I just found myself with my forehead resting on my desk, tears in the back of my throat but unwilling to be shed. In my Facebook stream, a woman I don’t know well at all shared that she’s currently sitting where I was nine years ago Saturday; absorbing the news that her baby has died in her womb, and in the hospital coping with the aftermath.

There is nothing about being in that place that doesn’t fucking suck. She’s not as sick as I was, and in some ways that’s far worse. It was hard for me to think clearly about what was happening because I was so busy being ill, and the real grief didn’t plunge into my heart until the sickness began to abate.

I went into the hospital on October 26th; well, I went for our anatomy ultrasound. It was a few weeks late. We weren’t in a rush because we’d already had so very many ultrasounds of the twins, thanks to my infertility treatments. I’d seen Nicholas and Zachary when they were tiny, four-celled organisms. I also knew they were healthy and genetically normal thanks to testing via CSV when they were just 11 weeks along. There was no pressure to get that anatomy ultrasound at all.

Of course, you all know the story. Along with seeing the curves of the boys’ noses and their tiny clenched fists, we saw the absence of one heartbeat and quickly learned that I was so sick with preeclampsia that I needed to be admitted to the hospital. And just 18 hours later I was much, much sicker and we were forced to terminate the pregnancy.

Ah, there are the tears now.

It’s amazing how the body holds on to this grief. I’ve faced this week as if it were normal, but yesterday I found myself snacking all day long, pouring food into the gaping hole of grief inside me. Oddly, I didn’t know why I was doing it, not until I saw my friend’s update today. Not until just now when I finally allowed the tears to fall, again, again, and again.

My boys. They would have been so beautiful. How can I still miss them so god damned much?

Please, spare some prayers for Allie. She’ll need them today.

Comments Closed


  1. Jb says

    Saw your post title (mobile view) and knew it was your boys. Halloween. Sending heart warming thoughts to Allie (and you). Glad she has you – I know you will be a help to her.

  2. says

    I am so sorry for your loss. And for hers. I cannot imagine the pain you went through and are still experiencing.
    Thank you for sharing your story.
    Hugs xx

  3. Aubrey says

    I’m sorry for your loss as well, but geesh, it’s been 8 years. If your are still keening for this loss, perhaps some therapy is in order. I also lost a second trimester pregnancy, but I joined a support group for late term losses at our local hospital. Hearing the stories and sharing our pain was totally beneficial and made my grieving much less acute. A bit of individual therapy from our local Resolve group helped me transfer my grief towards more beneficial activities. Like you, I also went on to several successful pregnancies after this loss. It seems to me that you are hanging on to this sadness for some reason other than this loss. After 8 years, you are clinging onto something you cannot change. It’s enough already. Buck up and take care of the child you do have.

    • Graygirl says

      People grieve and deal with trauma differently. Remembering and acknowledging those raw emotions does not equal a failure to parent one’s living child(ren). I am glad you found the support to help you through your heartache.

      My daughter went through a life-threatening medical trauma almost seven years ago. Anything that harkens back to that event still brings on panic. When she gets sick, I can’t eat or sleep for days. And she survived! I certainly am not chosing to live my life this way. It is neither enjoyable nor healthy. It is simply the way my brain has (poorly) adapted to its post-emotional trauma status. We all move forward with life in our own ways.

    • Kim says

      She is taking care of the child she has – very well. It is anniversary time and she didnt go on to have loads of other kids – just one. She is entitled to share on her own blog how she is feeling around the anniversary of a loss of twin boys who were almost full term. I’m not quite sure why you think it is your job to jump in and give her a bash.

    • Cecily Kellogg says

      OMG. Get over it? I can’t believe I never thought of that! Thank you so much, Margalit, for suggesting that. I’ve never considered it! Wow.

  4. Alexicographer says

    Oh Cecily — I’m sorry. I recently stumbled across someone through LFCA who had a sad outcome (lost both twins) to a situation that a friend of mine endured many years ago with a happier outcome (PPROM, my friend lost 1 twin but the other survived and thrived). Even third-hand the way I experienced that, I am reminded of the fear and pain of the days of not knowing what the outcome(s) would be and of learning of the loss of the (one) twin my friend experienced. Thinking of you and your boys and of Allie, along with my friend and this other family.

  5. Melissa says

    I would think this will hurt forever perhaps not as sharp or as much. I so wish that coukdve turned out differently for you. Gosh even one surviving fir you. But as I know it. Life can suck and suck it does at times. I’m so glad you have Tori but that does replace the boys. My heart just breaks for your loss when you write about it
    Sending you much love and peace

  6. says

    This upcoming Jan will be nine years since I last saw my sweet baby’s face. Miller was born still, full term, due to Placenta Abruption. There are days when I can live “normally” and then there are some when I am wrapped so tightly in grief that I can’t see straight or function at all. I read this blog post and my chest just sank. I know that people often say that “time heals all wounds” and parts of that saying is true.. but when you are brought up to a certain time or date that was so incredibly harsh or harrowing in your life, all of that is tossed in the trash. I pray for all of the Moms that have loved and lost. For me, it’s helped to be proactive– to talk about my son, do things in his honor, and help others who have loved and lost.
    Be strong Mamas– our miracles are with us and we will see them again in Heaven!

    • Cecily Kellogg says

      Jamie, I totally agree. It helps so much to share about them when I feel sad. I’m sorry about your loss, too.

  7. Libby says

    Of course you still miss them. I’m so very sorry for your loss, now and always. My heart hurts for you.

  8. says

    Anyone who doesn’t think that time merely masks but really doesn’t heal, has never felt real pain. Many years ago – almost in another life – something like that happened to me too. Without sharing the details, I can only add to those here, Cecily, that there are some feelings that never go away. Yes, they may be dulled over time, but they’re never completely gone. And something like Allie’s experience just brings it all back. No one understands what it means to lose a child at any stage of their life unless they’ve gone through it. We’re members of an unsung, unremarked group. Thank heavens we – at least – understand.

    I’m very sorry Cecily for your loss, and very sorry for Allie too. And oh so happy that you have Tori. I wasn’t able to have any after that experience. So instead, I write stories for yours!