There are things in this world that nobody could ever prepare you for. The loss of our baby we were never able to hold, tops my list.

Michael and I had been so excited for this blessing we started to call ‘Baby Chip’ back in June. It had happened so fast, it was almost shocking. Grateful, blessed, happy. We started the process of being parents, of holding my hair while I was sick, dealing with cravings and moods, of a growing tummy and growing nursery. Dreams, hopes, plans; all gone in the blink of an eye.

Our worst day came in the form of a normal ultrasound scan. All looking well, like the last one. Measuring just like she should. We knew we would see a little jellybean and hear a little heartbeat that day and were beyond excited.

They asked, ‘Have you had any spotting or bleeding?’. I was confused why they were asking. My answer was no, everything had been just like it should. We waited to see her heartbeat on the screen. A heartbeat we would never see.

4 words. ‘There is no heartbeat’.

The floor could have swallowed me whole in that moment.  There are no other words to describe the pain inside of your chest finding out the life growing inside of you has stopped growing. You are never prepared for this kind of pain and loss.

They stumbled around the M- word, as I’ve so nicely named it. Miscarriage. That’s the M-word. It was incredibly tough to stand up and walk out of the hospital with no happiness left inside of me. It was gone, and it took my baby with it.

It was a weird feeling; still feeling pregnant, still needing to pee every hour and be sick, but now, with no real purpose. My husband stayed with me while I sat and cried, silently for hours that afternoon. We were eating dinner, and at the bottom of our takeout bag was a bag of sweets, my husband finding a small part of happiness in our day. He pulled them out, ‘Oh wow, gummy bears…’ He said as he looked at me sympathetically. The previous hour we had looked up how big our baby was- roughly the size of a gummy bear. So many kicks while we were already down. I started to understand then that reminders were not something I would ever be able to shy away from, and I had to start learning how to deal with them from the very beginning. My husband was very attentive and supportive, being the one who had the mission of calling people we had to let know, so that we wouldn’t be asked the dreaded, ‘how did the scan go?’.

After a full week of tests, scans and waiting around, we were given our options of how to proceed. We were put on the emergency surgery list and waited for our final step to be done. A step we would never be ready for, but my body was. We waited all day Tuesday, 30^th July to get nowhere. I opted to go home and not spend the night. Another kick while we were down, more waiting. I had 6 hours to eat and drink before fasting again. I had my surgery 31^st July. Now that we are home and healing, we feel we have some calmness to our storm. We feel ready to share.

July 22^nd was our heartbreaking day, but so was the week and a half that followed. Surgery was a tough and painful experience, something I will share more about soon. I’m sure we will have more dates to come where it will be hard. March 3^rd, the due date we estimated. February 24^th, the date we were originally given for her arrival. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day (because my husband lost our baby too) for years to come will be our days of sadness and loss, and hopefully someday, full of some kind of happiness. 

Little Chip was no surprise to us or anyone around us. Everyone knew how much we wanted to start a family, and after only a month, our wish had come true. We were overjoyed and shared in our happiness with close friends and family, something I’m glad we did. Telling people about our loss was easier after celebrating in our happiness. It felt better knowing Baby Chip had existed in their lives too.

I have memories and not all bad. I’m sure my husband remembers all the countless times I used, ‘I’m pregnant’, as the excuse, something that I now must come to terms with not saying. I remember the baby clothes we purchased after finding out, the furniture we assembled, the nursery plans we had, the rocking chair I was sure Baby Chip would love as much as I would.

The first while was hard, only ever seeing reminders, ads, other announcements of people’s success… I hope some day it will be easier to smile at the idea of babies again.

They gifted us with the images, the only pictures of our baby we have, a baby we will never get to meet; Baby Chip. We started referring to it as a girl for some time, so now that’s what we call her. Baby Chip’s name was a funny, personal joke between some friends, but everyone joined in and it became her nickname. I’m glad we have a name we can use when we speak of her.

Baby Chip existed. She existed for only a small time on this earth, and only in the confines of my tummy, but Baby Chip was here. She was here for 7 weeks and 6 days before she made her way onto whatever comes after this life. I hope it’s somewhere nice. I hope the universe takes care of her as much as we would’ve liked to.

I will never look at certain foods the same way, especially those damn gummy bears. I can’t look at a hospital the same way, or my nursery room, or the photos and videos we made in preparation for an announcement that was far from this one. I will admire pregnancy announcements, knowing how hard it was mentally and physically to get to that point, a point we didn’t get to ourselves.  

We now live in a world, without our Baby Chip in it. I told Michael, ‘She’s the size of a honeybee, perhaps that will be what we remember her by.’ So, bee’s it is, Chip.

I don’t know where to go from here. There is so much I hope to say and do, but nothing feels right. I wish I had more time with Baby Chip than I got. I wish that I got to meet her, cuddle her, and I wish I had gotten to listen to all the dad jokes my husband was whirling together for her. I hope someday those things still happen. It won’t be with Baby Chip, but maybe with another baby we get gifted from the universe. I hope that wherever our Baby Chip is, she rests with people we loved and lost who reside on the other side too. I hope our honeybee, gummy bear, angel baby, is okay and knows we loved her with every bit of our hearts.

We decided to share our story, although heartbreaking to tell, so that 1 in 4 didn’t sound so bizarre. To us, that percentage was a shock. How could so many pregnancies end this way and you never hear of it… So here it is, you are hearing about it. It happens. It happens too often for no real reason and there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. If you have an angel baby, you know the feeling all too well. I’m sad we join this statistic. I’m sad this is how we enter parenthood. If you are pregnant or have children of your own, go and hold them tight tonight. Be grateful for experiencing something so many wish to feel and be apart of. If there is only one thing you take from this, please let it be that you are grateful for what you have.

We know that some choose not to share this kind of news and we can understand why. However, for us, this was important. We had hoped to be announcing our baby’s life to the world this month and instead we announce her departure. It feels like a bad dream we won’t wake up from. We don’t believe that ‘everything happens for a reason’, no ‘at least’, ‘moving on’ or ‘the past is the past’. We choose to move forward. We now live with this pain for the rest of our lives, waiting for the day we get to see our angel baby again somewhere on the other side. Last week was full of emotional pain, this week full of physical pain. We now heal from both, for the remainder of our time here on earth.

We hope by sharing, others will know of Baby Chip’s life. Our baby matters, her life is valid. Although we were only given a few short weeks with her, it was the biggest blessing. I would take all the morning sickness in the world to just have her heart beating inside of me again. My husband and I miss her, I’m sure the universe mourns her loss too, but the world wasn’t ready for Baby Chip, even though we were.

To Baby Chip: We’ll hold you in our hearts, until we can hold you on the other side. Part of our heart now lives on with you wherever you are. Your wings were ready, but our hearts were not. We miss you; we love you; we hope you are at peace.

To those reading this: Thank you for giving us time to grieve the loss of our Baby Chip, for allowing us to share our journey, and for reading about her beautiful life she was able to live here on earth, inside my bump.

-Candace, Wife, Mum of an angel, still a hopeful universe believer.

(The Pfeffer Family)