When I came home from the emergency room, I had a packet from the hospital explaining the dos and do nots for the next few weeks, some medications, and a broken heart. This packet doesn’t explain how to call your mom to tell her you lost your baby. It doesn’t go over calling your husband, crying so hard it’s impossible to breathe. There’s no instructions for what to do when you get home to a dark house and how to come to terms with not having a baby anymore. No resources for how to explain to your body that while it might still feel pregnant, it won’t for much longer.

Nothing prepares your mind for the first time someone asks you and your husband when the grandbabies are going to come. Or the heartbreak that comes with the rest of the family having healthy babies. The crying spells that last for months because hormones don’t simply return to normal right away.

What surprised me the most this year was how I would feel on our actual due date. Our baby was due on Christmas, and we had plans with family and hopes that we would make it through the day okay. I got up and got ready, feeling so empty inside. I knew we would be meeting my cousins new baby, and that the only people who knew would be us and my parents. I wasn’t prepared for my mom pulling me aside and saying, “I remember what today was supposed to be for you. Someday you’ll get your rainbow baby, and it’s going to be amazing.” She gave me an ornament and a hug, and I realized how important it is to not forget.

I posted a photo of the ornament on my Instagram, and wasn’t prepared for the responses I got. No one tells you that if you bring up your miscarriage, your friends aren’t going to let you go through it alone. I had friends I hadn’t talked to in years reach out to check in, I had coworkers apologizing for not realizing what I was going through (to no fault of their own), I had family members tell me they were praying for us, and well wishes from acquaintances.

While miscarriage isn’t a highly talked about subject, no one prepared me for the outpouring of support from the people I knew. I may not have known what I was going to do when I got home from the hospital or how our lives would continue with this devastating news, my friends who knew may not have known what to say or when to say it, but when I reached out for the support after my loss, it all came together for us.

Now there isn’t a packet for the emotions one will go through during a miscarriage, or what to say to someone experiencing one, things still come together when a mourning mother needs support.

Mama, are you feeling like you don’t have support? That no one is there to listen to you say their name? Or talk about what your hopes had been? Hop over to my contact me page, let’s talk.