For some this is just a regular day, for others this is a heavy day. We remember those that were lost too soon. We wonder what they would grow up to be like and often we wonder why they had to leave us.

There sitting in the hospital waiting room, I knew it was his time to go. My grandfather. The man who raised me as his own. He wasn't the warm fuzzy type or the type to have a series of adventures created all within the imagination. He was practical. He was logical. And after a few long days of begging him to hold on, it was obvious that he was suffering and in pain. I remember two exchanges we had that day... he told me, "It was nice meeting you" which I am sure many would find rather odd but I carry it with me to this day. And then there was the moment petting his ducky soft grey hair and letting him know it was okay if he needed to let go.

I sat. Quiet and still in a pair of sports pants and a really comfortable sweatshirt. The July heat was heavy on the outside of the building but inside it felt cold and empty. There were some family members in the waiting room. My husband sat down next to me. I felt a wave of grief flood over me. Not for the moment I was in but for the moment a little more than a year before. My hidden grief locked away from most everyone. I never really talked about it. I never took the time to process it. And here it was, when I should have been in that moment present thinking about my grandfather, all I could think about was my Lorelia. I imagined the person she could have been to my grandfather at that moment, selfishing thinking if he had a great-grandchild he would hold on, he would fight the pain. I let the sobs take over. I had perfected the quiet cry for much of my life and this was the farthest from it. My heart was breaking because a grief that was in process had brought up my undealt with grief for a child unknown but loved with my deepest parts and one of the few parents in my life preparing to leave this world.

You could say I was thankful for the boss who gave me the opportunity to go to counseling at the expense of the institution we worked for. There I cried for both, there I processed traumas, undealt with abandonment issues, and some of my own personal garbage that I let sit in the boxes of my mind and fester. I sat across from this little petite woman, resembling Buffy the Vampire Slayer and told her my story; from start to present. I told her of the child, I told her of the parts of me that wanted before to never venture into the world of parenthood because I wasn't even really sure what that meant. And I grieved for both losses, I am certain I went through a few boxes of tissues both there and at home while I processes. And eventually, after sometime I didn't feel alone. I felt free. I was lucky to be a part of a pretty transparent community where women around me shared their stories and I was also able to tell my story.

I also eventually opened up to someone in my family... I found that for most of their life she carried the "possibilities" and the grief alone. My heart broke knowing that she never shared and carried that with her for so many years.

Sometimes I want to post I am 1of4 which is the recorded statistic of how many of lost a pregnancy or infant... but I am going to be honest I think it is more. I think there are many women out there who don't know they are pregnant when they lose a little one, there are loads of women who feel this shame because their body has betrayed them and they never find the words, and then there are the repeats. Losses over and over again. The hope never leaving some of these woman that they might get to hold one of their babies on this side of heaven.

It was a rather warm February night. My friend and I packed into my little car to go to a meeting. It was happening again. I could feel the beginning cramps of what was again another disappointment. Hope for another baby, one that if carried to full term would have been exactly 2 years younger than my spunky little miracle baby. I had names all picked out, dreams already dreamed. I told my friend as we drove it's happening again. She has always been so supportive through this little moments in my life. We started as shy silent co-workers and by this time she was more like one of my sisters. She sat with me in that moment and we went into the meeting. Coming out, we chatted about it a little more and then for the time being I buried it. All those thoughts, could this have been our little boy, the one who truly stole this mother's heart. I always will remember this one as my little valentine.

My husband and I have this great friend. He is one of those that we can go a few months without fully chatting and then when we do get the opportunity to catch up; we go to the deepest places in our hearts and really share, really encourage, and hold one another accountable. And just about every time we chat, he asks me: Have you worked on your book and I say no or I am working on some of my other things I've got cooking. He always responds with... Someone is waiting for you to tell your story. And this is one of those stories that needs to be told; whether it is my story or yours... if you are one who has lost, tell your story. So many have felt the shame, the loneliness, the betrayal of one's body, the guilt that comes from mourning someone they never got to hold or fully meet no matter when the loss happened (early term, mid-term, late-term, after birth, even later... we always carry those babies in our hearts. Andthe biggest truth no one should ever have to go decades without feeling comfortable telling their story.

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