There are moments that hit hard, reminding me of the journey I’ve been through. Like when a colleague, unaware of my loss, complimented me by saying I looked great for someone six months pregnant. Or when a friend ran into my partner, asking how I was feeling, and he had to break the news. Then there was the time my daughter came home from school, discussing siblings, and casually mentioned she has a brother named Patrick who passed away. Each instance is a mix of heartbreak and significance. It’s like a punch to the gut, yet they provide me the opportunity to speak about my son, who may not be on this earth, but is very much present in our lives.
Patrick was my third pregnancy. I had a healthy first pregnancy, followed by a miscarriage at ten weeks with my second, and then came Patrick—a seemingly normal pregnancy until the 19-week mark when everything changed. Each August, I’m reminded of that blissful beach vacation, where I received the call from my OB with reassuring test results. Yet, as September 11 approaches, it feels like we’re slowly moving toward a date no one wants to commemorate—our beach trip, Labor Day celebrations, visits to the Thomas the Tank Engine Park. He was part of all those moments, and then everything shifted drastically.
On September 11, 2017, it was a crisp morning in Connecticut, and I arrived at work early. While crafting a press release, my phone rang from my OB’s office. Expecting a nurse, I was taken aback when my doctor spoke instead. “The routine tests from Friday raised some concerns. I didn’t want you to worry over the weekend. Can you and your partner come in today?”
I called my partner, who hurried to meet me at the hospital. The ultrasound technician was unusually quiet, and when the doctor entered, we learned the devastating news: a spinal defect known as spina bifida, with exposed nerves and fluid putting pressure on his brain. The diagnosis broke my heart, but the prognosis was even more devastating. If he managed to survive the pregnancy, his quality of life would be severely compromised. I’ve always been pro-choice, but never anticipated having to make this choice myself. How could we bring a child into a world that wouldn’t be able to provide him the care he would need? I also thought about our two-year-old daughter—how could we alter her life forever in such a way?
My partner and I stepped outside to gather our thoughts before heading home. As we drove back, I replayed our pregnancy in my mind. I had been diligent about taking folic acid, exercising, and eating well. I wanted him so much, thinking maybe my wishes could have changed what was happening. I desperately wished I could rewind time to that morning before the call that ended our hopes.
The next few days were a blur—breaking the news to family and friends, asking a coworker to inform the office about my “loss,” and feeling an overwhelming sense of embarrassment. We hired someone to repaint Patrick’s deep navy room into a neutral gray. On September 15, I went into the hospital pregnant, and hours later, I left without my child.
My daughter was too young to remember me being pregnant unless we reminded her. And so we did. For a long time, I avoided addressing what happened, leading to feelings of depression, anger, and resentment. However, as I began to speak about Patrick—with trusted friends during deep conversations or in brief moments when he comes to mind—I felt his presence grow stronger within our family.
Even when unexpected moments about Patrick arise and leave me momentarily unsettled, I’ve come to appreciate the beauty in these instances. They allow me to honor and remember him, and for others to do so too. While these discussions can be difficult and sometimes awkward (like when my daughter told her class that Patrick was buried next to our spare key in a fake rock, which is far from accurate), they are always meaningful. I refuse to pretend that Patrick didn’t exist. My daughter understands that her little brother watches over her from above, and it comforts me to know he’s also looking after me.
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In summary, the experience of losing Patrick has shaped my life in profound ways. It has taught me the importance of discussing our loss openly, allowing me to keep his memory alive while navigating the complexities of grief and motherhood.