The F Word

Holidays are hard. In general. Families gathering can be intense and it’s especially difficult in the throes of grief.

Assembling for an event makes those who are missing all the more evident. Sitting around a table feels haunted by the lack of a high chair.

My first should be experiencing their first Easter. In addition, I am mourning a second pregnancy loss.

You might show up to the family function and plaster a smile. Have a drink (because, yep, you’re no longer expecting). Go to the restroom to cry or just take a breath because the elephant in the room is sitting heavy on your chest.

There is nothing that will ever fill these voids. There is little that will provide comfort.

In the days following my first loss, I needed something physical to grip to after the only thing I ever wanted to hold was cruelly ripped away from me. 

First, I made an appointment to get something to cling to me: a tattoo (the one you see pictured). I wanted to immortalise this little life who like a bee only nestled briefly in one spot before flying away.

The heart-shaped pillow is something else I purchased quickly post-loss. It is a keepsake cushion where you may place mementos like sonograms, letters, pregnancy test(s) or that onesie you couldn’t help but buy soon after finding out you were with child.

I sleep with this pillow nightly.

I also wanted something I could carry with me. This necklace is never taken off. I fidget with it often and think of my angels.

Aside from making my own candles and creating labels that relayed relatable quotes, I ached for lightness while being consumed by shadow. This crystal suncatcher reflects rainbows in our kitchen and tugs at my heart when its rays shine through the room. 

In moments that can feel so dark and isolating, a few meaningful tokens have provided seconds of solace.

I know things might be weighing big right now, fellow Loss Parent. While our babies are not here to mark these milestones, we can honour them in any way(s) that feel right. 

I am wishing you moments of softness amid the hardship. May you be surrounded by thoughtful people who meet you where you’re at (if you choose to attend that social occasion or not). May they acknowledge how gut-wrenching these holiday moments are without the people who should be here.

With compassion, 

Kim

♡♡

Note: This post is not sponsored. I am simply sharing a few items that brought me comfort while grieving.

Disclaimer: This is my journey. I’m sharing so maybe even just one other human may feel less alone. Our losses matter. Grief is not a competition. Bullying, comparisons or trying to one up someone’s grief will not be tolerated.

Here I was in Ireland in March 2025. Grateful for a getaway and navigating however I could after my first miscarriage.

Supporting someone who is grieving can be daunting. It’s tough terrain. Initially people check-in, give their condolences, and offer to let them know if you need anything. 

It’s said with the best intention but asking a grieving person to reach out and request assistance when they’re struggling to get out of bed or even shower is a BIG ask.

There are people who will drop off food, send you an Uber gift card, have flowers delivered or mementos sent to you on mother’s day, a plant on your baby’s due date. Thank goodness for those sensitive souls who keep your heart company through it all. 

Those who keep you feeling seen in times the world overlooks. Those that comprehend that grief doesn’t follow a clock.
That those little lives were carried for a moment and will be loved and honoured for a lifetime.

In the midst of some of the worst happenings of your life, it somehow becomes your task to train and teach others what it means to live with grief.

Then, people move on. Quickly. Their world continues to spin when your universe and the life inside you has halted. Life is busy for them. Death lingers with you.

People don’t know what to say, so some go quiet leaving you feeling desperately alone and misunderstood. Some fear saying the wrong thing or making you sad by bringing up your loss but not acknowledging them hurts more. If you’re not sure how to show up, ASK! It’s better than resentment rising. 

I get it, it can be uncomfortable. Many people can’t fathom the depth of your loss, so let’s engage empathy: How would you like to be met, seen or comforted in your lowest seasons?

In order to make some people more comfortable with my mourning, I asked them to periodically (or when they think of me and my angels) to send me a simple, random emoji. That’s it.

No words needed. Just a little bright spot on dark days.

People don’t want to intrude but the alternative is your feelings of isolation get louder.

If you haven’t checked in on anyone suffering any kind of loss (a job even, etc.), it’s never too late. Maybe it’s been awhile. Just send the text, an emoji, or gif. You’ll both feel better.

We want to be seen. We just want them to be remembered.

With compassion, 

Kim

♡♡ 

Disclaimer: This is my journey. I’m sharing so maybe even just one other human may feel less alone. Our losses matters. Grief is not a competition. Bullying, comparisons or trying to one up someone’s grief will not be tolerated. 

Here I was in December 2024 newly pregnant after a successful IUI (intrauterine insemination) treatment.

Sparkling and blissfully unaware of the gutting grief that would lie ahead.

Fast forward six months to a conversation where I was told I was not as shiny or bright as I once was.

[ Insert reaction of incredulity ]

Of course I wasn’t. Grief changes you. Grief doesn’t follow a schedule. We will mourn the lives we lost in our own way and on our own timeline.

No one gets to decide how you process the losses of your pregnancies. No one.

The fact that you can show up anywhere at all after the devastation of losing the little lives that grow inside you is worthy of a standing ovation, not a criticism of your perceived persona.

If you “glow” when you’re pregnant, just what happens to that luminance when that baby is taken from you?

Reread that. Let it sink in. 

Dull doesn’t begin to describe the level of radiance that may have dimmed.

But still, you get up (maybe with a trauma haircut and highlights to distract from the pain) and face a world that doesn’t make sense without them. A sorrow that no one can see or perhaps adequately acknowledge. 

When I look at pictures of myself that were taken before my losses, there’s an essence that has been stripped. An innocence. My smile doesn’t appear the same. My eyes carry a longing that my lips can’t match.

I will never be 2024 Kim before loss. I will never be 2025 Kim after loss because 2026 Kim has lost again.

I am deeply sorry for anyone reading this who is a Loss Parent. I am sorry for the people who mistreated you in your most tender state. I am sorry for the apology you may never receive because people who haven’t walked our path will never understand.

I hope there are humans who will meet you in the darkness. Loved ones who may not know what to say but can virtually or physically put an arm around you and sit with you in the shadows of mourning.

Grief doesn’t go away. It just gets harder for people to see. But you are seen here. Every part of you. The new layers that have emerged and the former ones that are resurfacing differently and gleaming in their own right.

I am here with you. Reach out, I’ll answer.

With compassion,
Kim
♡♡

Disclaimer: This is my journey. I’m sharing with the intention so even just one other human may feel less alone. Our losses matter. Grief is not a competition. Bullying, comparisons or trying to one up someone’s grief will not be tolerated.

Here I was in February 2026 elated while expecting our rainbow baby.

Cut to a month later discovering for a second time that our baby had stopped developing.

Some grief asks you to travel a road you already know.

The path of recurring pregnancy loss is a heartbreak I wished I’d never have to walk twice.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve experienced loss (or maybe you know someone who has).

If you have, I am so sorry. You did not deserve this. This was not your fault.

There is no way around it, only through and I am here with you. Feel free to reach out, I’ll answer.

Check back for future posts about The F(ertility) Word where we’ll hold space for grief, support, and the moments that help carry us forward.

With compassion,

Kim

♡♡

Disclaimer: This is my journey. I’m sharing with the intention so even just one other human may feel less alone. Our losses matters. Grief is not a competition. Bullying, comparisons or trying to one up someone’s grief will not be tolerated.