Pregnancy loss leaves a permanent mark on your heart that remains for a lifetime. And it’s especially hard around the holidays when you’re missing your baby and everyone else thinks you should “be over it already.”

Thank you so much to this follower for sharing her touching story.

“We recently passed the one year yahrzeit (anniversary) of the loss of our son. It is impossible for me to describe the pain and suffering my husband and I experienced this past year.

Our pregnancy with our son was normal and uneventful up until 25 weeks.

We were excited and preparing for the birth of our son. We would share our excitement with our daughter every day and tell her she was going to be a big sister. We had books we would read to her and would talk about the baby in Mommy's belly. Looking back at those memories now, I can't believe how blissfully ignorant and naïve I was.

At 25 weeks, I went in alone for what we thought was a routine visit. The visit quickly turned into a nightmare we never wake from.

I remember so clearly how suddenly quiet the sonographer became and how she kept focusing over and over this one spot with the probe. The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned somber as she hurried to get the doctor. The fragility of pregnancy was never on my radar until that very moment.

To this day, I have not been able to look or listen to an ultrasound again.

At 28 weeks we lost our precious boy. I delivered him in a barely conscious state. When I think of that moment I don't remember much. I remember, in a haze, telling the doctor to make sure my husband did not worry about staying with me, to go and spend as much time as he needed holding our baby boy.

I did not see or hold my baby, I selfishly wanted the memories of him to be those of a happy active boy in my belly. There are times now that I wish I knew his face and I'll ask my husband to describe him as best he can.

There is no handbook or halachas (Jewish laws) on how you should handle anything around the loss of a baby. There is no shiva (mourning) period or shloshim, there is no kriah (Jewish mourning custom to tear clothing) to be done.

We had guidance but were ultimately told that there is no wrong answer, just do what felt right.

There was a bris for our son that we did not attend.

We buried him together with the help of a Rabbi and we have visited him a few times since.

Every Friday night and holiday I now light 4 candles.

Wednesday night, I will light a yarhtzeit candle in his memory.

We will always remember him.

Going through postpartum, with bleeding and milk coming in and no baby to make it worth it was awful.

Despite the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion and sadness I still had to pull myself together, be there, and be a Mommy for our amazing daughter.

If I could not be a Mommy for my son, I was going to make sure my daughter knew her Mommy is always going to be there for her with a smile. My daughter and husband are the only reasons I get out of bed and live life.

For a while I still felt him in me, a sort of phantom pregnancy.

I would have these feelings of kicks and jabs that only a few short weeks before had me complaining but now I was so clearly longing for them again. I would wake in the night in a panic thinking I needed to reposition myself on my left side or stop myself from holding something heavy and then come to the realization that I was no longer pregnant.

There is not one day that goes by since we lost our son that we don't think about him.

We miss him so much.

We think about what kind of baby, child or adult he could have been. Would he have looked like our daughter? What would their relationship have been like? What would his life have been?

We were supposed to have a baby and then we didn't. The grief is part of me and will never go away. There are no rules or time limits on grief.

I heard someone say that grief is like a monster that lives inside you and now you both need to learn to coexist. At times it will feel like a battle, but sometimes the grief will just overcome and consume your entire being, but that is ok.

I am learning that I don't have to apologize to myself or others for being sad or not being up to doing something or going somewhere. If it doesn't feel right or safe then I have to protect myself. I accept that I am not the same person I was before I lost my son.

Living life and going on with routine feels overwhelming at times. Triggers of my pain are frequent in my daily life. Walking past the bedroom that should belong to him is still painful.

It has been so hard to balance trying to live this new normal of my life while simultaneously being terrified that almost anything can trigger thoughts of despair and loss. As a result, I took a step back from most things so I can protect myself and feel emotionally and mentally safe.

I think about the saying "man plans and god laughs."

I hope god isn't laughing at our situation over the years but I have seen time and time again that I am not in control.

Since the loss of our son we have experienced more loss and multiple challenges that have just compounded on our grief.

This has been an incredibly isolating and lonely year.

Isolating in two ways; it has been hard to find many people who have experienced anything similar to us and my overwhelming struggle dealing with loss has led me to isolate myself. Sharing my story is an effort to let people in.

I am thankful for all the love and support that my husband and I have received. At the initial time of our loss we had many people checking in, but as time passed it became less often.

There will never be a point when we move on from this, our son is on our mind and in our heart always.

I always appreciate when people reach out; it makes me feel like our family and especially our son are not forgotten. On our baby boy's yahrzeit it is especially appreciated as we remember our son and our dreams of what should have been.”