The doctors used words like 'products of conception' and 'missed abortion' which stung and pulled at my heart. She will always be a baby to me.
After the miscarriage I sank into a deep depression. I kept everything inside and tried to act normally. But suddenly it seemed that every second woman on the street was pregnant, or had a baby. Each of them was an individual punch in the guts, a reminder of what I hadn't been able to do.
I found myself in a foreign state - this place called Loss. Even though I knew there were countless other people who had been there, I felt isolated.
Miscarriage is so common and yet within our culture it is an unspeakable subject. Women often grieve alone, mourning a child they have never met but whose future they have already imagined. It is a private, hidden kind of grief. A grief that gets gagged, buried, overlooked, dismissed, and stuffed into small corners - only to bubble up at unexpected moments.
In The Sound of Silence twenty-two women speak out about their experiences of miscarriage. These are stories of loss and loneliness, hope and joy, strength and courage, and, most of all, overwhelming love. They are a reminder to all women who have experienced a miscarriage that they are not alone.