One of my very talented blogger friends, Stefanie Tong, has recently published her new book: Chasing Light, a beautiful and raw look at life after pregnancy loss.

Centered around her two miscarriages and her subsequent grief and depression, Stefanie writes about both the challenges and the search for hope and wholeness following the death of a child.

Reading through this book, I was constantly struck by Stefanie’s incredible honesty and willingness to embrace and explore her grief. She is not afraid to be vulnerable and peal back the intricate layers surrounding loss. Touching on her husband’s grief, as well as conversations that they had with their three-year-old daughter, I appreciated this book’s accurate reflection of how grief and loss affects the entire family.

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Dear Grieving Mama,

It’s October. The trees have begun to shed their colourful leaves and the smell of pumpkin spice lattes float throughout the cool air. For everyone else, this is a month about Halloween costumes, Thanksgiving turkeys, and trips to the pumpkin patch. But for you, this month signifies something a little different.

This is your first October after the loss of your little one.

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It feels like it’s taken me a long time to get here. To arrive at this in-between place where I’m finally ready to entertain the idea of ‘trying again.’

Another pregnancy. Another baby.

The thought volleys around in my head. Back and forth I debate whether I’m ready to get pregnant again – whether I even want to. Maybe we have already reached our family’s final number; maybe we will find new ways to grow, just the three of us.

But I know in my heart that I’m not satisfied with this ending.

Not that this wouldn’t be enough. Not that I wouldn’t be perfectly happy leaving things the way they are. But there’s more to this story – it’s not finished yet.

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I was seven months pregnant when I lost my first child. The doctors hurriedly pulled him from my stomach but they found no heartbeat, no breath. He was declared stillborn.

My second pregnancy ended quickly. I barely made it to the eight week mark when the doctors confirmed what my body had already told me – it was over. They told me I had “experienced a miscarriage.”

When you look at their definitions on paper, a miscarriage and a stillbirth are essentially the same thing. Both involve the loss of a beautiful baby in utero. A miscarriage occurs before 20 weeks of pregnancy, a stillbirth occurs after 20 weeks.* Both types of loss involve the pain of losing a child; and both leave a mother with empty arms and crushed dreams.

And yet, there’s no denying that these are two very different experiences.

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When I was a pre-teen, one of my all-time favourite slumber party snacks was “Popcorn Cake.” Reminiscent of a “Rice Krispie Bar” this dessert is quick to make and fun to eat. What kid could want anything more than some popcorn, melted marshmallows, and gummy candies?

And given my love for all things popcorn, this cake was also the perfect way to surprise my husband with the news that I would soon be “popping” with our third child!** (Perhaps this accounted for my sudden “craving” for popcorn cake…)

Regardless of what occasion you make it for, this is one treat that is sure to become a family favourite for movie night!

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I’m not really a sporty person – more like a proud bench warmer.

In college, I won my first athletic award for “Most Academic Athlete.” That should tell you where my talent lies – off the field and in the library. I don’t even like watching sports. Excluding a collection of retired Canadian figure skaters, the number of athletes that I could list by name would fit on one hand. I would never pay for tickets to a game or voluntarily sit down and watch TSN or ESPN for fun.

But for a couple weeks every two years, I am the biggest sports fan. There’s a game streaming on my computer in the background, live medal updates blinking on my phone. I can’t get enough of them. For this brief period of time, I actually enjoy sports.

Because despite my usual indifference towards all things athletic, I absolutely love the Olympics.

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At the edge of a grassy graveyard, surrounded by little bronze markers and drying flowers, sits my son’s gravestone. His name is boldly inscribed across the top: “Landon A. Mannegren.” This grave is a physical reminder of his short life, a place that marks his brief stay in this world. This tombstone is a declaration that he was here.

But none of that exists for my recent miscarriage.

I never felt this little one’s first kicks. I never knew their gender or held them in my arms. There is no birth certificate, no ultrasound photos, and no baby nursery. All I could give this precious babe was eight weeks of love snuggled up in my womb and a name to call their own.

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To my sweet, little man; my sunshine, my Alistair,

Today you turn two. Just the thought of it evokes all the imaginable cliches about babies growing up too quickly. Because although you still refer to yourself in third person, “baby” has now graduated to “big boy.”

This was a big year for you: learning to walk, beginning to talk. You’re getting bolder as you maneuver the equipment at the playground. You dance and run, tiptoe and sing. If there was a toddler edition of “So You Think You Can Dance,” you would win hands down.

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Two years ago I sat on a hospital bed and learned about the excruciating heartbreak that can accompany motherhood. I said good-bye to a baby that I had carried for 31 weeks; a precious little one that I had never officially met and yet had whispered to and loved on for seven months.

Almost exactly two years later, I’m here again. I sit in a blue hospital gown, my arm still bruised from where they’ve drawn blood, and watch as the ultrasound technician carefully maneuvers her wand over my belly.

I booked this appointment weeks ago. I should be sitting in this room with my husband, watching a tiny heartbeat pulse on the screen. I should leave this appointment with a confirmed due date and a printout of my baby’s first ultrasound photos. Instead, I arrive at the clinic knowing that this appointment will be different; I arrive knowing that the sonogram will be empty.

We’ve miscarried.

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“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’VE WON!”

Is there anything better than seeing this subject line pop up in your email inbox? (Along with the knowledge that it’s not a scam – of course!)

For the past year and a half I’ve been sporadically entering online contests. Whenever I have a few moments of free time, I’ll boot up my computer and try to win a free cruise to Antarctica.

The payoff may not always be great but it’s a fun, and best of all, free hobby. From baby gear, to recipe books and crock-pots, cruises and guided tours, cars, electronics, and even cash prizes – there are thousands of online contests available if you know where to look and have a little spare time to enter them.

So before you dive into this new hobby, here are a few tips to get you started:

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To say that I love reading is an understatement.

Some of my favourite childhood memories are the days spent browning on a lawn chair beside the lake, soaking up novel after novel. I used to dream of owning a “Beauty and the Beast” type library with swinging ladders and gleaming, spiral staircases – who needs a house, when you can nest happily amongst paperbacks?

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When I was little, I used to love flipping through my baby book – seeing the handwritten dates describing when I got my first tooth or my first haircut. There’s just something special about documenting these little moments, details that would otherwise have been long forgotten.

But when it comes to pre-designed, store bought baby books it seems that not much has changed in the past twenty years. For the most part, these books seemed overly generalized and weren’t quite what I was looking for. When I discovered I was pregnant, I decided on a more streamline baby book for my sons – I wasn’t interested in having to print and glue pictures into a paper book.

That’s where Shutterfly came in.

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