The Winner Takes it All by ABBA, sung by November Ultra

Dearest Reader,

This is a letter to you; to each of you who love William, Alex and me. A little different this week and I think by the end of this, you’ll understand why. I do want to give fair warning to you because we love you back… this is going to be a lot to process, but I think every post I’ve shared with you is, right?

I had written out a different story that was hopeful and scenic and lovely, a couple weeks ago. I was excited to have it be published on New Year’s Day… to start the year with such a beautiful message, letting you know that I was pregnant with William’s sibling. Alex and I found out on October 27th, when I got my first positive pregnancy test. When the cycle tracking app I use told me when the due date was, it took my breath away- June 28th. That’s the day William died. It felt like I could hear him in my soul saying, “…right where I left off.” We were overjoyed and also terrified. We called our families and closest friends. We were assured that this baby’s life would be different and this pregnancy would be watched closely because of William’s life. We found solace in the fact that we had “had our one in a million” and we convinced ourselves that the worrying was for nothing.

At our first appointment, when the tech put the ultrasound probe on my stomach, I looked at the screen, but it didn’t have what looked like an 11 week old gestational baby. It looked… empty and it was silent… no heartbeat. I immediately knew it was all wrong. The tech, poor thing- starting her day with us- said, “I’m seeing what looks like a very early embryonic sac. So, I’m going to do a transvaginal ultrasound.” I had to have one of these with William because we went in when I was 8 weeks along with him. However, I knew that this wasn’t “normal.” I knew that this pregnancy wasn’t viable, before we talked to the doctor. After a total of 10 minutes in the ultrasound room, I was redressed and we were walking to the exam room that was reserved for us- expecting parents.

My incredible OBGYN walked into the room as I wiped my face as dry as I could and pulled away from the crook of Alex’s arm. She sat down and said, “I’m so sorry” in a very soft, loving tone. It was only a few months before this when I met her for the first time and we talked about William and how Alex and I wanted to try for another if there were no objections from her. She smiled as she left the room and said, “I hope to see you and your husband sooner rather than later!”

December 5th, the day we found out I had miscarried, she didn’t smile. Instead, she explained that we were experiencing what she calls a “missed miscarriage.” She asked about the date of our first positive test and the date of my last period and my cycle length. She looked at dates, visibly trying to make it make sense, but as she looked at the calendar over and over again, there was only one explanation- the truth. The sac my body made was measuring at about 9 weeks, without a heartbeat and no embryo seen. What likely happened, was we did get pregnant, but the growth stopped at some point very early on. My body just hadn’t noticed it yet- my body had “missed” this miscarriage and thought I was still growing a baby.

The doctor gave us options and I could go through those in detail, but I’d rather just say, I’m so grateful that I was given the choice on how to proceed with my body and this horrific position- that choice helped me cope for a brief moment. I chose to have a procedure called a D&C a couple days later.

Now… this song. It’s over 40 years old, but it’s first few stanzas have recently been covered by this artist on TikTok and it’s all I could hear when I was leaving the same hospital William died in, on December 8th, no longer pregnant with William’s sibling. Alex was driving beside me and I sang in my head, “I don’t want to talk about the things we’ve been through… I’ve played all my cards, and that’s what you’ve done too. Nothing more to say, no more ace to play.”

2023 brought an enormous amount of pain for both, myself and Alex. It held a lot of the same for the people we love the most. Possibly, what we’ve been through hurt you, Reader. It not only feels and looks unfair, it is unfair. All of it. William’s life- all the things he went through; saying goodbye to him and coming home to a house full of things intended for him. Then, to have our rainbow baby taken from us before even getting to be elated with hope at the sound of a heartbeat.

This past year also held an incredible amount of love. The most love I’ve ever felt- the wide and deep kind. William’s 97 day life will always be in 2023, which makes it my favorite year of my life so far. Then, when he was gone, the love only amplified (for the most part.) My relationships got stronger (including the one with Alex) and I learned what it is to connect with other women who’ve had to say goodbye to their children. I told William’s story and I felt the light that came from my short pregnancy with our second child. I got a few weeks to imagine being a momma to a baby I would get to see grow up. I told my friends and family I love them and heard them say it to us more this year than in my entire life.

The reality is, 2024 is hopefully going to be better, but it will still hold the pain of not having these babies with us. It will hold the trauma of going through all of the things I didn’t want to. Every year moving forward will hold those things. What we’re hoping for, for 2024 is peace and maybe some more light. We’re hoping for breath and tears and laughter and travel. We’re hoping for more joy and health as we navigate sharing and growing the non-profit we’ve started in honor of William. We’re hoping to bring all of these things to other heart babies, families and the staff taking care of them, with intentions to help and love.

So, today, in this last post for 2023, Reader, I don’t come to you with the news I wish I had. I come to you as the truest human… a puddle of hope and sadness and love and emptiness. I come to you as “the [loser] standing small” and “the winner [taking it] all… beside the victory.” I want to say thank you to you for witnessing this past year of ours and for starting this new year with doing the same thing.

We are going to take these last couple weeks of 2023 grieving and loving each other through the empty-feeling holidays. I’ll be back with another song and other thoughts on New Year’s Day.

There’s “nothing more to say” now aside from: you’re loved and appreciated.

Happy New Year,

Stephany