Friday, August 5, 2011


I don't know if today will be lucky, unlucky or (most likely) something in between. But 13 years ago today, August 5th, 1998, became the worst day of my life, before or since -- the day I went for my six-month prenatal appointment, and learned that my baby girl, the baby I had hoped and waited so long for, the only baby I would ever have, was dead inside of me.

Two days later, I delivered and held her tiny, lifeless body for a few all-too-brief hours. It was the thunderbolt that split my life in two -- before and after stillbirth, the life I thought I was going to have and the life I ended up with.

One month earlier, on July 6th, dh & I had marked our 13th wedding anniversary. Well, sort of. We had to cancel our plans for dinner because I came down with a migraine. An omen, perhaps?

Had she lived, our little girl would be entering her teenage years in mid-November. I know some parents like to joke about how the teenage years are "every parent's nightmare." I want to tell them I've already lived every parent's worst nightmare, & believe me, having a teenager ain't it.

I'm writing this post in advance and, as usual, I am not sure how I am going to be feeling today or Sunday. There is so much I could say (& have already said, over the past almost-four years in this blog and, before blogging, on message boards and listservs).

I guess what I want to say, right now, is this: it's 13 years later, and yes, I've survived. I'm 50 years old, infertile and childless (in the living child sense), and know that I will remain so -- but I'm still here. Doing pretty well in many respects, actually.

But while I'm in a much better place overall than I was then, stillbirth still sucks just as much as it ever did.

And I still miss my daughter.

I will love her & miss her as long as I live.

12 (August 7, 2010)

11 (August 5, 2009)

10 (August 7, 2008)

1998 Memories: Wednesday, August 5, 1998: Gone

1998 Memories: Friday, August 7/Saturday, August 8, 1998


  1. I am just so, so sorry for your loss.

  2. Thinking about you today and the days ahead. (((Hugs)))

  3. Hoping Sunday is the best day that it can be.

    It's something to be still standing, isn't it?

  4. Sending you lots of love today and always!

  5. Sending you love and I know the coming few days will be hard. Remember that we're giving you so much love, hugs and support. Always.

  6. I am so sorry. Hoping you get through the next couple of days ok.

  7. I'm so sorry that your baby isn't turning 13 here with you this year. It's so terribly unfair and I hate it. I also truly admire the way your love for Katie has shaped your life in very positive ways. It's a real tribute to your daughter that you are not just surviving, but you remain generous, enthusiastic, compassionate, and funny. I'm sorry that she's not here to see that (and be totally mortified by it because everyone's parents are so embarrassing at age 13, right?).

  8. Abiding here at thirteen. Your comment touched the grief in me, and the love. It is so beautiful. Sending love, remembering Katie. xo

  9. Lots of love, thinking of you and your baby girl today (*HUGS*)

  10. So sorry, Loribeth, that the two anniversaries have arrived. Be gentle with yourself. I found myself chanting the following excerpt the other day as I mourned an anniversary:

    Do not hurry
    as you walk with grief,
    it does not help the journey.

    Walk slowly,pausing often:
    do not hurry
    as you walk with grief.

    Hugs and tears of empathy.

  11. Sending love and hugs your way. I am so sorry that this ever happened to you.

  12. Thinking of you and your Katie, especially these few days. Sending love.

  13. Thinking of you, and holding both you and Katie close to my heart on this difficult day.

  14. Thinking of you and Katie, 13 years on. You bring so much hope to so many mothers who are years and years behind you on this path of life-long grief.
    With much love.

  15. Thinking of you, your husband, and your beautiful Katie.

  16. I came across your blog while searching for Laura Bush's biography and, must say your pain just shook me. This evening I thought I had had a rare day when I cried very little (I weep almost everyday for hours, sometimes in multiple sessions) so I guess the day had to end with tears but this time not for self, for you. I've been TTC past 3 years, at age 30 diagnosed with POF, being given the DE speech repeatedly but I'm choosing to hang-in here and try everything that I can. When I look around, I know I'm very fortunate and my heart pains to think I cannot do much to bring more joy in others lives. I know no matter how much we all will say, your pain will remain dominant so all I will do is to send more love vibes and prayers for you. Take care.