A six-year journey: six losses and three beautiful angels. After losing her son Jude in August 2020, a spark was ignited in Carmen Grover as she read through every diary that she kept for each of her babies. Rather than have them remain stacked under her bed, Carmen decided that her journals would make a difference. The result has been an honest and poignant compilation of the ups and downs of Carmen?s experience with pregnancy loss, from rolling in the grass and convulsing on the kitchen floor in her cycle of grief, to seeing the strength she could gain in the signs and special moments all around her. A Diary to My Babies: Journeying Through Pregnancy Loss shines a light on the darkness of pregnancy loss, while also showing there is no right way to grieve. And through her incredible journey, Carmen hopes the story of her family and her babies just might help others to heal.
A six-year journey: six losses and three beautiful angels. After losing her son Jude in August 2020, a spark was ignited in Carmen Grover as she read through every diary that she kept for each of her babies. Rather than have them remain stacked under her bed, Carmen decided that her journals would make a difference. The result has been an honest and poignant compilation of the ups and downs of Carmen?s experience with pregnancy loss, from rolling in the grass and convulsing on the kitchen floor in her cycle of grief, to seeing the strength she could gain in the signs and special moments all around her. A Diary to My Babies: Journeying Through Pregnancy Loss shines a light on the darkness of pregnancy loss, while also showing there is no right way to grieve. And through her incredible journey, Carmen hopes the story of her family and her babies just might help others to heal.
Today, we found out our truest, deepest love was sleeping forever. Last night, I started experiencing some cramping. We went to the hospital, and the doctor took my blood to monitor my hCG level for a baseline. The doctor said that many women have cramping all throughout their pregnancies so he wasn’t too worried, but just in case he booked us for an ultrasound the following morning. This morning at 5:00 a.m., I woke up writhing with cramps, and I grounded my body into the bed. When I went to the washroom there it was—bright red blood. And even still, I couldn’t believe it was a miscarriage, and I remained hopeful.
During the ultrasound, when the technician left the room, I peeked up at the screen. I saw “no fetal pole” written and remembered re- searching this previously. The absence of a fetal pole can mean that a miscarriage has happened. Phillip and I waited, still naively hopeful. But then the doctor came in to tell us we were having a miscarriage and explained to us how our baby had stopped developing at nine weeks but that my body was still holding on to the baby at twelve weeks, believing it was still pregnant. This is known as a missed miscarriage.
Go home, and it will pass, the doctor said. Take Tylenol or Advil for the pain. And that was that.
Home, we went. I immediately opened my laptop and began to write everything and anything to honour all that you are and were to me, sweet darling child.
Phillip brought me a Kleenex box as my tears flowed, and again later that day as I cried on the toilet in pain, not knowing what to expect when it happened. You let go as a giant thunk in the toilet. I imagined you as the size of a small mandarin. I screamed and squeezed Phillip’s hand while sitting there with him. Stunned, I told him what had hap- pened, urging him to flush the toilet. I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t. He flushed you two times.
After this miscarriage, I realize just how naïve I was. I was shocked when it happened, as the thought of a miscarriage had truly never crossed my mind. My mom has never talked about it, and now that we’ve had that conversation, I’ve found out she never had one herself. She apologized to me for not being able to empathize.
Statistics show one in five women (roughly 10 to 20 per cent) experience miscarriage, so we have just got ours over with first. Next the healthy babies will come. Earlier, some friends comforted us by telling us that their parents’ first pregnancy ended in miscarriage, as sometimes the body just doesn’t know what to do in the beginning and later figures it out.
Today, as I commemorated you with such love through my writing and then collapsed in overwhelming anger as we neared the end of the night, Phillip said to me ever so gently, “Remember it’s a bad day, but it is not a bad life.” It is something that I find myself repeating so often. It is a truth that has been with us every step of our journey.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. —Lord Byron
Dear Babe #1,
Although you were only around three-months gestation, you were so well loved already and referred to as Peanut by all of Mommy’s friends. If you were a girl, which Mommy thinks you were, your name would have been Amity Ella Lynn Grover. Amity means friendship and harmony, which you brought to our lives. Ellie stands for bright shining star, which we had wished upon. You get the Ella from Belle, your dad’s grandma’s last name. Belle for beauty, of course. Lynn you get from the middle names of three generations on Mommy’s side. Also, surprisingly, (I just learned) it means lake. I love the lake! My August baby, it was my plan to sit with you by the lake all summer long and forevermore.
If you were a boy (your Daddy says he just knew you were a boy). you would have been named Sawyer Ewen Case Grover. Sawyer means woodcutter, which is what your Daddy loves to do, and it does keep us warm. Ewen means from the yew tree, which goes well with wood- cutting, eh? Case because we want to just put you in our suit(Case) and take you all around the world with us. Also, that was Great Opa’s name. Grover you get from Daddy and the Sesame Street character, naturally. So there is the name story. Wow—for all the love that goes into a name.
We had just returned, happily and very in love, from Peru (our official honeymoon). To celebrate, we thought we would make you. Humans are just so crafty; we can make a person. I happen to think that is pretty cool. I believe you were conceived November 21, 2015, as that night the bright stars aligned. It was a good night of movie watching in the bedroom and one or two alcoholic drinks each. My drink was called Tempt No. 9, and that was my favourite drink of the year for the record. The next night we went bowling with my brothers and their girlfriends and that would have been your first real adventure.
On December 4, we took our first official First Response pregnancy test. I could see two lines, although I must admit they were faint. I blurted out the obscure pregnancy reading to my girlfriends at Skeets (our small-town hangout spot, which would have been your favourite restaurant) and I ordered a pitcher of iced tea. What? Yup, I was that obvious.
I kind of joked with Daddy that, hmm . . . maybe I’m pregnant. Look, two lines. Daddy did not see a second line, and we let it slide. (Note to self: Always go with the pregnancy test that displays a plus sign for a positive pregnancy, as there’s less chance for misinter- pretation.) December 7 was the official day when pregnancy test number two showed positive. I leapt from the toilet like a frog off a log and screamed in excitement. Nola, your big sister, (she is a dog but we truly believe she is human) stared at me. She seemed kind of frightened by my actions, but she then proceeded to wag her tail.
While in the Green Earth store, I read a quote by Buddha: “Happi- ness increases when being shared.” That was when I knew I wanted to share all the happiness in the world with you and that you in turn would give me even more happiness. Daddy got the news on December 12. How I managed to keep that secret for five whole days is beyond me. And there is even a video to go with it. I will tell you this story so you have an idea of the kind of people you would have been spending your life with.
Mommy had a grand idea on how to be cute. I decided to announce your arrival into this world by displaying you as a bun in the oven. Daddy was cooking chicken, and I watched him diligently while shaking in nervous excitement. Oh, so many emotions and hormones. He checked the temperature, and I presumed he would be taking the chicken out in roughly two-and-a-half minutes. It was a perfect opportunity for me to toss some garlic bread in the oven with your purple positive pregnancy test on the cooking sheet. I was giddy with anticipation. To my surprise, your Daddy’s favourite song came on the radio: “Your Man” by Josh Turner. Daddy started belting out the tune as the timer sounded. Mommy tried to wait patiently but was thinking, like seriously, check the chicken already! I wanted him to take the garlic bread out of the oven so I didn’t have to. Oh dear, I thought, maybe people do this without having the oven on. (I will have this down next time for sure.) But by that point I had the camera cued for the cutest moment of life.
What did Daddy say when he opened the oven?
“What the...”
Okay, let’s just leave it at that. I told him what the purple melted
blob on the cooking sheet meant. He said, “It’s not positive. I don’t see a positive.” Sadly, it was true, as we couldn’t see much of anything besides smoky white and purple goop. So that was super cute.
Finally, your Daddy said he would not believe I was pregnant until he saw a belly. He is just one of those guys who can’t believe it at first. He was in shock, and it really was hard for him to believe it. I think some men have a hard time believing until they actually hold the baby because unlike women, they are not the ones carrying the baby.
January 16 was the official belly-seeing date. He did congratulate me on January 4, though, when my first medical appointment confirmed the pregnancy. Daddy was just as shocked as Mommy, especially during the last few weeks. We had been getting so excited to meet you. I admit that writing all of this does make it a little harder to say goodbye to you, sweetie.
In early December, a coworker in the paediatric critical care unit (PCCU) predicted my pregnancy when she pulled out a big booger from a patient while saying, “Here comes a gummy worm.” I will never forget it. Out it came from one of our patient’s nostrils, and I almost had to make her suction my mouth out because I thought I was going to throw up.
“Oh, you must be pregnant,” she said.
It was my first sign you were on the way. Other nurses made comments, such as “Don’t stare at the babies, or you’ll be pregnant tonight” and “Ovulation station over here.” They were right.
On December 16, more of our friends found out. We were making Christmas cookies, and it took me way too long to answer the question “Are you pregnant?” I tried to cover it up by sticking a cookie in my mouth. They were not fooled. Mommy is super subtle, don’t you know?
On January 15, I was driving some girlfriends home, and my friend Jess exclaimed, “Anyone who wants to get preggers, do it now or wait.” She was getting married the next summer. Perfect, I thought, done and done. I tossed the girls their New Year’s presents, which were chocolate- filled shot glasses with diapers as wrapping paper. I got some thank yous and kept driving, when finally my friend Nicole asked, “Do you have something to tell us?”
Tee hee hee. I just said, “You will have to use the diapers in August.”
Oh my goodness, the hugs you and I received were incredible! You brought me so much love from others. It was unbelievable. I enjoyed and basked in every minute of it.
Next up, I told my mama, your Gramma. On January 16, we had our usual Cora breakfast jab-jab session. After our date, as we sat in my mama’s vehicle just prior to her follow-up echocardiogram (an ultrasound of the heart), I decided it was a good time to tell her. I gave her a watch necklace that was also a locket, one that had four places for pictures. Inside I had placed pictures of my granny, my mama, and me with my tongue out as a baby, and a little spot for you that read “Baby coming soon to a home near you this August 2016.”
My mom burst into tears. I thought, Oh no! Oops. Maybe now was not a good time. She must have screamed “What?” four times and then “Oh my goodness! What? Really?” It was absolutely priceless and a moment I will always cherish. You also gave your Gramma so much excitement that she scored the highest recorded blood pressure reading yet on the excitement radar scale. Good work kid!
Later that night, my elementary school friends all gathered for Jenn’s birthday party. I shared the exciting news in the bathroom, just as we high school girls had always liked to do in the good old days. All good stories start in the bathroom. They touched my belly, and we all screamed in gleeful harmony. I was thankful I could share the exciting news with so many of our close friends, but sadly some remaining close friends and family had to find out today, January 28, that we were devastated by the terrible news.
Your Daddy and I have received nothing but amazing support. Even though the time that you were in my belly was the shortest of time, you touched us infinitely and in more ways than you can ever know, sweet little child of ours.
I have proof that you were a girl—an event that took place on December 21. Your mama actually works with kids, which is probably what led to my strong desire for you because kids are the absolute best. Everyone knows kids are so intuitive. I was playing the board game Sorry! with my five-year-old patient, and he asked me, “Can I touch your belly?”
I asked, “Why?”
He replied, “Cause there’s a baby in there.”
“Oh, is there?” I asked. “How do you know that?”
“Because I just know there’s a baby in there.”
Later in the day, when he was in the washroom taking the biggest
poop of his life, I pointed to my belly and asked if it was a girl or boy. He nonchalantly said, “Girl.”
He stepped on the stool to wash his hands and then grabbed my hand to run back to his room. I had to share this with you, since Daddy is convinced you were a boy. But, for the record, you and I both know what we know.
Wow, it’s amazing what you remember and hold on to when you’re in love. August 15, 2016, was your official due date. As you can see, in just three short months, you provided us with a lifetime of sweet memories. You were our first real child, and now we know we are ready. You were well loved.
Yesterday, the last song I listened to was “Everything Is Making You.”
All these memories help make us stronger. For everyone, life is not without struggle. You will always be our first little sweet Peanut, and the initial excitement we shared with the universe was all because of you. What an amazing time we spent glowing with joy, which is definitely the way we want to be in this life. Like your name says, you lit up our life for a short while, and we will carry that light forevermore. It is incredible that with tragedy we discover the friendships and amazing supports we all have in our lives.
We love you always little Peanut,
Mommy and Daddy Grover xoxoxo
This heartfelt and compelling memoir opens with a letter to grieving mothers: “Mama, the loss never goes away, but the suffering gets softer.” The pages that follow show how one mother grappled with the loss of six children – four from miscarriage and two infants who died shortly after birth (six losses total). With great sensitivity and insight, the author shares how processed her own grief and how tears can be healing.
Pregnancy loss can be “dark, isolating and lonely,” writes the author in this tome’s opening pages. Unfortunately, it’s a “stigmatized topic” that few want to hear about and even fewer want to talk about. But with great resolve and transparency, she shares her story hoping to “shine a light on the darkness of this taboo and unspoken topic, to normalize our feelings about it, and to offer support.”
The narrative begins by going back to August 2010. The author is nineteen years old and journals about her nursing career. It moves on to January 2016 and her first miscarriage. There’s much more to follow, including tributes to each lost baby as she recalls and reflects on each pregnancy.
Interwoven throughout the stories of loss are how each miscarriage leads to stress and anxiety for herself and her husband over the next pregnancy. Also her fear of never carrying a baby to term. “We all wait,” she writes, “the dreaded twelve weeks, as then we think we are in the safe zone… if only we could have enjoyed the pregnancy (like we had our first pregnancy), rather than holding our breath as some protective mechanism.” Also, mom guilt. “What would make a good day for me?” The “Bahama Mamas.”
Also how hard it is to tell people who didn’t even know she was pregnant that she lost the baby. How the fresh surge of hope is tempered with anxiety when a new pregnancy is confirmed. The gnawing guilt of, “Was there anything else we could have done?” How horrible it is when medical professionals “act like it’s just one more miscarriage, but to us, it is another baby lost.”
While she opens her heart, the author also includes beautiful birth stories of her children and some of the profound joys of motherhood. A photo gallery is included.
Also the importance of creating “a comforting community for yourself and your baby to honor their short life.” Her “deep-seated bitterness” toward a pregnant girlfriend who suffers a miscarriage following the births of two healthy children. What not to say to a mom who’s suffered the loss of a baby: “In the depths of heartache, nothing we say is right.” And of course, the age-old question: Why?
She also talks openly and honestly about the anger, rage, and unbearable pain related to pregnancy loss. How suffering has changed her while she also relishes “in the absolute gifts that we have right before us.” How “You were here, and you mattered.”
All of the above will also resonate with those who’ve experienced pregnancy or infant loss or know someone who has. Perhaps one of the book's most insightful lines is: “Grief doesn’t pass, and time doesn’t heal; it just makes you less numb.”
Searingly honest, A Diary to My Babies: Journeying Through Pregnancy Loss may be an exhausting read for some due to its emotional intensity. Others will find hope and healing in these pages, knowing they are not alone.
Kindly note that A Diary to My Babies isn’t a “how-to book.” Nor is it a “self-help book.” It’s the raw and honest story of a mother’s undying love for her babies and “what it was like going through it.”
Also note that A Diary to my Babies is a genre unto itself. It’s part memoir. Part tribute. Part announcement. And part elegy. It transcends genres. It also defies a rating system. Such systems simply aren’t designed for a book in which the writer chronicles the joy and heartbreak of some of the happiest and saddest moments of her life, while offering a gentle hand of hope and compassion to those who are also “walking with angels.”
You just have to read it for yourself. And decide to “change the script” (you’ll get that if you read the book).
Finally, Diary isn’t a light read. But it’s an important one. It may even qualify as "ground-breaking." So good for you, Mama. Good for you.
Will someone kindly pass the tissue?
Note: The word count for this book is listed at “8000 words.” That is wildly inaccurate. It is considerably more.