Our story begins in 2021, when we decided to expand our family and try to conceive.
After countless tears and moments of heartache, that long-awaited positive pregnancy test finally came—and with it, a storm we never expected.
We endured two miscarriages at six weeks, two chemical pregnancies, and then the unimaginable loss of our daughter Chloe at 40 weeks.
Chloe’s pregnancy was a fragile dance between joy and fear. We had already known loss—four babies we never got to meet—so fear was always just beneath the surface. Yet, week by week, appointment by appointment, we celebrated each day Chloe and I shared together in the womb. Entering the third trimester, innocence born from ignorance—and the invisibility of gestational grief—clouded my fears. I floated on a vast, dizzying cloud of happiness, counting down the days until we could finally hold our precious Chloe in our arms.
Then, everything changed. At 37 weeks, I fell seriously ill with uncontrollable vomiting. The doctors, showing blatant negligence, refused to induce labor, insisting that Chloe’s distress was caused by my illness and diagnosing me with gastroenteritis.
Two weeks later, in the quiet hours of my due date, I felt it—Chloe had stopped moving. She had always been so lively in the womb, my little whirlwind, and now her stillness filled us with dread. We raced to the hospital, hearts pounding.
There, they told us the unbearable truth: Chloe’s heart had stopped. Our world shattered in an instant. How could this happen? She was supposed to be born that day—or in the days following. We had reached 40 weeks. Why us? I knew no one who had endured such a loss, and all I could think was that I wanted to be with her. Chloe was born peacefully asleep on December 6, 2023, at 5:55 a.m.
Months later, we learned that she had suffered an intra-amniotic infection, which caused pneumonia. Not a day passes without thinking of her, with a love so vast it defies words.
Then, in October 2024, hope returned. I became pregnant with Alma, our rainbow baby. She came into this world on July 3, 2025, at 7:36 p.m., filling our lives with light and color, a living reminder that even after profound loss, love finds a way to bloom again.
Find out more about Project Finding Your Rainbow.
Make sure to follow Journey For Jasmine on Instagram, Facebook, and Tik-Tok!
Listen to the Finding Hope After Loss Podcast!
My name is Mary-Susan, and this is why I wear the rainbow skirt. When people…
My journey to motherhood started like many others, full of excitement and the assumption that it would just work out. Within three months of trying, we were pregnant. We were overjoyed. But that joy didn’t last long. Around five weeks, I miscarried. We were heartbroken, but we tried to stay hopeful. Then, the very next month, I was pregnant again. It felt like a miracle, like maybe the first loss had just been a terrible fluke. But at six weeks, we lost that pregnancy too. That was the moment I realized this wasn’t random. I went to the doctor looking for answers, but I kept hearing the same thing. Everything looks normal. Sometimes this just happens. Just keep trying. I never accepted that, because deep down it never felt right. Loss changes you. There is no way around it. When you lose a pregnancy, you don’t just lose a moment in time. You lose the dreams you had already started building. You imagine birthdays that will never happen, tiny hands you never got to hold, and a future that suddenly disappears. The grief is hard to explain unless you have lived through it. It is the grief that keeps…
Jennifer Crouse expected to bring home her first baby. Instead, at 39 weeks pregnant, she…
Sara Sharpe shares the story of her daughter, Everly Mae Jones, and the unimaginable grief…
Pregnancy after loss… three words carrying such deep meaning and an endless rollercoaster of emotions. This…
This website uses cookies.