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By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor Dear Little One, I wonder what your name is. That might seem strange; no one ever gave you a name. You were gone before we knew whether to buy you a blue or pink blanket, and names tend to follow such things. But you’re a person, and people have names. I don’t like not knowing. One of the first things we learn about someone is their name, and in families, we attached meaning to those names. Your father’s name is Adam. I can’t hear that name without thinking of someone who swallows books whole, digesting wisdom and rejecting folly. In our family, the name Adam means “prudence,” but not the unfeeling kind. It’s cloaked in kindness; the upspring of a big heart. Maybe you’re an Adam, too. Maybe you would have read books for hours, unknowingly playing with your earlobe. Maybe you would have found your groove on the junior high dance floor. Maybe you would have tackled some of life’s hardest questions about virtue, liberty, and the brokenness of men. Studious. Fun. Shrewd. But best of all, full of love. But maybe you’re an Emily, like your mother. In our family, that name is synonymous with a relentless will, a will dedicated to goodness and beauty. I would never want to get between an Emily and the task at hand. If you are an Emily, you would have conquered this life through goals and lists, motivated to heal the grief that we only whisper about. You would have harnessed your strong will (with some help from your parents) to attack pain and replace it with peace. You would have brought light to dark places, and rested in the evening with a glass of wine. Strong. Passionate. Good. But best of all, full of love. But I’m guessing you aren’t an Adam or an Emily. You are something between and wholly other. You take from both and make it your own. You may even have a little silliness in you, like your favorite uncle. One day I’ll know -- not just your name, but what it means. Until then, Little One, know that while you never had a name in this life, you still mean so much.  Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Associate Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University
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By Maria Servold EPLA Editor For decades, one of the hardest things to find after a miscarriage was support. In recent years, that has changed. Now, groups like the Early Pregnancy Loss Association and others are working to provide emotional, physical, and mental support after pregnancy loss. EPLA provides information, in the form of resource folders and this blog, as well as physical support, with our miscarriage care kits. Eventually, we hope to help cover the cost of medical bills associated with miscarriage. Another organization providing support is the Star Legacy Foundation. A national group, Star Legacy Foundation is a nonprofit organization that seeks to reduce pregnancy and infant loss, provide support for families after loss, and support research on loss. One of the greatest things Star Legacy offers is a series of support groups, held online via video conferencing. This encourages anyone to participate, no matter their location. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do after a miscarriage is to leave the house and seek support. Star Legacy’s support groups make that hurdle much easier. Support groups cover a range of topics including: pregnancy after loss, dads’ grief, and coping with SIDS/infant death. A list of support group meeting times and registration information can be found here.  Maria Servold is an Editor at the EPLA, Assistant Director of the Herbert H. Dow II Program in American Journalism, and Lecturer in Journalism at Hillsdale College.
By: Emily Carrington EPLA President and Founder “Is the nursery done!?” A woman asked cheerfully at Bible Study. “Oh, no. I guess I have been behind on that. I am not really sure it will be done before she gets here,” I responded politely. “Oh! But you will want a place to put her stuff, and nest! It is just so nice to be organized before the baby gets here. I am sure you will be more motivated soon!” I smiled and was glad the conversation had come to a natural close. I was in my third trimester of my fourth pregnancy. This was the furthest I had ever made it, and I had every reason to believe that our little girl would be joining us in a few weeks. But I couldn’t be sure enough to completely finish her nursery. It wasn’t like I had ignored all of the preparations for the room. We had taken the wallpaper down and painted the walls. I had sorted clothes on a folding table in the corner, and I had thought about where to hang some of the art on the walls. Eventually, my best friend from childhood came to visit, and we spent the weekend washing and sorting clothes. Over the next few weeks I did gain some motivation to prepare more. We put up the bassinet, and we opened some gifts. We bought a car seat and packed our bags. But when we brought our beautiful baby home from the hospital, the nursery was far from done. There was no crib, there was no rocking chair, there were hardly any pictures on the walls. The truth was, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t find the emotional energy to complete a nursery because deep down, I didn’t believe we were bringing home a baby. I did not have gruesome thoughts; there were no medical worries. I had no logical reason to be so pessimistic. But after three pregnancies that seemed to vanish — why should this one miraculously end in a baby? I did not complete her nursery until she was nearly 9 months old. By the time I was done, it was my favorite room in the house, a beautiful room laced with memories, love, and LIFE! Now I see that even though I had lost each of my first three babies in the first trimester, their losses haunted me throughout my whole pregnancy with my daughter. Pregnancy after loss is a unique experience full of unexpected challenges. Well-meaning people may not understand your lack of excitement or preparedness. Luckily, we are not alone. I am thankful for organizations such as PALS that exist to help women walk through pregnancies after loss. Check out their amazing mission: “Pregnancy After Loss Support is dedicated to ensuring that every mom and her partner who is experiencing pregnancy after loss is able to find support and connection among both peers and health care professionals who understand and validate the unique and complex experience of pregnancy after a previous perinatal or child death.” If you or a loved one are struggling with a pregnancy after loss I encourage you to reach out to PALS for support.  Emily Carrington is a freelance writer, wife, mother, and founder of the EPLA.
By Nick Carrington EPLA Editor My wife and I have 11 living nieces and nephews, and at various times during the holidays, we saw all of them. When you add in our own three children, we have plenty of kids to love on. But something struck me particularly hard this holiday season. Even with all the kiddos in our family that I hold dear, I miss the four nieces and nephews that we’ve lost to miscarriage. It’s a joy to have a good relationship with my siblings and in-laws; to watch their little ones grow. My kids have a special bond with their cousins and getting together with any of them is like a vacation or Christmas gift. I treasure the moments I can play silly games with them and sneak them treats that I refuse to give my own children. Even with all that love and an indescribable amount of chaos when we’re all together, there’s a hole in our family that remains. We’ve papered over it the best we can, and no doubt a great deal of healing has taken place, but I can’t escape the feeling: I miss them. I never held them or wrestled or pretended to drop them. I never tickled them until they couldn’t take it or had a dance party with them. I never made them grilled cheese or hugged them when they got hurt. But I miss them. I never bought them a Christmas gift or let them stay over with my little ones. I never took them to the park or got them McDonalds, succumbing to their pleas for ice cream. I never made a deal with them that if they cleaned up their mess, they could watch a Disney movie. And still, I miss them. The wound persists, but isn’t as gaping as when they first died. I’m no longer in shock, unable to do basic tasks without feeling the sting in my heart. I ache over their loss sometimes, but mostly, I miss them. My lost nieces and nephews weren’t present this holiday season, but they weren’t forgotten. Something nags at my soul, reminding me that our extended family won’t be complete in this life. It’s haunting in a way, and yet, it makes sense because I love all four of them. They are missing from our family get-togethers, but in a way, they remain quite present – because I miss them.
Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Associate Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University
By: Emily Carrington EPLA President and Founder It has been 6.5 years since my first miscarriage. When it happened I wasn’t sure how to talk about it. Since then I have had two more miscarriages and two live births. I have shared my story with other women publicly and privately. I have written my story, spoke my story, cried my story. I have started the Early Pregnancy Loss Association (EPLA), I have met with doctors, pastors, and nurses. I have traveled around the country to conferences and served as an editor of this blog. And I still don’t really know how to talk about miscarriage. But I didn’t start EPLA or this blog because I know how to talk about miscarriage. I started EPLA because I knew that we have to talk about miscarriage. Because I started talking I started realizing how many women shared my experience. I realized how many women felt confused, frustrated, and sad. I realized how long the sadness lingered. Because I started talking, other people started talking to me. As we talked and shared we came together with a vision that no one would suffer miscarriage alone. Your voice matters in this story, and we invite you to share it with us here at Hope Blooms. It doesn’t matter if you know how to say it. It doesn’t matter if everything makes sense to you yet. What matters is we share our experiences and suffering with each other so we might better love, understand, and care for one another. If you would like to share your miscarriage story with us, please email your submission to miscarriagecare@gmail.com. The editors will review your story and let you know if it has been selected for publication. We are honored to do this work, and we hope to hear from you.  Sharing our stories helps us heal, and reading them gives us understanding. Emily Carrington is a freelance writer, wife, mother, and founder of the EPLA.
By: Maria Servold EPLA Editor There’s something special about January. Even though the Christmas decorations are coming down and the long, dark days blend into each other, there is a spark in many of our hearts - a spark of hope that the new year may promise something special. Many people make New Year’s resolutions; they are often goals to achieve or things to do. Even if making concrete goals isn’t possible for you, it is always a good practice to cultivate hope at the beginning of a new year. One of the hardest things to do after a pregnancy loss is to have hope - hope that you will heal, hope that you will be able to achieve pregnancy again if you desire, hope that you will always remember your lost baby. In this new year, let hope be your resolution. Hope is strong, and can get us through almost anything. Last weekend, I bought myself a bouquet of tulips. They were bright yellow and orange - a welcome sight among the gray of a Midwest winter. Not only were they pretty to look at as they slowly opened over the week, they also reminded me to have hope in what is to come: springtime, sunshine, and healing for those who are suffering after a loss.
Maria Servold is an Editor at the EPLA, Assistant Director of the Herbert H. Dow II Program in American Journalism, and Lecturer in Journalism at Hillsdale College.
By: Stephanie Gordon EPLA Editor During the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, I am often longing for a moment of silence, especially during these moments leading up to Christmas day. Silence is a hard thing to come by with three children. But with the chaos that comes with Eloise, Flora, and Jack, I am quickly reminded of my first Christmas after experiencing miscarriage. It was a heart wrenching Christmas. I imagined what it would be like if my baby were there. I dreamed of their first Christmas ornament and their first Christmas gift. I thought of how happy my husband and I would’ve been that first Christmas morning if our baby was there. It was a hard Christmas. The following Christmas, after lots of tears and therapy, I was in a better place. I still longed for our baby, but I had time to grieve and process. My husband and I bought an angel wing ornament to hang on our tree to honor and remember our baby. I think for most, Christmas trees are sentimental and filled with ornaments that highlight moments and memories throughout the years. If you have lost a baby and feel ready, honoring your baby with an ornament might be therapeutic for you this holiday season. After loss, it doesn’t feel fair to move on with life and forget about what happened. Honoring my baby year after year at Christmastime has become a tradition. I have many friends who hang their “angel baby” ornaments on their trees. They are all so beautiful. Each Christmas, my husband and I and our three children, remember the baby we lost by hanging the ornament together. Though the ornament used to bring me tears, I am comforted in knowing that we will be reunited with our baby one day. Our girls, who are six and five, know that the ornament is to honor their brother or sister in heaven. The angel wings have become a token of love for our family. I pray that you have hope if you are experiencing loss this Christmas. It is not fair, and it’s ok to be heart broken. I was once where you are, and know exactly how you feel. I hope you can rest in the promises of Christmas. There is hope, love, joy, and peace in your days ahead.  Stephanie Gordon is a paleo food enthusiast, wife, full-time SAHM of two girls with one on the way, marketing professional, and blogger. You can follow her on Instagram at @stephgordonblog.
By: Emily Carrington EPLA President and Founder Women and families often describe miscarriage as an isolating experience. Unfortunately, that isolation has only been exacerbated this year by COVID precautions and restrictions. Now, people find themselves grieving alone without even the company of their normal routines and social circles. As we enter the holiday season, it is more important than ever to care for our grieving friends. Here are some ideas how:.
 Emily Carrington is a freelance writer, wife, mother, and founder of the EPLA.
By: Maria Servold EPLA Editor Here at the Early Pregnancy Loss Association, we are always glad to see celebrities and others in the public eye share about their experiences with miscarriage. When public figures talk about the pain and significance of miscarriage, more people may come to understand its commonality and tragedy. Olympic gold medal-winning gymnast Shawn Johnson and her husband, former NFL player Andrew East, recently released a three-part series on their popular podcast, Couple Things, in which they detail the miscarriage they suffered several years ago. They have also made several YouTube videos about their experience. Part 1 - Our Miscarriage Story Part 2 - Dealing with the Miscarriage Part 3 - Why We Had Mixed Emotions When We Found Out We Were Pregnant The podcasts are excellent, as the couple dive deep into how the pregnancy and miscarriage affected them physically and emotionally. They talk a lot about how the experience changed their relationship as a couple - at first for the worse, and eventually for the better. The Easts now have a healthy baby girl, and their social media pages show lots of photos and videos of her walking at 9 months old! Of course, what else would we expect from the daughter of two professional athletes? ;) Thanks to the Easts for their excellent podcast series and for helping to shed light on the effects of miscarriage. 
Maria Servold is an Editor at the EPLA, Assistant Director of the Herbert H. Dow II Program in American Journalism, and Lecturer in Journalism at Hillsdale College.
By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor In a recent interview with Today and an Instagram post, Jinger (Dugger) Vuolo, of “19 Kids and Counting” fame, communicated so much of what we believe at the Early Pregnancy Loss Association. She describes the excitement of telling her family about her baby and the devastating reality of losing that life. She equates the pain of losing her child with the loss of her grandmother, suggesting that both are the death of a precious person. Jinger reflects on the joy of her current pregnancy but admits the pain of her miscarriage has not left her: healing takes a long time. Her words are both painful and cathartic: "Within moments I knew that I’d lost the baby. Tears filled my eyes, sadness cloaked my soul. Having just lost my grandmother months before, the news of new life was like spring lilies blossoming after a dark, cold winter. And in a moment, that life was gone. I know many of you can relate. The minutes feel like hours, the hours like days, don’t they? I was helpless—nothing I could do would restore the lost life. Yet, I was never hopeless." Jinger has relied on her faith for peace. The EPLA recognizes the complex emotions that come with miscarriage and subsequent pregnancies, and we stand to provide as much support as possible for grieving families. We encourage you to read the interview and Jinger’s Instagram post.  Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Assistant Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University.
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