did I have to be the freak statistic, the walking nightmare, with a third trimester stillbirth. These other parents are the norm, they had a normal experience, why was mine flipped upside down. Where is my baby.

Just screaming into the void here with people who will understand 💔

I just had my 16 week appointment. Doppler couldn’t find a heartbeat, so we did an ultrasound. The tech took a peek for less than 3 minutes and said she couldn’t find a heartbeat and baby is measuring at 14 weeks. I have no bleeding or cramping or any changes. I am distraught obviously, but are there any chances they could be wrong? They will follow up tomorrow as our appointment was late, but I’m just trying to grasp at any straw of hope they are wrong.

I feel like I have to keep myself insanely busy because the minute I have nothing to distract me, I remember how much I hate my life. I have no friends, no child, no enjoyment in everyday things.

Honestly without my husband I fear there would be no reason to carry on but that’s not a burden he should have to carry.

12 weeks and 4 days ago, my precious little girl passed away.

On the day of her funeral, as my husband’s parents were leaving the house, they told my mother that they had been having trouble talking to their son for a while. It’s not that they literally don’t speak to him. They do. It’s more that their son has become difficult for them to deal with. He might ask them questions they don’t like answering.

During the funeral ceremony, I held my little girl in my arms for the first and last time. My mother overheard my father-in-law saying that it was all a circus.

Some time later, my sister told me that perhaps God was punishing me because, in her opinion, I had turned my back on Him. She repeated this three times, so it can’t have been a simple misunderstanding.

Yesterday, I had a conversation with my mother, and she told me she felt uncomfortable because I hadn’t allowed my sister-in-law and her husband (my sister-in-law being my husband’s sister) to bring plastic wreaths to my daughter’s grave.

I had asked people not to bring them. At least, I had told my own relatives. Apparently, my husband forgot to tell his family, but that’s okay. When I told them not to bring the wreaths, they respected my wishes and didn’t bring them.

My mother thought I had handled the situation badly and that I should have accepted the wreaths and then taken them somewhere else afterward. Basically, I was expected to make things convenient for everyone else.

The people who helped us organize the funeral went to a church and asked whether my daughter could be brought inside. They were told no. A long time after the funeral, my sister went to another church, where she was told that a child could be brought inside. She then started implying that the people who had helped us organize the funeral hadn’t done enough or hadn’t handled things properly, even though they were the only ones who stepped forward to help us. Everyone else stood aside, yet somehow still found things to judge us for.

And there are so many other things that have happened.

I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t know what to think or what to do anymore. And most importantly, I don’t understand why people behave this way toward us, parents who are going through such a devastating loss.

P.S. English isn’t my first language, so I hope I’ve been able to explain the situation clearly and get the context across.

I miss my baby so much every single day. It’s been about 5 weeks and today I’m having so many thoughts of wanting to go and be with him that it’s scary. I would never do anything like that, but it’s really painful and I don’t know what to do 😭

Tw; still birth.
As title says. Her first stillbirth happened just a few days before the baby’s due date. The second one I don’t have much information as she and her partner are not checking WhatsApp regularly. This was their first time trying for another child after losing their first one. My heart breaks for them so much, they live on the other side of the world and I just wish I could be there to comfort my friend.

I had a miscarriage at the end of April and lost my baby boy. I was 11+5 weeks along. His due date was supposed to be November 13th, which is also my husband’s birthday. Any advice on what to do to honor and celebrate my baby but also get through the day? I’m dreading it because I know I’m going to be so sad. Has anyone else gotten through their missed due date and have advice on what to do? Hugs to anyone reading this 💕🍓

Two friends of mine lost their baby a few weeks ago, due to unexpected complications during labour. I've received good advice on how I could support in general, but I'm currently thinking about the funeral. It will be held on Thursday and I'm honored to be invited.

I have sadly been to two childrens funerals before. One was for a friend of mine, who died from cancer when she was 16. The second one had just turned 13 and their passing was expected since a long time, due to severe disability and related illness since birth. Both of these funerals were horribly sad, but were also a celebration of their lives in many creative ways.

I feel very unsure about how to handle this baby funeral though, since he got to be here for less than 48 hours. He obviously made an impact on all of us, but all the things we did during the other two funerals don't really apply to this situation. I don't know what music he would have loved, what his favourite colour would have been or what he would have liked to eat. I can't write down happy memories, since I don't have any. I never got a chance to meet the baby, since I was in the ER myself during the few hours he got to be here and I feel so awfully guilty about this (I will not mention this to the parents, it's just a feeling I need to handle). Sorry if I'm rambling, I'm sad and my head is messy. I simply have no idea how to support these parents in this situation, other than just being there.

Any thoughts on how to approach a baby funeral? Advice on what I could do during the service or give them as a memory, to show my condolences and let them know they're not alone in this?

I'm currently thinking of writing them a card, since I'm guessing the day will be more or less of a blur to them. Another friend and I will give the older sister a children's book about having a sibling who isn't physically there (it's written by someone whose older sister died before they were born, so they know what they're writing about). I will also make them a "birth embroidery", which they've asked for, but that will take time.

Again, sorry if I'm rambling or if I'm accidentaly being insensitive. Take care.

Tw:stillbirth, post partum grief

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I lost my first baby full term in May. I can't even envision another pregnancy. My baby boy died in labour. The hospital were hugely negligent and have admitted to this in my birth debrief.

I really hated everything about life these last few months. It feels like ages, but at the same time not long at all.

I keep having flashbacks... not long ago I put out the crib, then i put it away, not long ago I saw the positive test, then the ultrasound confirming his death.

I miss my baby boy so badly. I wish he was here more than anything. I can't imagine having another baby. Going through it again.

The stress of the incompetent medical staff and the decisions. The worry of 'will i lose you too?'

Will it ever feel ok? I want it to be. I wanted to have lots of children and i would have had a sibling for my baby boy, but now i just dont know how.

A lot of people try right away after loss, but i never felt that way.

How do I get to a place where I can deal with it? Practically not just whatever feels right, but concrete things like a checklist of readiness.

Hey friends. I'm a writer, and wrote a 4-page story about my own experience with neonatal loss. I don't want to post it here unless people would find it helpful, but if even a few of you would like to read it, I am very open to sharing.

Feel free to comment below, and I will edit this to add it on.

Trigger warning: It's exactly what you think it is.

Thank you all for your bravery and support.

ETA the story itself, below.
-----

11:11. That’s my synchronicity sign. Whenever I see it, it’s an indication that I am exactly where I should be. On September 25, 2026, I turned my phone on at exactly 11:11 and took a screenshot.

That morning, a “team” of doctors came into Room 325, looking exactly like a hospital drama. They introduced themselves by rank–intern, attending, resident, and lead– and arranged themselves at various distances from the couch I was crying on. The one on the swivel chair, closest, said she was so sorry. The one sitting on the bed nodded in agreement. The one leaning on the wall behind her sighed, and the one standing by the I.V. line wore an expression I couldn’t quite read. 

The more important medical professional in the chair went on, saying that she heard we opted to induce this morning. She wanted us to know that she did not judge us for this decision. The confident stethoscope wearer on the bed agreed, and the leaning intern with a fresh haircut nodded, then shook his head, covering every possible empathetic base. The one in the middle with perfect posture remained unreadable. 

I hadn’t known this was a controversial choice, or much of a choice at all. But in this moment, as I evaluated the blank stare presented by the Resident, I wondered: Do you risk your life to fight to keep a baby inside of you, even when “inside of you” is no longer a safe environment? Do you knight your 20-week-old “a fighter” and send him, unarmed, into a losing battle? Are you supposed to leave the wreckage of this utter catastrophe saying, “I did every single thing I could to save him”?

A week later, I would take every last measure to save my next-youngest son from the horrible reality of his brother’s death, only to be reminded by his therapist, “he can handle more than you think.”

“I think I’m leaking fluid. Maybe a teaspoon or two,” was the first text I sent to my midwife, Ruth, my college housemate, my high school friend, my middle school Odyssey of the Mind teammate. She responded that it could just be a mild vaginal infection, but it made sense to come in and get checked out at the OB Emergency Department. She was already there. 

Sweet Ruth, already trying to calm my anxieties, as she did with her gel pens in creatively folded notes passed in the high school hallways in between classes. 

But I already knew. I knew, because I packed all of my medications and my notebook with name ideas. I knew, because I asked the kids’ dad to come get them, and I told them to take their backpacks. I knew, because on the silent drive to the hospital, I felt the life-sustaining fluid draining from my body, steadily, an agonizing volume, and I knew we were 10 days away from viability. 

A few hours later, I heard all of this out loud, definitively, from a very kind doctor with a very nice fleece that Grant tried to track down on the internet later (the fleece, not the doctor). She said that I had no amniotic fluid left. She said that he was 10 days from viability. And by confirming those two truths that I had held in my mind for the past two hours, she forecasted the next day of my life, and the only one of his. All of it was present in that moment, in the soft words from the soft-fleeced doctor, and for just one moment, I accepted its crushing magnitude before zooming back in and hearing her say, “I’ll give you two a moment.” 

Zooming in was all I could do, then. Just one perfect toe at a time. One heartbeat at a time. One tiny capillary under translucent skin, one small movement of his mouth, one stroke of his forehead, one clip of the umbilical cord, one push, one breath, one contraction, one fist closed upon one rock taken from the shore of Lake Michigan.

I sent Grant five names. Talking about it felt too formidable a task, so I texted him from two feet away, on the hospital bed. Lewis, Soren, August, Edwin, Leo. Middle name Britt. 

He texted me back: Louis, Soren, Edwin.

I texted him back: Edwin Britt. Your family and mine. We put down our phones and cried, then, the first sounds after a silent conversation.

They wrote his name on the whiteboard inside the room. Each nurse asked for his name when they entered. We wrote it on forms for his birth record, and his death record, and for the funeral home. We got used to seeing it, and saying it. Edwin. Edwin Britt.

Edwin Britt was born on September 25 at 5:19 PM. His weight went unmeasured and his length didn’t matter, so they gave him straight to me, still attached. I tried to memorize his face, with the almond eyes and thin lips that matched my three other babies. I looked him over, all ten fingers and all ten toes, his round little head and knees to his chest and his long arms and beating heart and I loved every inch of him. He was perfect and he was madly and deeply mine. He was the only thing that existed: his body and the blue washcloth they wrapped him in. 

There was a blue blanket and a blue striped hat that they gave him later, after they took his hand and footprints, as big as thumb and fingerprints. They put all of this in a little white box after they carried his body away. I sat in the lobby waiting for the car, just me in an empty lobby with empty arms holding that little white box. 

(There was another little white box, given to us by the funeral home. The director, after telling me how much he admired my grandmother, told me that when he picked up babies from the hospital, he carried them out. Babies are meant to be carried, he said. He sat at the table where we planned my mom’s funeral, and he gave us our son’s ashes in a little white box.)

I walked out of the hospital carrying nothing. It had been just a day ago that I had walked into this building with my living son growing inside of my body, and now I retraced those steps, empty. Madly and deeply empty. 

The emptiness had stayed. It’s 11:11, and I don’t feel at all that this is where I should be. This world, like my body, feels hollow and barren and cold. Might there be a world where we are together? Where we were both “fighters”?

This was the first baby that I delivered vaginally and naturally. I welcomed the growing strength of the contractions because it meant I could finally do something productive, feel something besides my mental anguish, and withstand punishment for my apparent wrongdoing (a religious childhood at work). There was a perfect masochism to the moment, since I was in all other ways helpless, devastated, and dreading the death of my son. But right now, I could only feel the exquisite pain of the present; I could only deliver him into the world and nothing else. I never wanted it to end. 

And then he was there, and I felt the most immense relief and deepest despair as the physical pain dissipated and I was flooded with love for this boy whose whole life was already beginning to end. 

So I held him close. I breathed in and cried out. I felt, and then stopped feeling as time froze and then raced ahead. Grant and I passed him between us as we hit emotional capacity, soaking him in until we were drenched, drowning.

Then, at 8:30 PM, the nurses left, the lights dimmed, Grant collapsed, exhausted, and it was quiet, and it was just us.

I unwrapped you from your blanket and placed you on my skin, with every tiny perfect finger of your hand resting on my belly. I stroked your head, and looked into your face, and loved as much love into you as I could. I loved you as you lay perfectly still. I loved you as your skin went dark. I loved you as your body grew colder and colder. I loved you as you left, and after you were gone, and I always will.

Before we met him, and saw his face, and held his hand; the day before, when we got to the hospital, two nurses came in to draw blood. They were both young, talking about food, another co-worker, each other’s annoying habits. The boy left, and as the girl lined up the vials and prepared the needle, she asked, “Are you excited?” I paused, honestly thinking through the coming events, seeing if there was anything I could say I was excited about so I could save her from embarrassment. I didn’t know yet that giving birth would be one of the most incredible experiences I would ever have. I didn’t know how beautiful it would be to witness Grant, fully becoming a father. I didn’t know that the four hours we got to spend holding and loving our son alive would be the most tremendous gift. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Most of the messages I received in the aftermath of Edwin’s death fell somewhere along the lines of, “I don’t know what to say, but I love you.” This felt perfect. Because I didn’t need to be told anything at all, but I did need to know that I was loved. I needed to know that I was still loved when I ate exclusively cereal and took three naps a day. I needed to know it when I read every Reddit post titled “neonatal death at 20 weeks” and Google searched “How much time did you take off of work when your baby died?” I needed it when I cried at school pick-up, cried when I got the mail, cried when I saw anything beautiful, and at the farmer’s market. I wanted to know that I was loved when I spent the entire day in my back yard, staring at the trees, sincerely thinking and hoping that it might cure me. None of these people knew I was doing these things, but I accepted their love, greedily, and out of necessity, and I loved them back. 

Ruth, my friend, came in and hugged me for a long time after the soft, fleeced doctor told us that if our son was born tonight, or tomorrow, he would die. The doctor had also told us that if somehow he was not born, his lungs and heart and brain would not develop correctly; that he would become deformed from the compression of the empty amniotic sac; that I could develop an infection, that he could develop an infection, and that we could both get sepsis. I was already having labor contractions. They asked us to make a choice, but I didn’t see any choices. After the very long hug, I asked Ruth if my baby was suffering inside of me, right now. I couldn’t stand the thought. She told me that she truly believed that as long as he was with me, he would feel safe. I can’t say that I knew it, but I needed it to be true. 

I had a second trimester missed miscarriage(16 weeks) in 2023 with no known cause. As a precaution they put me on lovenox, plaquinel, and baby aspirin and I had a healthy baby in 2025. I just recently had another 17 week missed miscarriage on the same protocol. Again- no known cause. Does anyone have any ideas of how this is possible?

Hi All!

I start to lose hope a bit, so maybe you can help me out. With our daughter we conceived last autumn in 3 months and it was a perfect pregnancy up until week 19 when they found severe CPAM, they induced labor at week 20 in March.

Since then, we are on TTC and cycle 5 was a chemical.. Then today cycle 6 is a negative..

I am just really losing hope seeing majority of women getting pregnant in less than 6 months even after loss.

I did many testing also SA on my husband‘s end and doctors are not recommending any further testing at this point..

Anyone, any success stories after 6+ months TTC?

Today I just want to leave my job and not talk to anyone I am so sad and defeated.

thank you x

I have a hard time accepting the fact that my baby boy left this world as he did. He was growing healthy up until i ruptured this weekend right on week 19+3days.. I did have sub-chronic hemorrhage and it was being resolved on its own..

I went to the bathroom like usual in the middle of the night and something other than my urine came out which i found out at the ER it was the amniotic fluid… baby still had a heartbeat until he didn’t after few hours of my admission to labor & delivery. I ended up giving birth to a still borne baby boy and i cannot describe the feeling and the overwhelming sadness. I did get to hold him and I wish I could give him my lifetime to save him if that were a thing.

The doctors are not sure what exactly caused my fluid to rupture, but I am
Just waiting for them to evaluate the placenta and maybe give me some answers. It just happened too fast and unexpectedly that i keep thinking if there was something I could have done or what I could have been doing. They tell me its not my fault but my heart is filled with void and blames myself. I have great support from my husband, family, and friends.. but I feel like I can’t shake the blame off on being a weak mom who let my baby die inside me.

I am still in pain from spending some time in OR because my placenta did not come out and had to have it surgically removed.. but maybe its the pain and emotional pain together that makes me more sad and weak. How long am I going to feel this way? I have so much support yet I am here laying down trying to find answers.

Thank you for reading, and I wish the best for those who are going through similar situations..

I just received news today that my cousin and her husband lost their baby right before the due date, as she was supposed to go to the hospital to give birth. There had been nothing wrong with the pregnancy up to that point as far as I'm aware, but now my cousin has to give birth to her child, knowing they're already gone. She's more like a sibling to me than cousin in terms of our relationship, our families have spent a ton of time together our entire lives. Her husband has become a great friend as well. We share a family summer cabin and go there together at least once a year, and also spend holidays like Christmas together. They're not religious.

I'm just at a loss of words. Even though I consider myself as someone who's very rarely emotional even to a fault, my heart breaks for them so much. But I know it's not about me. When my mother called me just now and asked if I had heard the terrible news, the worst I thought was that there might've been a slight complication with the pregnancy or birth. This option didn't even cross my mind, it's so incredibly rare here in Finland at least. I cannot fathom the pain the parents are going through, especially as my cousin still has to do the actual giving birth today...

We've decided that we're not going to bombard them with messages or calls right away, and will wait until my aunt or they themselves have indicated that they're ready to talk or address the situation. I read some threads on here on what to do and what not to, and so far put down the date, and put a reminded to my calendar to remember it, not just this year, but every year after. Other than that, I really don't know what to do, this whole thing came completely out of the blue. The parents are in their late 30's by now and have been trying for a while, and everything seemed to being going well until this point.

I'd really appreciate any tips on how to be a better family member in terrible times like this, and certainly what to avoid at least, to not make them ever feel any worse, since like said, it's not about any of us relatives, it's about them and their child, may they rest in peace. Sorry if this became too long or rant-ish, I'm surprised myself how much this devastating news has touched me.

To anyone else who've gone through anything similar, I'm so sorry, and wish you all the best from the bottom of my heart.

Hi everyone. I lost my baby girl at 17 weeks and 4 days in July. I’m still trying to understand what happened, and I would really appreciate hearing from anyone who has experienced something similar.

During the pregnancy, I had some spotting and a small hematoma. Three days before the loss, an ultrasound showed that my cervix was closed and measured around 4.6–4.9 cm.

I then developed bleeding and cramps and was admitted to hospital. The amniotic sac eventually descended into my vagina, and I delivered my baby inside the intact sac. Her heartbeat had been present until close to the loss.

The autopsy and placental histology report described the following findings. I’m translating them from the original report:

Placenta

• Massive fibrinoid deposits in the placental villi and beneath the chorion and amnion.
• Acute deciduitis.
• Partial placental separation.
• Multiple recent infarcts affecting the chorionic villi.

Brain

• Enlarged cerebral hemispheres.
• Dilation of both lateral ventricles, as well as the third and fourth ventricles.
• Thickening and stenosis/atresia of the foramina of Monro.
• A reduced-size cerebellum, recorded as measuring 0.3 cm.
• The diagnostic summary listed bilateral internal hydrocephalus.

Other findings

• Fetal lung atelectasis.
• Dilation of the right side of the heart.
• Generalized cyanosis.
• Immaturity of the internal organs, with extramedullary hematopoiesis particularly in the liver and spleen.
• The remaining internal organs were described as macroscopically normal.

My partner and I have both had normal karyotype results. We do not have a fetal karyotype result.

My thrombophilia/genetic panel showed:

• Factor XIII V34L — heterozygous.
• ITGA2 C807T — heterozygous.
• MTHFR A1298C — homozygous.
• MTRR A66G — homozygous.

My lupus anticoagulant test was negative. I’m including these results for context, but I don’t know whether any of them are relevant to the loss.

I still haven’t received a clear explanation of how the placental and fetal findings relate to each other or what started the loss. The uncertainty has been very difficult alongside grieving my baby.

For anyone who feels comfortable sharing:

• Have you had similar placental or autopsy findings after a second-trimester loss?
• Did you eventually receive an explanation for the cause?
• What further investigations or specialist reviews did you have?
• How did these findings affect the plan for your next pregnancy?
• Did you go on to have a successful pregnancy?

I’m looking for personal experiences, not a diagnosis. I hope hearing from others will help me feel less alone and understand what questions to bring to my doctors.

Thank you to anyone willing to share their story. 🤍

My husband and I have a family member who just lost their 9 month infant in a horrific car accident. This is such a terrible loss for a family that's already been through so much. We live out of state but wish we could be there as they navigate this loss. It is also difficult because we are expecting our daughter to be born right around when their baby would have turned one. Prior to this loss they had given us so many hand me downs (enough to where we didn't need to buy any clothes for all those sizes). Since this accident we have been thinking that our daughter being born will be a trigger for their grief but we also are afraid seeing photos of our daughter wearing those clothes will be too hard for them. I don't want to overstep but I also don't want to give them an additional burden/task to complete. Since we have a majority of their premie/newborn/0-3month clothes I was thinking about having a birthweight animal made for them out of a few items that I know they loved. Then I was thinking to protect them from seeing photos of our daughter in her clothes I was thinking we would opt to not use them. Perhaps pack them up and give them to a family member that lives nearby in case they wanted to take these items (along with the bigger sizes she had already packed away planning to give to us and the current sizes) in case they wanted to make a quilt or something else? It seems trivial to be worried about clothes but honestly from out of state I feel like there isn't much for us to do to help and maybe this will minimize their pain?

For those of you that have had infant loss how would you feel about clothing you had given away would you want it back? Would you want a keepsake? Would you want to forget it existed? Would you want to see photos of family in your deceased child's clothes?

I only know loss from miscarriages (8-12weeks) so I only kept one thing from each loss and donated the rest to be out of sight. Infant loss where they knew and loved the baby outside of the womb and hearing her say mama and dada is a type of loss I can't even begin to imagine so I appreciate any advice on supporting our family especially from afar.

I recently experienced a placenta abruption at 29 weeks on September 18th the worst day of my life. I last heard my baby girl on September 2nd and her heartbeat and my bp was normal. This was my second pregnancy I was high risk my first pregnancy. I didn’t have any signs of anything like I did with my first pregnancy besides morning sickness still. She was moving the day before and the night, but I woke up at 4-5am no bleeding nothing just pain everywhere couldn’t really walk. I was rushed to the hospital and was told no heartbeat I delivered her she came out in the bag still. It was the worst day of my life. I am trying to find ways to cope and get through this. I am feeling like it’s my fault I should’ve went to the hospital days prior I did miss my appointment the day before due to my daughter’s important appt, but was scheduled the next day. I feel like she was suffering between after my appt and the time leading up to her passing. My pee was not testing at my appt on September 2nd and I’m all over the place. If I would’ve have known I would’ve went to the ER, I wish I could’ve saved her. She came out stillborn and I miss her so much.