I know sometimes talking about it is uncomfortable. I know sometimes you wish I wouldn’t draw attention to it. And a lot of times, I accommodate your feelings in that. But tonight is a big reason I can’t and won’t always do that. Because tonight a man (who I’m sure meant well) told my husband and I repeatedly that if we just had enough faith, we would have a child. And if we had just had enough faith, our five previous children wouldn’t have died.

Tonight a man sat right next to me and told me that if I had truly believed God would give me what I asked for, then my sons and daughters would still be alive.

This isn’t some random thing that happened once in this journey. This HAPPENS… plural. No, it isn’t every day. But it isn’t a one-off. I’ve been given every bit of advice under the stars on how to conceive. I’ve been given every suggestion on how to not miscarry (inadvertently putting the blame on me, thank you), within minutes of announcing our loss. I’ve been told it’s all in God’s timing or plan, I’ve been told maybe I’m just not meant to be a mom, I’ve been told I’d be an amazing mom and it’s just too bad. I’ve been told to keep trying, I’ve been told to stop trying. I’ve been informed that due to the amount of losses I’ve had, even if I ever get pregnant and carry to term, I will not be allowed to have the labor and birth I dreamed of— I’m considered high risk.

My brother and his wife are pregnant with their first baby, and this week it was finally announced publicly. I was deeply moved by the people who messaged me immediately to see how Josh and I are handling it. Thank you for your love and your kindness! We are both very excited to have a sweet baby niece or nephew to love on and spoil like crazy! Yes, it’s also hard. My brother and my sister-in-law are very aware of that and so, so sweet and supportive of us in this! There is grief AND there is celebration.

Every single day I miss my kids. Every. Single. Day.

And somehow, I also don’t fully feel like a parent.

I have children, very real children, who died, and somehow I only partially feel like a mother.

My parents and my in-laws would say that they already had grandchildren, in my kids, but at the same time, this is really the first chance they’re getting to celebrate and FEEL like grandparents! Even the comments on Facebook are “welcome to the club” and such, because no one really feels like they were already part of it before now.

It’s like a shadow of reality.

You can see your shadow, you know the shadow exists, you see the evidence when you look down. But it doesn’t feel like YOU. It’s just… there, but not really there.

My kids are real, but they only sort of count.

I know that sounds harsh, and I don’t mean it to, but it’s still reality. We didn’t get to meet our kids or raise them, even for a day or two. We didn’t get ultrasounds until they were already dead, and we didn’t get to keep those. They were not nice to look at anyways… I’ll spare you those details. But that all adds up to feeling so… distant for everyone. Including us! So obviously, my kids count, especially to me. But to the rest of the world, they only count so much. And that is heartbreaking and understandable all at the same time.

As with all grief, it sticks with us longer than it sticks with the rest of the world. And in order to let everyone heal and move on with their lives, I tend to grieve privately. I hide away and cry where no one will see. I say I’m ok, and I even partially mean it. I write posts about missing my kids but still write from a perspective of memory and strength, and not as though I’m still in it.

I have friends who hide and cry about their lost babies. I have friends who hide and cry about their infertility. All of this hiding… somehow we are embarrassed to have real emotions and tears around people, even people who understand. A common phrase I hear from women who cry in my arms about their loss or grief is “sorry, sorry.” Like there is shame in hurting.

This is just a tiny bit of what it’s like. This is the teeniest glimpse of what it is to be infertile, and to be a mother of five dead children. This barely scratches the surface.

And it hurts.

So… THIS is why I talk about it. Because sadly, I’m not alone. Sadly, many of the people around you have experienced this or are smack in the middle of it right now. You may not even know!

So this leads me to 2 points:

1) I want to make this very clear: I do not believe in a god that would kill someone just because the person asking for mercy has some doubts. That’s sick and doesn’t measure up by any standard.

2) If you think for one second that a “joke” about pregnancy is funny, you are incredibly misinformed. I’m trying my hardest to give you the benefit of the doubt and assuming it’s just ignorance to the situation, but now you know. Wording a post to sound like a pregnancy announcement and then throwing in a little twist at the end is not funny. Making a fake pregnancy announcement for April Fools is not funny. These things torment people like me. I have zero tolerance for this anymore. Do not be so flippant.

Oddly, I’m really not that angry with the man who talked to us tonight. Oh trust me, I was! I was definitely mad at first. But as he kept talking I saw his own confusion and desperation. He doesn’t know much of love or forgiveness or mercy, on the receiving end. That’s heartbreaking. I will not be the person who condemns him or makes him feel shame. I addressed it with him, yes. But I will not let his own broken story cause me to try to break him more, just because he hurt my feelings. My kids deserve better.

Tonight, with a very tender heart, I am remembering my sons Mason, Reed, and Solar, and my daughters Anabal and Everly. And I am choosing (with some admitted embarrassment, sadly) to air these tears to you.

If you are also tenderly remembering sweet little ones, or tenderly wishing you could ever have them, I am with you. I love you. I support you. I am doing my best to defend you and speak for you when you feel too exhausted to stand up for yourself anymore. And I want to remind you that sometimes well-meaning people say stupid things.

And if you punch them or block them on social I won’t judge you.

But I’m also here to talk if you’d rather do that. 😉

And your tears do not need to be hidden.

With all my love and a very tender heart,

Dannika