Rachelle and Kevin’s Story
Last fall, Rachelle and her mom participated in the Life Beyond Loss Retreat. During the weekend, we took time to speak our persons’ names, share memories, and practice telling our loss stories. We talked about how telling our story will change over time, and we will share it when we are ready.
I was reminded of this as I prepared for this week’s Lenten Devotional. When Rachelle asked if she could tell her own story of miscarriage and stillbirth, I encouraged her to try. She did more than try. She did it with honesty and grace. Her words are below. Thank you, my friend.
My Story of Loss Love
My story begins in January 2023. My husband Kevin and I just found out I was pregnant for the first time. We were quickly overcome with joy and excitement for what our lives were about to become. We envisioned our lives 9 months from then. We envisioned traveling for the holidays as a family of three. We envisioned our lives when Baby Boy or Girl was starting kindergarten. Unfortunately, this joy and excitement was short-lived—the pregnancy ended at only 6 weeks gestation. A miscarriage. The pregnancy may have been short, but we fell so deeply in love with this sweet little fetus. We were devastated. We were broken. We were lost.
November 30, 2023, the lines on the pregnancy test read positive. Kevin and I were overjoyed and terrified all at the same time. My pregnancy was relatively uneventful. Aside from constant nausea, peeing my pants while puking, not sleeping, extreme fatigue—you know, the usual pregnancy symptoms—my pregnancy was perfect. Baby Girl was growing and kicking and making me run to the bathroom way too many times to count! Baby Girl was due August 10, 2024.
June 2024, my mom was diagnosed with hepatocellular carcinoma, a form of liver cancer. At the end of July 2024, my dad was admitted to the hospital for treatment of severe depression.
I had my final, routine OB appointment on Friday, August 9th, 2024—the day before Baby Girls due date. The appointment went great. Baby Girl was active, and she scored a perfect 10/10 on her non-stress test. My OB offered to induce me that weekend, but I wanted to let my body go into labor naturally. She was in full support of that plan.
I went into labor naturally on Wednesday, August 14th. Kevin and I headed to the hospital around noon. Our nurse took us back to a room and got us settled in. She attached the monitors around my belly to keep an eye on contractions and Baby’s heart rate. Except, she never could get the monitor to read Baby’s heartbeat. A slew of people came through our room—the lead nurse; a Resident and his medical student; a midwife; and finally, the Attending OB Physician. We could tell by their faces and lack of communication that something was wrong. The Attending OB Physician confirmed via ultrasound that our worst nightmare was coming true. Our baby girl was dead.
Maizie’s obituary reads:
“Maizie LaJoy, angel baby to Kevin and Rachelle, arrived on August 15th, 2024, at 6:01 am, 6lbs 12oz, and 19in long. Though Maizie never took a breath in this earthly world, we are blessed with the endless love she has and continues to give us. Our hearts are broken and abundantly full, all at the same time.
‘Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hallow part of your chest.’ -author, Jamie Anderson
Maizie is love. A perfect angel, full of love.
Blessings to all who love our Maizie Girl and who have been loved by her.”
Kevin and I were devastated. We were broken. We were lost.
Eight days after Maizie, my dad died. He suffered a cardiac event during his hospital admission resulting in extraordinary and life sustaining measures. We, my mom and siblings, decided to withdraw cares. He died August 23rd, 2024, at only 71 years young.
January 2025, my mom lived through her first hospital admission related to her liver cancer. By February 25th, my mom was discharging to her home on hospice after a second hospital stay. My mom died peacefully, in my arms, and in her home, on March 10th, 2025.
I’ve experienced a bit of loss in the last 8 months and I can identify two things that have kept me going. 1) people. People have come out of the woodworks to shower Kevin and me with love and support. 2) the grief quote we shared in Maizie’s obituary. The connection I see between these two is love. Grief is love. People showing up for us is love.
I will be the first person to admit that I haven’t been certain of my beliefs for quite some time, even before all this loss. I am grateful to share that through my losses, I have seen love. I have felt love. The grief quote carries so much weight on my heart. To think of all the grief I have and continue to experience as anything but love, would kill me, I’m certain. But to experience grief as love is comforting. It’s an honor, really. It’s an honor and a gift that I got to experience a life with parents who loved me. It was the honor of my life to carry Maizie for 9 months, and even more of an honor to continue living and loving for Maizie.
To those experiencing pregnancy and/or infant loss—I see you. I’m so sorry. I hope our stories of love continue for years to come. I know my story isn’t over. Kevin and I will continue to grieve for the rest of our lives. I find hope in knowing that pregnancy can be healing. Maizie provided so much hope and healing to our lives after our miscarriage. I find hope from hearing stories from a relative of mine. She shared of her stillborn baby 50+ years ago. She says there isn’t a day that’s gone by that she hasn’t thought of Baby John. Hearing her talk of Baby John and seeing the tears while she spoke of him gives me comfort. We will remember our babies forever. We will love our babies for eternity. Let’s live in their honor.
