10/05/2026
There’s a part of pregnancy loss we don’t talk about enough:
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆, 𝘁𝗼𝗼.
He and I unfortunately know loss. We’ve lost three of our own.
My body was the one going through it. My hormones. My appointments. The testing. The questions, the physical reminders that something had gone wrong.
So naturally, people looked at me.
They checked on me.
They hugged me.
They asked him how 𝗜 was doing.
And I understand why.
But looking back, there was a man standing beside me who had lost something too.
𝗛𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆.
𝗛𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘁.
That is its own kind of heartbreak.
Because dads often get handed a job before they ever get handed room to grieve.
Drive her home.
Hold her.
Take care of the other kids.
Remember what the doctor said because she can barely hear it.
Answer the texts.
Be steady.
Be strong.
And somewhere inside all that strength is a father who had already started imagining a life that suddenly isn’t coming.
Maybe he pictured teaching them to fish.
Maybe he wondered whose eyes they would have.
Maybe he calculated the due date in his head.
Maybe he never said any of it out loud.
𝗤𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳.
A father doesn’t have to carry a baby in his body to have carried that baby in his plans, his prayers, his imagination and his heart.
And sometimes while everyone is asking him to hold her together, nobody notices he’s trying not to fall apart himself.
So during Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, yes, check on the mama.
Please check on the dad standing beside her, too.
𝗛𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 “𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆.”
𝗛𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆.
