All Hope is Not Lost
10.31.25
In this season, the darkness each day increases. The temperature begins to drop here in the Midwest.
We begin to draw inward as all of the action tied to summer and fall exhausts us into stillness. We are nudged closer to silence.
In some cultures around the world, this time of year acknowledges the “thinning of the veil” between the world we are living in and the spirit world.
In Ancient Gaelic culture, communities honored this time of year with a celebration of the end of harvest season and the start of a journey toward winter (Samhain). Dia de los Muertos honors the communities across Central America as pets and people alike are remembered in order to keep their spirit alive.
And whoever used the Gregorian Calendar to deem October “Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month” may have selected this at random or chose this time of year in hopes of finding connection to these babies that never made it earthside or left too soon…
I lay here in these final minutes of October 31 and I snuggle my sweet toddler as he managed to slip into a deep slumber following fun with friends (despite the sugar rush’s best efforts to keep him awake).
And it’s here, in this moment as I inspect the little details of his little sleeping face, that I get a glimpse of the sleeping face we met nearly 4 years ago.
The sweet sleeping newborn face of Malcolm, whose emotions would never greet his darling features, lingers in my memory. Somehow the mental image resurfaces as equal parts hazy and high-definition clarity.
My eyes recall the shapes of his eyes, nose, and cheeks. My lips recall the soft sensation of his small forehead on that cold morning. My nose remembers the smell of his hair, the sweet smell of a newborn that brings comfort to so many and I only hope to lock away in my memory.
This image carries my thoughts to the imaginary world where he lived to become almost 4 years old.
It makes me curious about the way his hair may have laid in front of his eyes, the dimples that would have appeared during his grins, or the way his eyes may have changed from that newborn blue into maybe green? hazel? light blue just like his dad?
Had your life continued in this earthly plane, who might you have been, Malcolm?
Would we still be lighting up at any connection to foxes? Would we still see little rainbows hidden in the clouds and feel your love? Would we still receive visits from red-spotted purple admirals (butterflies) for close encounters that keep us in the present?
Would we have avoided the understanding of the unfortunate parental decisions that need to be made following a loss?
In just today alone, connections to him (Malcolm) found their way into my conversations without so much as a flinch…
While on another beautiful nature walk with Leo & toddler friends at John Bryan State Park, Leo exclaims “maybe find a fox?!” while our friends inquire about what we may find in the woods today.
While reciting who all is a part of our family during lunch time chats, Leo and I list everyone (including all members) and cheerfully say “That’s our family!” Choosing to say it in a way that pretends for a moment that there’s not a devastating loss wrapped up in that family…
The trauma continues to find me in moments that I can’t quite predict. Whether it’s being worried about friends who plan “too far in advance” for their growing fetuses or having to tell other parents of toddlers why trusting others for childcare for my living child is so hard.
The wounds of our loss persist despite my continued efforts in healing. Yet time has only taught me that I will never understand how time will shift my grief until I’m in that new moment in time.
And as much as I wish that Malcolm was the only pregnancy loss that I’ve experienced, that just simply isn’t true.
Nearly two years prior to my pregnancy with Malcolm, I started noticing weird symptoms concerning my cycle. Over time, I came to realize that I had 2 pregnancies (about a year apart) that never resulted in a positive test because the pregnancy was already over as it barely began.
One of the two, I had literal evidence of a miscarriage and had no acknowledgment of it until my therapist reflected that maybe I had experienced a pregnancy loss.
I looked at her, floored, as she gently shared her insight. That response was not what I had expected to hear after confidently describing to her this profound meditative revelation and symbolic “release” of the mental load I had been carrying from a toxic family relationship.
Had I not deserved a pat on the back for my epiphany before she brought me back to reality?
On nights where I get particularly lost in my thoughts, I wonder about my younger days…
Who is to say that I had not experienced early losses in my earlier years of adulthood? The years when I so desperately had no interest in being pregnant while taking precautions in my long-term relationships, but still anxiously keeping track of my cycle that was knocked “off-rhythm” to see if I was going to have to reroute my life plans.
Young, unsure and unstable while I was navigating my fear-filled thoughts and low self worth surrounding any possibility that I would be pregnant before I was prepared to be.
The reality for me, and many other women, is that pregnancy (and child) loss has been a very real, very impactful, part of my (their) life experience, known or unknown.
Whether planned or unplanned, 1 in 4 pregnancies ends in loss (often early), with the real data showing higher rates for unreported or unknown pregnancies.
The loss that we experienced with Malcolm is a likelihood of less than a fraction of 1% of occurring based on the alignment of factors we experienced (2-vessel cord, atypically long cord and extra amniotic fluid that led to the cord restricting blood flow in the late 3rd trimester).
Regardless of this low percentage of occurrence, I was wisely once told by a practicing medical doctor and surgeon that “…statistics only matter for the group. When it happens to you, it’s either 0 or 100.”
And so, in honor of our very planned for baby who we held for a short time, our unplanned (and unknown) losses, and for everyone who experiences the heartbreak of pregnancy and infant loss at any stage, take some time during this season to remember:
that no two pregnancies or losses are the same and are not up for comparison
parents of loss need love and validation, not ways of trying to “fix” their loss
to share resources by, and donate to, organizations like Return to Zero: HOPE that provide parents and families with what they need for life after loss (there is a tab for Families & Friends of those who experience loss too)
parent autonomy through all experiences of pregnancy, loss, and healing should remain top priority
In this season, say those names, check on your friends, light your candles, and take a moment to reflect on these lyrics from Sierra Ferrell’s American Dreaming as we all hold space for the lives we’ve lost and hopes for their memories living on through us.
“So I'll get back home and try to be
Someone that's something like me
But I've forgotten all my angels out here in the wind
Sittin' out here with my mind
I meditate to pass the time
But there's something inside settin' sail all over again”
