Samantha S’ Story

It was supposed to be a normal day—just me and my now-husband heading out to visit his family. He always joked with his mom, calling her “grandma,” and that day I joined in too.

“Hi, Grandma,” I said casually.

She stopped, looked me straight in the eyes, smiled, and sent my husband to buy me a pregnancy test.

She knew something I didn’t.

About an hour later, I took the test and brought it to her. After seeing so many negative tests over the years, I didn’t even realize what I was looking at. I thought it was just another one line—another no. She looked at it, and I watched a slow smile spread across her face.

“You’re pregnant,” she said.

I froze. Shock took over. I immediately called everyone with the news, scheduled my first OB appointment, and started imagining our future. At my first appointment, everything looked perfect. I was 5½ weeks along, and we were lucky enough to hear the heartbeat. That sound… it was beautiful.

It was also the only time we ever got to hear it.

The morning of my 8-week appointment, I looked at myself in the mirror and jokingly told my husband, “I don’t look pregnant today.” We laughed, knowing it was far too early for a bump. My mom and dad had driven four hours to come with me and see their grandbaby. We were excited.

In the exam room, my mom started recording. We saw the baby—but there were no flashing lights. No movement. No heartbeat.

I held my breath as the OB quietly said, “You had a miscarriage. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t remember much after that—only screaming and crying so loudly that people in the lobby could hear me. I was told I had a missed miscarriage. The baby had stopped growing, and my body hadn’t known yet. Two days later, I had a D&C.

I begged to find out the gender. I needed to know who my baby was.

He was a boy.

We named him Jessie Tyler Keogh, after one of my best friends who is no longer here. His due date was February 25, 2023.

The months that followed were filled with grief—silent nights, distance, and moments where we truly thought this loss might break us. Eventually, we found our way back to each other and decided to try again. Test after test. Advice. Hope. Disappointment. Years passed.

Then one day, I just felt different.

I took a test while my husband was at work, and to my surprise—it was positive.

That pregnancy led to the healthy birth of my rainbow baby, Zoey. Being pregnant again was terrifying. I worried constantly, afraid to trust my body or the joy. But Zoey is now two years old, and she has a little sister, Willow who is now one.

Zoey and Willow have shown me that life is still worth living.

I am endlessly grateful that I didn’t give up on becoming a mother. Though I am still healing, I think about my sweet boy every day—the what-ifs, the love, the loss. And I will tell his sisters about him.

He was here.

He was alive.

And he still matters.

That was almost four years ago—and he will always be part of my story.

Find out more about Project Finding Your Rainbow.

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