Day 21

Today is the 8th of January—twenty one days since our miscarriage.

How are we holding up?

Grief has a way of revealing truths about us. I’ve realized that my husband and I process it very differently.

During what I call our “hell week,” he has been nothing short of incredible. I saw him shed tears on a few days, but most of the time, he was the anchor keeping us steady. While I was inconsolable and overwhelmed with pain, he was there for me—patient, gentle, and endlessly caring. He held me, took care of me, and reminded me, over and over, that he loved me. Even the nurses at the hospital noticed. More than once, they commented on how amazing he was. I just smiled and said, “I know.” If there’s one lesson this experience has taught me, it’s this: choosing the right person to walk through life with is everything.

On the 19th of December, we finally sat together and talked—really talked—about what had happened and how we might move forward. At the time, he was buried in work: early mornings, late nights, and the weight of leading a major project outage as the lead tech. Somehow, he balanced hospital emergencies and work responsibilities while still being there for me. That Friday—the last workday of the year—was the first time I saw him sob since the day of the scan.

For me, the tears had been relentless, pouring out day after day without pause. But that afternoon, once his emails were sent and his responsibilities finally paused, there was nothing left to distract us from the grief. We sat on the couch, crying together, holding each other, letting the heartbreak wash over us.

Now, I find myself sitting with the question that feels both unavoidable and impossible: What do we do next?

This isn’t my first encounter with loss. When I was fourteen, I lost my closest cousin to cancer. Back then, I had no idea how to process grief—I was just a kid trying to survive something far too big for me. Seventeen years later, I’m still learning. So I do what I know how to do when I don’t understand something: I read. I search for guidance. I look for words that might help me make sense of grief, death, and how to keep living alongside sorrow.

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

Let yourself feel. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. Cry, scream, or sit in silence—whatever comes naturally. Your emotions are valid.

Give yourself permission to rest. Grief is exhausting in ways you don’t expect. Sleep when you can. Eat when you’re able. Care for your body, even when it feels like the hardest thing to do.

Take it one day at a time. You don’t need to have all the answers. Healing is a process.

Be honest with God, even if that honesty is messy. Anger, confusion, doubt, and silence can all be forms of prayer. We don’t have to find meaning yet. We’re allowed to say, “I don’t understand this.”

Don’t rush hope. Future pregnancy, future plans, future joy—you don’t need to think about them yet. Surviving today is enough.

After sobbing on that couch, we made a promise. We would choose to live every day as it comes. We would let the grief arrive when it needs to.

It is okay to grieve, because we loved. Because we cared. Because we hoped. Our grief is proof of something real, something deeply wanted. And for now, that is enough.

We are still here. We are still choosing to live life.

No Rhyme, Just Reason is a Taupō, New Zealand–based blog by Ariane about books, good food, long walks, and unapologetic naps.