Love Lived Here First

A reflection on miscarriage, memories, grief, and healing.

Jul 12, 2026

A statue of an angel sits among flowers. — Photo by Kouji Tsuru on Unsplash

Hi, friends. I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend.

Part of me hesitates to send this post out, because the last time I shared about my miscarriage, a number of folks left. But a bigger part of me wants to share it, both to honor the baby I lost and to help others dealing with grief.

I completely understand that it can be difficult to read about and maybe even triggering for some people. So if this topic is not for you, please feel free to skip this one. I hope you won’t leave for good, though.

Not too long ago, an important anniversary passed for me. The anniversary of the day we heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

I also remember and honor my due date, as well as the date we learned our baby had died. Many women who have lost a pregnancy do. It’s just typically kept quiet.

But there’s something about hearing our child’s heartbeat for the first time that sticks with me the most.

That moment changed me.

I was changed from the second I saw the positive pregnancy test, but laying on that table in the fertility clinic, holding Adam’s hand, and hearing the doctor say, “hear that? That’s your child. That’s their heartbeat,” made everything feel so real.

The heartbeat was strong then. We saw our baby on the screen. They handed us pictures and the doctor said with so much joy, “congratulations. You guys did it! I know it’s been a long wait. But you’re finally parents.”

I felt a love like none other for the tiny life growing inside of me.

I think that’s why that date and those memories will forever be etched in my mind.

For a long time after my miscarriage, I couldn’t even think about that day without completely falling apart.

The grief from losing our only child—the one I’d hoped and prayed for, for so long—is something I don’t think will ever leave me.

I’ve learned a lot about grief these past two years. And what I’ve found is that grief doesn’t ever fully go away, but we do learn how to live with it differently. We grow with it. And we grow stronger alongside it.

And I can now think about the day we heard the heartbeat and even smile a bit, because I think about that beautiful new love I’d never felt before it.

Does it still make me sad? Of course. But I can sit with the memories now. Without feeling gutted. Without needing to push them away. Sometimes the tears still come, but they’re much less frequent these days.

It got me thinking a lot about how grief is a little like an unwanted houseguest that comes to stay and then never leaves.

For a while, I tried to get rid of it. I thought I could make it go away. But eventually, something in me changed. I softened towards the grief.

Because I learned that the grief was not my enemy—it was simply proof of love.

So I learned how to live alongside it.

I was thinking about this the other day, as all these emotions swirled in my head. Writing helps me process my big feelings, and a poem came to me about this.

I haven’t written a poem in a while and I quietly thanked my baby for inspiring it.

Sharing this with all of you helps me honor my baby and my grief. So thank you for receiving my words with care.

And if you’re carrying your own grief—whether it stems from the loss of a pregnancy, a loved one, your health, your dreams—whatever it is, I hope these words bring you some comfort.

Thank you for walking this path with me.