By Megan DeWald Kline

One of my closest friends, Kathleen, struggled to get pregnant. She was in her late twenties, healthy and active, and so she tried to muster patience and listen graciously to the many moms and moms-to-be whose well-intended “it’ll happen(s)” did little to console her fear and disappointment.

After a year passed, her doctor encouraged her to meet with a fertility specialist to diagnose potential problems and discuss treatment options. She was nervous about the appointment but went with a hopeful attitude, ready to address her concerns head-on. The appointment began with a long consultation, followed by an ultrasound to check for abnormalities.  The specialist pointed to some images on the screen and then said words that Kathleen would never forget. “You’re pregnant.”

Kathleen later told me that she couldn’t believe her eyes or ears. “Are you sure?” she kept asking the doctor, as if the image on the screen were a mirage. She called her husband, her family, and her closest friends. She was six weeks along—shocked, thrilled, and terrified. She tried to maintain her hopeful attitude, even as anxiety began to permeate her thoughts.

Two weeks later, I received an email with devastating news. Kathleen was in the middle of a miscarriage, and with it came more physical and emotional pain than she ever imagined.

It’s a horribly sad story, and, sadder still, it is not one that is at all uncommon. According to the American Pregnancy Association, an estimated 10-25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. Yet, even with its prevalence, miscarriage is often an experience relegated to the margins of our conversations. It’s something everyone knows happens, but it seems too uncomfortable, frightening, or confusing to discuss.

Not talking about miscarriage does not prevent it from happening. In fact, creating a culture of silence around this experience can contribute to some of its most insidious emotional effects, including shame, guilt, and anger. Thus, a family suffering through the loss of a pregnancy can also suffer devastating isolation.

Elise Erickson Barrett decided to bring these issues into the light of congregational-consciousness with her beautifully-written book, What Was Lost: A Christian Journey Through Miscarriage. In this book’s rich pages, Barrett shares her own story of suffering through multiple early pregnancy losses, while pointing her readers to further resources, including the stories of others who have suffered this unique loss. A United Methodist pastor, Barrett also speaks to the spiritual dimensions of miscarriage and guides congregational leaders through thoughtful ways to provide counsel and care.

Occasionally, clergy are asked to perform funerals for miscarried infants. While a number of resources have been published for clergy who are burying a stillborn baby or young child, liturgical resources for performing funerals for miscarried infants are practically nonexistent. Jason Goroncy, a Presbyterian minister, has penned a special liturgy for a miscarried child that he hopes will begin to fill this void.

Families suffering through miscarriage should never have to do so alone. Share: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support, Inc. provides support, resources, and education for those who are grieving the loss of a pregnancy, a stillbirth, or early infant death. Message boards, blogs, bi-lingual articles, support groups, and conferences are all centered on serving the unique needs that arise during a miscarriage.

My friend, Kathleen, still mourns the loss of her first pregnancy, believing that the tiny life within her was unique and irreplaceable. She has graciously allowed us to share her story in the hopes that it will help others, including—maybe one day—her own daughter, due this July. (Baby and mother are doing very well).