#childloss

[cozzzynook]

Angst

Thunder roared as heavy rain fell from the sky. On any other day Perceptor would be sheltered deep in his lab, now he found himself running. Mud made it difficult to keep steady as he darted between trees and their twisting roots. In his servos he held a med kit close hoping that he wasn't too late, Primus please don't let him be late!

"Percy, down here!" Kup's voice called out from somewhere in the shrubbery. It was hard to pin point the old warrior but the faint glow of bio-lights quickly drew the scientists in.

"What's his condition?" Letting out a sigh, Perceptor got to work. Finding a dry spot he set down the med kit and began rummaging through it for what they needed.

Kup then turned his attention back to Prowl. Just hours ago he received a SOS call which lured him to this tiny hide away. Of all possible things he didn't expect to find mech in active emergence. "Weak but stable, though the sparkling is causing some...issues"

Perceptor lifted his gaze. He didn't like that answer. "Issues how?"

"The bitlet is big, maybe too big" Kup then turned to look at his dagger that rested neatly on his hip. "If worst comes to worst we might have to cut..."

Open surgery here?! The risk of infection was too high, not to mention if they cut too deep they could server major fuel lines or harm the sparkling accidently. But with the way things are going their choices were limited. "Let me try and examine him. For all its worth the sparkling could simply be stuck. Sometimes the helm comes through but the shoulders don't"

"I hope yer right..." Despite not getting along with Prowl he really didn't want to see him offline not when it could be prevented.

---

The next hour was gruelling. While cries of pain were dampened by the storm the sense of worry still refuse to lift. Just as Perceptor thought the sparkling was stuck however what caused it shocked him to his core. While one sparkling arrived with a chirp there was another, one much smaller and...no longer bared a spark.

As Kup helped to tend new carrier and sparkling, Perceptor quietly held his breath. While he knew the risks of carrying he had never seen a sparkling quite like this. Twisted limbs, half formed protoform it was clear this sparkling wasn't going to survive for long, Perhaps it was a mercy that Primus's spared its suffering.

Letting out a sigh he began to wrap up the still-born in a blanket. Kup then wandered over his field heavy with a mix of sorrow and guilt. He then placed a comforting servo on the scientist's shoulder following a moment of mourning silence.

"I told Prowl about them...he at least wants to say goodbye before we bury them" The old mech then turned to look at the bundle. His vents hitching as a part of him knew there should be a chirping bittie. "I'm sorry, Percy..."

"How could this happen?" Perceptor gave a heavy sigh. Of course he knew the reason but a part of still demanded answers. Why this sparkling of all possible bots to lose their spark? "The poor thing never had a chance to meet their carrier..."

Kup just turned his helm. "We both know how unforgiving this world is. Nothing we can't do about it"

"I know..." Getting back onto his pedes, he gave one last sorrowful smile at the bundle of blankets. "If there's another chance at life, I hope this young one's spark finds peace"

"I hope so too"

---

As the years went by, Springer felt like he was missing a part of him. Someone who he thought he knew but was never there when he went to look. It puzzled him, who was so important that his own spark longed for a connection? That answered remained a mystery for a long time until he saw it.

The spark bond between siblings was truly unbreakable. Someone to have your back in battle or a shoulder to lean on when you felt low, its then Springer knew what he was missing. Later that day he asked Kup if he had any siblings that he didn't know about, all the older mech did was sigh before guiding Springer to a quiet spot in the woods. There hidden away in a meadow full of flowers sat one small grave resting by a oak tree. It was neatly decorated by different flowers both from earth an cybertronian yet the headstone remained blank. Springer felt his spark grow heavy as he stood on in silence.

"I'm sorry, that you didn't get to meet everyone. I'm sure you would have liked it here" Springer then sat down next to the grave. Part of him wondered what his life would be like if his sibling was still around, would they become a troublesome duo or the protectors of their group? "Kup says you where sick when you emerged, though I would have taken care of you. That's what big brothers do, heh"

With a sorrowful smile he then would add his own flower to the grave. "I hope wherever your spark is now that we'll get to meet someday. Who knows maybe you're already here and I just don't know it yet" He wiped away a tear with the back of his servo. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you even if it was for a little while. See you around, little brother"

-💕

Thank you sweet hearts!

[writtenbyarwa]

The Weight of Not Losing Again - Chapter Twenty: When Stepping Back Becomes a Wound (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1603211073-the-weight-of-not-losing-again-chapter-twenty-when?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=goarwago Adnan agrees to marriage under one condition - no children. Preferably, a woman who can never have them. Saba is forty. Educated. Independent. Quietly resilient. After six years of marriage marked by infertility and three miscarriages, she was divorced and returned to her parents' home carrying grief no one could see. When her aging father worries about her future, she agrees to marry again - not out of hope, but out of resolve. Their union is arranged, practical, and deeply uncomfortable. Both come from modern, well-educated Pakistani families. Both have careers - Adnan runs his family's real estate business; Saba works as a social worker at a girls' high school. Both know loss intimately. And yet, neither is prepared to face it reflected back at them. Adnan keeps his distance, offering respect without warmth. Saba tries to make the marriage work without begging for affection. What follows is not a love story born from passion - but one shaped by silence, grief, and the difficult choice to stay present instead of hiding in the past. Some marriages begin with promises. Theirs begins with restraint.This story was written with restraint, not spectacle. The Weight of Not Losing Again explores grief, marriage, and emotional survival in ways that are often left unspoken - especially within cultures that value endurance over expression. It is not a story about instant healing or dramatic redemption. It is about the quiet negotiations people make with loss, memory, and responsibility.

[danilovesivars]

What now?

Time doesn’t make sense. The days are long and draining and yet I’m doing nothing.  It used to be filled with you. It took you forever to eat your meals (although I guess it’s because it was hard for you to do the work when your brain couldn’t get the messages through).  The house is quiet. You aren’t banging on your pots and pans in the play kitchen or throwing crayons off your table. Containers of play doh just sit there now. Not that you cared as much for the play doh as it was taking the lids on and off the containers. I went out with Miss Kelly, and Miss Amanda and Miss Cat yesterday then saw my friend Michelle. I cried to all of them.  Then I came home and felt lost again. There was still so much of the day left. I felt exhausted and sore all over my body. I took a nap. Napping isn’t right anymore either because I napped with you. If my hair was still in a pony, you’d reach your little hand under my neck and pull my hair towards you. So I made sure to put my hair down yesterday. I can’t even keep track of what day of the week it is. Nothing is comforting. I can’t figure out what to watch on TV. I could do some work but I can’t think up anything creative and it seems like too much mental effort. Reading is hard I’m too easily distracted by the silence. Since when does that make sense? I can’t even find a Twenty One Pilots song that helps. In some ways I guess that’s an okay thing because I would never wish this pain on anyone and to write something that would explain this you’d have to experience it. Which means I have to be the one to write it. And let me tell you Charlie, Mommy is not the writer Tyler Joseph is. I wish I could be. Music has often been a comfort to me. Now I’m pulling songs from Frozen because I don’t know where else to look.  You received a lot of Easter gifts - some stuffies and blankets and chocolates. Losing you on Easter Monday meant you never got to use them. You were like Mommy and were addicted to chocolate. We have so much chocolate now because you had to start every meal with a small piece. Weirdly enough though Mommy has lost interest in chocolate. I’ve had some but it doesn’t taste the same anymore.  I try to talk to you like you are here. I’d love to hear your voice though. You are supposed to be whole in Heaven now so in theory you may even be able to talk. You certainly understood what was being said to you. You did have some words at one point. If in Heaven those lesions are gone from your brain are you chatting up your grandmother? What does it sound like when you talk? I wish we knew Charlie. I wish we knew what you were going through so we could reduce the suffering a little bit. Everyone says it may be better that we didn’t. You experienced a lot - A Blue Jays game, Wonderland, Santa’s Village, Sauble Beach, Daycare - things we probably would have been too afraid to take you to if we knew. But I don’t forget your tired eyes and your sighs. I know now why and I wish I could have helped you through those moments. At least we think we know why. We are still awaiting the genetic testing to confirm it was Leigh’s. I don’t know how I’d feel if they came back still not sure of what it was. Today I’ve tried to do stuff. Daddy got me a new grief journal. Plus I had one I got another day. I tried to look at Disney Cruises. A little getaway. We had hoped to take you to Disney so I thought a cruise might be a nice alternative. I sent out more GoFundMe Thank you’s and but I couldn’t finish anything I set out to do. Somehow after trying all those things it was still only 2 something. That’s when we’d normally be napping. Riley then called home. She almost made it through the whole day. I don’t blame her I can’t get myself to do anything so why should I expect her to? Daddy described this as feeling almost like you’ve lost a limb. Mainly because you always were clinging to Daddy’s shoulder so he quite literally felt like he lost a limb. But I went on to agree because I was thinking something similar. When you lose a limb (modern technology aside) it doesn’t grow back. You can stitch up the area and it will heal up but the actual limb is gone forever. How you move forward in life is completely different. You have to learn to adapt without it. And most of your limbs are pretty important in your daily life. You don’t NEED them to be alive but they are important to your functioning.When they are gone you still can feel pains from where they were. You can still feel your brain try to use them and function as you did.  So we are still here. Trying to continue without an important piece of our family. Moving forward and learning to adapt but trying to accept that you won’t be coming back. We still feel the pain of losing you. We still anticipate seeing you in the hallway when we open the bathroom door, or pulling yourself up to stand by the couch when we are watching TV. I still think I hear your voice when you wake up from a nap then remember you aren't there.  I just don’t know what to do now.  

[bart-panzella]

L'ultimo granello di sabbia

Correvi nel prato verde,

spensierato più che mai.

Cadesti, le tue ginocchia

chiedevano pietà

ma tu non volesti dar loro retta,

continuavi a saltare

di qui e di là

con le gambe doloranti,

ti vedevo ridere, 

inventavi melodie

per qualsiasi cosa

ma nel mentre

nessuno si accorse

che la tua clessidra

fece cadere l’ultimo granello di sabbia

che ti restava.

Il tuo corpicino 

divenne fragile in un attimo,

“è il momento di andare a casa”,

pensai,

ma quella che piombò su di te

non era semplice stanchezza.

Soffrivi ad ogni movimento,

pulirti era un’impresa

ma dopo tanto dolore

finalmente ti rimbocco le coperte

e con un sorriso,

con un bacio,

la mamma ti saluta,

non sapendo che quella “buonanotte”

era in realtà

il più inaspettato degli addii.

[maghrabiyya]

On a more solemn note, I was today years old when I discovered that it is scientifically proven that People of Colour are more likely to experience miscarriage than white people, and that this is a direct result of cumulative stressors from social determinants of health, environmental, and occupational exposure

Even our not yet born are at a disadvantage

[writtenbyarwa]

The Weight of Not Losing Again (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1597135411-the-weight-of-not-losing-again?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=goarwago Adnan agrees to marriage under one condition - no children. Preferably, a woman who can never have them. Saba is forty. Educated. Independent. Quietly resilient. After six years of marriage marked by infertility and three miscarriages, she was divorced and returned to her parents' home carrying grief no one could see. When her aging father worries about her future, she agrees to marry again - not out of hope, but out of resolve. Their union is arranged, practical, and deeply uncomfortable. Both come from modern, well-educated Pakistani families. Both have careers - Adnan runs his family's real estate business; Saba works as a social worker at a girls' high school. Both know loss intimately. And yet, neither is prepared to face it reflected back at them. Adnan keeps his distance, offering respect without warmth. Saba tries to make the marriage work without begging for affection. What follows is not a love story born from passion - but one shaped by silence, grief, and the difficult choice to stay present instead of hiding in the past. Some marriages begin with promises. Theirs begins with restraint.This story was written with restraint, not spectacle. The Weight of Not Losing Again explores grief, marriage, and emotional survival in ways that are often left unspoken - especially within cultures that value endurance over expression. It is not a story about instant healing or dramatic redemption. It is about the quiet negotiations people make with loss, memory, and responsibility.

[teefighter]

You don’t know what it’s like.

You don’t know what it’s like to have the urge to pee and be scared. Scared to drop your panties, sitting at the toilet. Scared to look down and inspect for drops of blood. You don’t know how great the relief is after no blood. But worrying, until next time. You don’t know what it’s like to wonder “blood?” At every inkling of dampness in or around your lady area. You don’t know.

You can’t begin to imagine how crazy I must feel, always thinking I need to go to the ER. Always prepared for the worst. Always ready to drive myself to hear the worst news. Even willing to go back to the hospital, where I said goodbye to my sweet Rylee. You don’t know what that’s like. Obsessively thinking something will go wrong. Fearing death every single second. Scared to go to sleep because I’m afraid I won’t wake up, or I will and my baby won’t. Night time scares me. Being farther away than a 10 minute drive from an emergency room-scares me. Instills fear into my body. Sends horrible thoughts through my mind. You can’t imagine how this makes me feel. To have my loved ones, tell me “calm down” and to keep breathing and “everything is fine”. But how do they know? How can they-without a doubt-reassure me, that it won’t happen again? How? They can’t. They just. Can’t.

So please. Before you tell me I have no idea. Bitch. You have no idea.

[geminimoonmama]

The Coping Line

I’ve learned a lot about coping over the last few months. I used to think that coping with bad situations or negative emotions meant that you treat them as if they aren’t impacting your life or day-to-day activities. You just carry on as normal with the feelings in the background. Maybe that’s an effective way of coping in some instances. However, coping with the grief and emotions that have come with the death of my daughter has required a different strategy. The way I feel every day is front and center, so I have learned to actively and deliberately cope. 

These days, coping means allowing myself to feel everything, and rearranging my life around those feelings. Coping means prioritizing me. It means that relationships evolve, and endings will be written. Coping means that I respect myself, my triggers, and my own boundaries. To cope, I must draw a line and stay on the right side of it. The wrong side of that line is everything that hinders healing, whether intentional or not. It doesn’t matter what it is. Everything that hurts goes over there, even if it’s not meant to be hurtful. Conversations, images, people, and situations that draw me deeper into my grief hole are on the wrong side of that line. I have to stay on the right side.

The right side has intentional acts of compassion. It’s where I find comfort and validation. It’s where I feel sane, despite my utter lack of control over my emotions. I feel loved on the right side of the line – not just because the word “love” is spoken, but because an act of love is given. It’s where no explanation is necessary, but any explanation is useful. The right side is where I can talk about my emotions, my grief, my trauma, and my experience and not feel judged. I can cry openly and feel safe on the right side of the coping line. I’m free to express myself without the added pressure of trying not to offend anyone. I can be me – the new me – on the right side of the line.

There are very few places I can go that fall on the right side of the line, but those are my favorite places and the only places I will go these days. I use the word “places” figuratively. A place can be a person, a situation, a conversation, a thought, or a literal place. But, they are safe and welcoming. These places may be new. Places that were once on the right side of the line might have migrated over to the wrong side, and vice versa. I cope by taking a step back from time to time and understanding on which side of the line everything and everyone in my life stands. There is no overlapping. Overlap is confusing, and confusion is hurtful.

I’m grateful for this strategy. It’s given me power and control where chaos once lived. The emotional anarchy creeps back in from time to time, but having a coping line is my power, and I always find my way back to the right side.