Incompetent Cervix, Unbreakable Love: Finding Solace in Meaningful Keepsakes
As I sit here, staring at the empty crib in the nursery, I can’t help but feel the overwhelming wave of heartbreak and loss wash over me. It’s been over six years since we lost our daughter, and while time has helped me learn to live with the pain, the heartbreak remains as raw as it was the day it happened.
Before that moment, I had never heard the term “incompetent cervix.” The day it entered my life is etched in my memory. It was a routine 20-week ultrasound; we were excited to see our little one’s face and celebrate this halfway milestone. But our joy quickly turned to devastation when the doctor entered the room, his face serious. “Your cervix is dilating, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it,” he told us gently.
My world shattered in those few seconds. I could hardly comprehend the weight of his words, but I knew they signified an outcome I wasn’t ready to face. In the days that followed, I dove into research, looking up every piece of information I could find about incompetent cervix, hoping to find a solution, a way to turn back time. I learned about cerclages, a procedure where a stitch is placed around the cervix to help it remain closed. But it was too late for me—my water had already broken. The option to save our baby was gone.
As I lay in the hospital, waiting for the inevitable, my mind raced with questions that haunted me in the quiet hours. “What did I do wrong? Could I have prevented this?” But the truth is, an incompetent cervix is not something I could have predicted or prevented. It’s a condition that happens to some women, one that defies preparation or explanation.
The days and weeks that followed were a blur, filled with a sense of emptiness and grief. The journey was lonely, despite the love and support of family and friends. There were times I felt as if I were floating in an ocean of sorrow, struggling to keep my head above water. In these moments, it was the community of women who had experienced similar losses that provided me with strength and solace. I wasn’t alone; they knew the silent pain that lingered, the way our lives are forever changed by loss.
Through these connections, I discovered The Empty Crib, a special place dedicated to those who have experienced miscarriage, infertility, and infant loss. It was more than a store—it was a safe haven where I could honor my daughter’s memory, where I could find items that made me feel close to her. I began creating custom-made necklaces and bracelets as tangible reminders of her presence, symbols of the love that would always be part of me.
The jewelry was simple yet profound, designed with care and empathy. I felt as though each piece carried a small piece of her with me, a constant reminder that she was real, that she was mine. The necklace I wear close to my heart is engraved with her name, and each time I hold it, I feel as if I am holding a part of her. The bracelet with her birthstone glimmers in the sunlight, a small, beautiful representation of the joy she brought me, even if only for a brief time.
As I’ve continued on this journey of healing, I’ve realized that the pain will always be a part of me. But with the support of my loved ones, the strength of my community, and the comfort of these keepsakes, I am learning to live with it, to carry the grief alongside the love. I am finding joy in the small moments, cherishing each day as a way to honor her memory.
Through this journey, I’ve also come to realize that The Empty Crib is more than a personal outlet. It’s a source of connection for others who are on similar journeys, a place where stories of loss and love are shared, honored, and remembered. For many, miscarriage and infant loss are experiences that aren’t often discussed openly, particularly within certain communities. The silence can make the journey feel isolating, as though we are the only ones bearing this pain. The Empty Crib gives a voice to those experiences, a way to break that silence and provide comfort to those who may feel alone.
Every story matters here. Each keepsake represents a unique journey, a different child, a piece of love left behind. When I look at my collection of necklaces, bracelets, and other tokens, I see not only my daughter’s memory but the memories of countless others. Each piece tells a story of resilience and love, a reminder that while our loved ones may be gone, they are never truly lost to us.
The path of grieving a child is one that twists and turns. Some days are filled with moments of peace, others with waves of sorrow that feel fresh and raw. But I am learning to navigate this path with grace, to allow myself to feel both the love and the pain. And in these moments, when the sorrow feels overwhelming, I hold the necklace close to my heart, and I remember that she is with me, always.
In sharing my story, I hope that others can find comfort and understanding. Losing a child changes you in ways you can never fully explain. It alters your view of the world, deepens your understanding of love, and teaches you the importance of honoring those we have lost. The Empty Crib has helped me carry her memory forward, a symbol of love that endures beyond loss. For those who have experienced similar pain, my hope is that you find comfort, too, in the reminders that love is eternal, and that every memory is worth honoring.
My journey continues, and I know that while the ache of loss will remain, I am learning to live alongside it. Each meaningful keepsake is a reminder of the love that fills that empty crib—a love that will live on forever.
Through these connections, I discovered The Empty Crib, a special place dedicated to those who have experienced miscarriage, infertility, and infant loss.