11/06/2025
Last week, we lost a pregnancy.
It was our second miscarriage in three years.
In between those two losses, we were so fortunate to have our beautiful daughter Aly - the brightest light in our lives.
After our first loss, I had tried to think of the baby as not “real” yet before the 2nd trimester, both while Katie was pregnant with Aly and during this last one.
Call it an emotional safeguard. Or maybe even a form of denial.
But as much as I tried to keep myself in that pragmatic headspace, the loss and the grief still hit so deep when you are told there is no heartbeat, and that the fetus has not grown.
As Katie was taken back for a D & C procedure, I walked the same hospital hallways I did when Aly was a day old.
Knowing the beautiful chaos of having Aly for the last 2 ½ years, I think I felt mournful echoes of what might have been with this one.
I thought about our daily poll of asking Aly if she wanted a brother or a sister (it was about even).
I thought of Katie always having to be the one to really carry these physical and emotional burdens.
I share this because, after our first miscarriage, so many reached out to us.
With their own stories. Their own heartbreak. Their own quiet grief. With love and support.
We didn’t realize how common it was until then.
It helped us to feel less alone.
That’s why I want to share this now.
Not because we have the words figured out.
Not because we’re ready to move on.
But because this pain is so common — and so often carried in silence.
If you’ve been through this kind of loss, or you’re in it now…
We just want you to know:
You’re not alone.
And even if no one else knows what to say — we’re standing quietly beside you.
-James & Katie
