How to Use the Directory

Welcome to the Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Loss Directory. This blog is maintained by volunteers to act like a "telephone book" for blogs dealing with the loss of a baby. It is open to anyone who has ever lost a baby in any way - we do not discriminate by age of your baby or circumstance of your loss. If you think you belong here, then we think you belong here.

When you submit your blog, it is manually added to the list, so it may take some time for it to appear on the list. When you submit your information as requested below, it is easier to spot those emails that have been redirected into the spam mail.

Blogs are listed by category of loss. This is to help you find blogs that deal with circumstances that may be similar to yours. That being said, it can be a moving and healing experience to read the blogs of people who's loss is not similar to yours. You are welcome to read any of the blogs listed here.

Though there could be literally thousands of categories of loss, we have created 4 broad categories: before 20 weeks, after 20 weeks, after birth, and medical termination. Please note that most blogs dealing with extreme prematurity are listed in the "after birth" category even though the gestational age might suggest a different category.

As a warning to those feeling particularly fragile, many of the blogs listed here discuss living children or subsequent pregnancies. In the sidebar links, those blogs are usually marked with an asterisk(*). However, the circumstances of individual bloggers will change, and sometimes the listings do not get updated. It is possible to encounter pictures of living children or pregnant bellies on the blogs listed here.

We also have a list of resources (books), online links, and online publications that you may find useful. Scroll all the way to the bottom of the page to see the full listing of links.

We are so sorry the loss of a beloved child has brought you here. We hope that you will find some solace within the community that has gathered.
Please help us set up this resource for grieving families by:


A. Submitting your blog information
(Email Subject: Please Add My Blog)
  • The link to your blog
  • The title of your blog
  • The topic of your blog (see sidebar - Personal Blogs)
  • If your blog discusses living children or subsequent pregnancy after loss

B. Submitting links to helpful web resources
(Email Subject: Please Add This Link)

C. Submitting titles of helpful reading materials or videos/films
(Email Subject: Please Add This Resource)

D. Adding a link to this site from your blog


Friday, June 29, 2007

It can happen to anyone

Gordon Brown is the new prime minister of the UK. Sadly he understands something about losing a much loved baby, suddenly and shockingly. It doesn't sound right to say "it's good" to have someone in a position of world power who understands the tragedy of losing a baby, but I guess you know what I mean.

When my first baby died almost a year ago, I struggled in the beginning to understand that I wasn't specifically chosen for this ordeal. It really can happen to anyone and can be completely indiscriminate.

Gordon Brown was the Chancellor of the Exchequer in the UK when his daughter Jennifer Jane Brown was born seven weeks prematurely by C-section. Her mother had a low level of amniotic fluid and Jennifer had IUGR. She was expected to be fine despite her low birth weight but she died ten days later after a brain haemorrhage, a common occurrence in pre-term babies.

I can imagine that, since she was born on 28th December and died on 7th January, the festive period brings back so many emotions for her parents.

Gordon and Sarah Brown now have two sons. Their first son was born two years after Jennifer Jane. Their second son was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis when he was four months old.

You can read an archive news story from 2002 about Jennifer Jane Brown here.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Weekend Blog Roundup

I was musing out loud on Friday (while My Beloved and I were on the hunt for a new Christmas store that opened up in our town - an incredibly soothing thing to do on a Friday night, you should try it) about the fact that I don't think people realize how hard this journey is for us. How hard everything is. Normal stuff that those not touched by our particular brand of sorrow don't even have to consider, can be exhausting for those of us burdened by grief.

You have to approach everything differently than you used to in order to survive the ordinary. Trips to the grocery store where newborns seem as plentiful as apples and bananas, rollicking conversations about labour and delivery in the staff room, family gatherings where all the children are playing and laughing - except the ones you've lost.

They're all an assault to your wounded soul. And they all require a lot of effort to endure. Work. We have to work harder at life than people who don't understand will ever know.

And maybe it doesn't matter that they'll never quite "get" how much effort we now put into our lives in order to make them livable and happy. But sometimes I just want to take them by the shoulders and shake them and tell them that it IS hard. Harder than they can possibly imagine. All of it. Every day.

Sometimes I want the world to understand so badly I could scream.

Janna at In Search of the Stork blogged about this on Thursday. While filling in for an absentee babysitter, she has twice had to field questions from strangers about the children they believed were hers.

"God I wish I had kids of my own! I want to be able to answer everyone's questions about my kids! I don't want to have to keep telling people I'm just their babysitter."

For someone not touched by loss, these questions wouldn't carry with them any particular discomfort or agony. But for someone like Janna, who has miscarried two very wanted children, it was agonizing. A stab in the heart is how she describes it.


Niobe blogged about this phenomenon too - about how normal things just aren't normal anymore, and about how sometimes we have no control over how we're going to handle that reality.

She went to a party, but as soon as she stepped into the house she found herself incapable of mixing and mingling. She is now "thinking bad thoughts" about her behavior that night...

"We went to a big party at my father's house last night. When we got there, everyone was listening to some indescipherable piece on clarinet and piano. One of my stepmother's friends, a woman I've known for years, saw me come in and smiled and waved from her seat. Suddenly, I just couldn't bear to see or talk to anyone. I went up to the third floor and sat in my father's study, listening to the music drifting up the stairwell and, later, to talking and laughter."

I understand (and respect) that she feels uncomfortable with the way she seemed to shut down that night, but I for one am jumping up and down and cheering her decision to do what made her comfortable. We don't do enough of that. We just don't. I can't count the number of times I've wanted to flee a situation (and I mean one that it would have been perfectly fine for me to flee) but I've chosen instead to force myself to endure personal discomfort to make others happy.

Sometimes it's okay to do what makes you happy (or, at least, what makes you less sad). It just is. So do it. Look after you for a change.

Because all that hard work - all the energy we use to make it through each day - it takes its toll. And then, as Rollercoaster of Love says so succinctly, you may find yourself buried under "the weight of a thousand worries".

Life isn't kind enough to just stop for a while and let us grieve in peace. It moves on and drags us right along with it, car payments, mortgages, health concerns, bills, toilet training, work conflicts and all.

It's why she woke up one day thinking, "I'm stressed beyond all comprehension and I haven’t figured out just why yet." Add grief to a long list of ordinary worries and you have a very challenging life indeed. It's why you're tired. It's why sometimes you snap at your husband when he hasn't really done anything wrong. It's why sometimes you just want to sit down and cry.

Chances are it's also why you blog.

And you know, the fact that so many of us do blog about our experiences gives me hope that one day more people will have a better understanding of the lives we're now living. It gives me hope that maybe one day the careless, insensitive remarks they make and the unreasonable expectations they have of us will cease to add to our already heavy burden.

It also gives me hope that we'll understand ourselves better too. And forgive ourselves when we're just too tired to work so hard and opt instead to give ourselves the break we deserve. And have earned - in spades.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

New Blogs Submitted This Week

A warm welcome to the following Bloggers:

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Friday Blog Roundup - in celebration of Fathers

When we talk about Thomas, the pain in My Beloved's eyes mirrors my own; the faraway, lost look of someone with sorrow so deep it's virtually bottomless. We lost the same, small boy that sunny March day. We lost our son. No one in the whole world understands what it was like to lose Thomas the way my husband does. Because he was Thomas' father.

He is Thomas' father.

Fathers aren't represented here in blogland quite the same way mothers are. Women, let's face it, like to talk. Need to talk. Men deal with the complexities of sorrow and grieving in other, sometimes seemingly mysterious ways. And often those ways are specifically engineered to protect us, the mothers who they have seen cry rivers of tears, and whom they want so badly to shield from more pain. Even their own.

But there are fathers here. Fathers who bravely document their sorrow and their journey through grief in heart-wrenchingly open and honest posts.

And since tomorrow is Father's Day, I thought it only fitting to celebrate the words of all the fathers who have chosen to give us a glimpse into the hearts and minds of grieving dads.

And in doing so, I hope this will celebrate all fathers in mourning, even those strong silent types who keep so much of their sorrow to themselves.

If you are a father in mourning who blogs - or who occasionally contributes to his partner's blog - please post a link to your blog in the comments. I confess I'm only aware of one father blogger (Dad/Drummer, whose most recent post on the first anniversary of his son Aaron's death, is so beautiful it will make you ache) but I'm sure there must be more.

Now is your chance to stand up and be recognized by a grateful blogging community.

Because we love you.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Friday Blog Roundup

Although I know there are some men here (fathers in mourning), the fact is that most of the bloggers in this little part of the ether are women. We like to talk. We need to talk. And talk, and talk and talk. It's a form of therapy for us. Reliving, analysing, re-visiting, re-hashing, venting - it's what we do. Sharing the things in our heads - the wonderful and the horrible and everything in between - is how we make it through the tormented days that aren't easy, the ones that sneak up on us when we were sure we were doing so well. And it's how we celebrate the good days, the healing first steps, the leaps and bounds, the joys of new pregnancies or simply the first glimmer of hope and joy since the crushing weight of sorrow descended upon us.

Talking is good. And there's so much of it in the blogs listed to the right it feels cruel to only select a few of the millions of beautiful words to highlight here each week. But the ones that want to be here leap out at me. And I can't resist them.

Like Rachel. She lost her first child to miscarriage at only 10 weeks just three months ago. She is pregnant again, and this week wrote a beautiful post thanking everyone who has stopped by her blog and offered support when she needed it most.

Because that's what we do, isn't it? We rally around each other in a stunning display of support unlike any I think I've ever seen in "real life". Complete strangers brought together by common sorrow, but not so broken that they can't somehow find a way to offer comforting words of help and hope to other mothers and fathers who are struggling with loss and the crippling grief that follows.

And Rachel? Yes, she's very grateful for the support. But why did she start her blog in the first place?

"The day I started this blog, I was feeling really low. I had no idea how many people were in similar situations as me, I just knew I didn't want anyone else to go through this. I wanted to document how I was feeling and my healing process so that others could learn."

So that others could learn. Amazing.

And about that whole venting thing that we need to do sometimes? Here's a good one. Still nursing a very sore foot (a wine bottle accident that shouldn't be funny but kind of is, at least the way she tells it) Aurelia imagines how lovely it would be to give complaining mothers of living children what for...

"Kaz is still gone to camp and I miss him so much I'm practically hysterical. I'm beginning to really resent seeing these women at my school whooping it up because their kids are gone, and they are "free". I keep wanting to smack them and say, 'Hey, 3 of my kids get to visit nature 24/7, they're buried in the ground. How would you like to be THAT free, bitch?'"

It's so deliciously good, this little rant. And so very necessary sometimes, which is why blogs are so very necessary too.

Because the more you talk (write) the more you're able to work through the demons. I don't honestly know if there's enough breath in one's body (or life in one's fingers) to ever actually completely banish the demons and find total peace after the loss of a child, but I do believe that writing about it allows us to give a loud enough voice to the dark thoughts that they won't/can't drown out the sounds of happiness we can still find.

And writing helps us work through things that other people just don't get - and sometimes criticize us for. Like the way other people's pregnancies might make us feel.

The Impatient Patient talked about this earlier this week. Her 43-year old friend found herself pregnant after a few months of trying. She's never experienced infertility or loss and, in fact, doesn't even know how any of this "being pregnant" stuff actually works. Impatient Patient does though. In spades.

So how did this new pregnancy announcement affect her?

"How do I feel about it? Quite deliriously weird…. Like the universe is having another (indirect) dig at me, laughing square in my face. And that’s ok too. Really, it is. MY issues are mine, not anyone else’s."

Awesome. Seriously. I'm so tired of feeling guilty for the way I feel about other people's good news and endlessly punishing myself for feeling that inevitable "why me" sorrow mixed in with the "YAY them" joy. To have someone else say that all those "deliriously weird" feelings are "OK" is, well, excellent. Because it is okay to feel all those weird things you feel when someone passes along their good news when you're been so overburdened with your own bad.

It's normal

Impatient Patient totally gets that.

"Today I had a phone call from a friend of mine. A friend of mine who I used to be really close with but have drifted away from. She’s pregnant. She’s 43. AND you know what? I was ok. I don’t feel the need to do the disclaimer thing anymore as I had *insight* today. (you have to say insight like Lassie’s FlyGuy - you know, in-saht…. k?) Anyway, my in-saht was like a bolt. It’s about me - not anyone else. My problem dealing with pregnancy doesn’t impact my relationships with others as it’s not about them, 100%. I felt so happy for my friend, and kind of bemused as to her lack of knowledge about anything."

And finally, writing lets us ask the question we all want to scream to the heavens a zillion and one times a day. In our blogs we can ask it over and over and over again, never expecting an answer, but grateful to be able to ask it just the same. Any time we want. As many times as we need to. And in all its endless variations.

This week, Melissa asked it.


I don't know. I will never know, I'm sure of it. But I'll keep asking it too. And I'll keep saying "I don't know, but I'm so sorry" to everyone else who asks it.

Because that's what we do.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

California MISSing Angels Bill Passed

Yes Votes
Alquist Calderon Corbett Correa Ducheny Florez Hollingsworth Kehoe Kuehl Lowenthal Maldonado Migden Negrete McLeod Padilla Perata Ridley-Thomas Scott Simitian Steinberg Torlakson Vincent Yee

No Votes
Aanestad Ashburn Cogdill Cox Denham Dutton Harman Machado Margett McClintock Romero Runner Wiggins Wyland

Absent, Abstaining, or Not Voting

Ackerman Battin Cedillo Oropeza

What happens next?

The bill moves to the California Assembly, where the legislative process begins again. The bill will likely be assigned 2, 3 or more committees in the Assembly in the weeks ahead.

Public testimony and support will be allowed -- just like in the Senate.

Assuming the bill passes the various Assembly committees, the Assembly votes. If it passes the Assembly, the bill moves to the Governor to be signed into law.

The bill is *indeed* on the right path. But we continue to need your help. You can see from above, lawmakers are hotly contesting this bill.

Some have called this "hijacking" for political reasons -- namely pro-choice/pro-life. Despite, we celebrate the bill passing the Senate yesterday and people like you helping to support it!

More in the days ahead---

Daryl Logullo
National Legislative Liaison (volunteer)
MISS Foundation

Stillbirth bill sparks squabble in Legislature
By Edwin Garcia
MediaNews Sacramento Bureau
Article Launched: 06/05/2007 01:29:29 AM PDT

SACRAMENTO - It began as a noble idea: Comfort mothers whose babies die at delivery by allowing them to purchase an official California "certificate of stillbirth."

But by the time the state Senate voted - and approved - the measure Monday, it had become a referendum on abortion rights and one of the oddest and messiest fights this year in the Legislature. (continue)

Friday, June 1, 2007

Friday Blog Roundup - a shorter version and a must-read poem

I just happen to be having one of those days (my apologies, but they still come. After all this time they still come), so I'm abbreviating the blog roundup today and just asking you to take a look at this.

It's a beautiful poem by Missing One over at A Mending Heart. She lost her daughter this Mother's Day - just weeks ago. With sorrow so raw it still oozes from every pore, she somehow still managed to pen an achingly beautiful poem about what she believes makes someone a true mother.

If you have wondered, even for the briefest of moments, if you can still be called a mother if you have no living babies or if the babies you carried and lost were too small to see, read this poem.

If you're like me, it will feel like drinking an endlessly tall, ice cold glass of water on the hottest afternoon of the summer.

If you happen to know of any other soul soothing poems or passages like this one (or if you're written any of your own), please consider posting them (or links to them) in the comments.

Thank you Missing One. I needed that.