Mom to an unnamed baby
Lost in June 2010 (EDD January 6, 2011)


Born still March 10, 2012 (EDD July 29, 2012)

Portland, Oregon

A miscarriage or blighted ovum turned out to be the most horrific thing I’d ever gone through, or so I thought at that time. My body was slumped over the bathroom floor that hot afternoon in June. I was told to expect “period cramps and bleeding,” but this was a pain unequalled to anything I’d ever known. It was as though my insides were ripping apart, my abdominal cavity was closing in on itself. Beads of sweat poured down my face and I contemplated calling an ambulance. “Is it supposed to hurt this bad?” I thought to myself. I stumbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I felt something at my cervix and felt inclined to push, I was consumed with terror as I knew whatever was there was indeed no blood clot. To my horror I heard a splash in to the toilet, my heart thumped from terror afraid to look. I still to this day don’t know what it was, maybe it was placenta. Shock, fear and anger possessed me as I stood there limp, looking at the tissue and blood that passed from my body. My hands were smeared with it; the bathroom floor and sink were riddled with it. That day was the worst day of my life…but only up until that point.

A few months later I became pregnant again and of course I was apprehensive and nervous. I thought to myself, “If I can just get past the twelve week mark, I will calm down a bit.” I told no one but my Mother about the pregnancy until I was four and a half months. I went in for an ultrasound and found out I was having a girl. Eventually I let my guard down; I allowed my belly to be seen and no more tried to hide my pregnancy for fear of losing it. I was overjoyed that I was going to have a daughter. I got used to her being there. My heart leapt for joy the first time I felt my baby kick and I knew then she was real, a real baby and I loved her.

One night, Brielle was kicking much more than usual. I could almost describe them as violent kicks but I thought nothing of it since people said as the baby got bigger she would kick around a lot more. The following day I felt nothing, which seemed odd, but was not unusual…besides, the following day I had a doctor appointment. The ultrasound tech looked at her, made small talk but didn’t say much about the baby. At one point I saw the heart monitor and I didn’t see any activity, but I thought it was just worry getting the best of me. Besides, I was six months pregnant and I’d let my guard down. I believed that God wouldn’t take my baby, ’cause He knew I would not be able to with stand such a blow and surely not at six months. The ultrasound tech left the room and my OB came in. She was walking towards me very slowly and began shake her head back and forth, her countenance was low and she said, “I’m sorry.” I knew what she was telling me, but I didn’t believe what she was telling me.

I left that day completely numb and infuriated with God. I didn’t know why God would give me a baby to take her away. The night she was kicking so hard, I learned later, she was suffocating. The only thing I had to look forward to now was being induced to give birth to a dead baby. When I saw her, I fell in love with her and I promised I’d follow her home.

I gained the love of my daughter, but I lost my heart and my mind. The following weeks I survived multiple suicide attempts, I left notes behind in my apartment. I left the doors unlocked so someone could come and find my body. I checked myself into the emergency room with cuts up and down my wrists, where I was admitted to the psych unit and later taken to a mental institution. I took sleeping pills and alcohol, a surplus of OTC drugs and prescription pain killers trying to escape the heart break. There was a night I even stopped breathing in church from the sleeping pills. The thought of death was pleasing to me because no words could describe the agony, the death within me that I was going through. I begged God to please just let me die, and since He didn’t, I’ve decided to live for my daughter.

When a baby dies, there’s a part of you that dies with it. The fruit of death is bitter and merciless; however, as long as I must live I will do so to please God so that I can see her again. I live to die and when I die,I will see my babies again. I hope that anyone reading this gets some comfort from it. There’s nothing that can take away the emptiness and mourning that we feel. It is a hard burden to bear. When I get down I remind myself of the words that King David said when his baby son died: “He will not return to me, but I will go to Him” 2 Samuel 12:22. Through my faith in Jesus Christ alone, I know I will see my children again, and the One who saved me from death but until that day I will love them here on earth forever.

You can contact Chelsea at

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  1. Chelsea, I’m so very sorry your Brielle is not with you; it isn’t fair! And after such a difficult miscarriage as well…
    I can relate to losing the will to live. I think most mom’s that have been through having to leave the hospital without their baby can. I hope you have found a support group online or in the real world; it can be a great comfort to talk to someone else who is walking the walk. I have a list of baby loss communities and support networks here if you’re interested. It’s not complete, but I’m adding more as I find them. I’m glad you have found the will to live for your daughter, that’s a start. There’ll come a day when you can smile and dance and laugh again and, live for other reasons as well, but it takes time. Give yourself that time. Time to grieve and, time to heal. I’ll be thinking of you. XO

  2. I’m sorry for your loss. I have had multiple miscarriages and the last one was the worst. I too saw terrible blood tissues and , yes, of course , the babies that I miscarried. I was pregnant with 3 sets of twins. I couldn’t imagine what was going on with me. Did I do something wrong? I never had a still birth experience and I feel bad for those that do. You will see your children again, and that’s all I keep telling myself. Try not to commit suicide hun. One day you will give birth to a beautiful baby! God bless you and I’ll keep you in my prayers!

  3. Thank you for sharing your story… It’s so tragic and yet your words hold so much beauty that I just felt the need to drop you a note to let you know how deepl you were able to touch me.

  4. Ty, i hope it helps somebody

  5. Beverly says:

    I’m sorry to hear about your loss. You’re a very strong woman. I don’t know what I’d do if any of they happened to me. I’m like you, I worry. I fear ill go in to my ultrasound and there will be nothing there. It’s a huge fear. :/ stay strong mama!

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