Trigger warning: pregnancy loss
What would it feel like? How would I cope? Would I feel anything at all? These were just a few of the thoughts swirling in my mind when my partner, Sarah, announced her pregnancy in December 2017. I was set to become a first-time dad in August 2018.
While I wish I could say I was filled with excitement, the truth is that it mostly left me feeling overwhelmed. I’ve never been particularly open about my emotions. In fact, they sometimes felt more hidden than the tangled cords behind our TV. It took me years to propose to Sarah, and an embarrassingly long time before I could express my love for her.
Now, I was expected to embrace this baby—this entity I hadn’t yet met—as if I had loved anyone before. The thought of being a father felt daunting, and I questioned whether I was truly ready for such a role.
Then came the heart-wrenching news. We lost Sarah’s pregnancy, and I was left wondering if I would ever understand what being a father meant.
For women, everything about pregnancy is more challenging. Yet, there was one aspect in which I felt the emotional weight differently. As a man, the impending fatherhood felt abstract. I understood there was life growing inside Sarah and that we were responsible for it, but I couldn’t fully grasp what that entailed. Sarah, on the other hand, was a mother from the moment of conception. She was filled with love and anticipation, but she also shared doubts about her capacity to love even more deeply than she already did.
As the due date approached, I hoped that my feelings would align with the reality of impending fatherhood. Perhaps once I could feel the baby kick or see her on an ultrasound, I would be more prepared. Unfortunately, I never got that chance.
On April 13, 2018, we attended the 20-week anatomy scan, and I was filled with anxiety—not just because it was Friday the 13th. Sarah had previously suffered two miscarriages due to a chromosomal condition called a balanced translocation, which we thought we had overcome with IVF and genetic testing. But that day, we received devastating news: our baby had a lethal genetic abnormality completely unrelated to any condition we were aware of.
The mutation was rare, occurring in 1 in 35,000 pregnancies. And here we were, the unfortunate 1.
This loss felt like an amalgamation of grief: the loss of joy, dreams, purpose, and a future we had envisioned. Initially, I didn’t feel the loss of a child as acutely as I had with the earlier miscarriages, and I suspect that was due to my emotional defenses. But those defenses only last so long.
Three months later, on July 13, 2018, we planted two memorial flowers at our front door. Each plant held two bulbs—four in total—symbolizing our lost children and a bulb for hope. We had intended to wait until the baby was born to learn its gender, but after receiving the heartbreaking news, we asked our IVF doctor to write it down and seal it in an envelope.
As we dedicated the plants and shared short eulogies, we opened the envelope, revealing a gender that felt like a bittersweet reminder: we would have had a girl.
It’s easy to dwell on what could have been—the moments we would never share, like teaching her to ride a bike or attending her first dance. The hurt can be consuming. Yet, as time passes, my perspective shifts. Our daughter was with us for 20 weeks, experiencing life through her mother’s Barre classes and watching basketball with me. She brought us hope, joy, and love.
She may not be physically present, but she will always be my daughter, and I will forever hold the title of her father.
If you’re navigating a similar journey, consider seeking resources like Progyny for support and information on pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, you can explore Make A Mom for fertility supplements that may aid your journey. For more insights, check out Intracervical Insemination to learn more about the process.
In summary, coping with the loss of an unborn child is a complex emotional journey. The grief encompasses multiple facets of life and identity, but with time, it can lead to a deeper understanding of love and connection, even in absence.