I do read the lost baby blogs. I read them, I sob and cry with them, I share their sadness with my husband and my mother and I hope by sharing their burden I can lessen it somewhat.

Unless I know them (and more importantly, they know me) I don't, however, comment.

Only because I feel that there is nothing I can say that will lessen their pain. Eventually, they may appreciate the condolences of their friends (internet and otherwise) but who am I to send them my respects? It feels like an invastion of privacy.

"Hi, I just found your blog through [name here]'s blog and wanted to send my condolences to you as well."

I don't know. Just sounds...empty.

"Because if it's hard to write and cry simultaneously, to read and cry at the same time turns out to be no trouble at all"

Yes.

I do not go to blogs of people I don't follow just because another blogger pointed me there. Too much like slowing down for a car accident.

And, I'm a big chicken. I am so afraid I won't have the Right Words.

Because maybe there are none.

And yet, I know I should say something.

I do read baby loss blogs. And I post on some of them, if I think I have an experience or knowledge I can share that might be helpful or relevant. Or even just an "I'm sorry" & a cyber(((hug))). From my own experience, it's nice to have your loss acknowledged, even by Internet strangers. It's generally more than what we get in real life. :(

I don't have a lostbaby, but I do read lostbaby blogs. I don't often comment because what could I say? I can't speak from a root of experience and while I do feel heavy emotional shifts of...something ineffable which is akin to a blend sympathy, empathy, sadness, and a desire to support, trying to infuse that emotion into a few words on a comment feels inadequate to the point of potentially sounding shallow and insulting.

In a roundabout way I have made some semi-personal connections to a few lostbaby mamas, and while I don't often comment on their blogs they know I am there reading.

I don't think I realized it until I read this post and considered my own stance, but I also find reading of new losses almost too difficult to bear. The emotions are too raw and sometimes I can't read them. Then I feel guilty because even if I can't comment, I should at least be able to read long enough to send whatever emotions of support I have for that person out into the Universe or Whoever is listening, right?

Ditto Kymberli. She said exactly what I was trying to find the words for.

I read them and comment on them, simply because years ago when my losses happened, no one cared in real life, and I know how horrible that was. I never want anyone to feel alone like that, and if a comment can help, then why not?

Even from someone who never went through it themselves, even from total strangers, it helps, I think.

I read a lot of lost baby blogs. I don't always comment, but I do occasionally, especially if the author's circumstances are close to my own. Sometimes bloggers are further down the road than I am and I feel powerless to comment, but I often wish I had the right words. For them, and for me.

Reading babylost blogs is the one niche where I feel somewhat normal, and I crave that feeling.

I agree, to read and cry is no trouble at all.

I still follow the stories of those people I made a connection with, but I don't look for new stories to read. I used to actively seek them out, but I don't anymore. I'm in a place in my life where (1) I don't really feel that personal need; and (2) I feel like my subsequent living child sometimes "disqualifies" me from being welcome in that place of grief and I would never want to cause further pain, no matter how unintended it may be.

When it comes to subsequent-pregnancy blogs, I am fairly quick to offer sympathy and support. My own sub preg was the most emotionally and physically difficult thing I ever experienced. Now I try to cheer and sympathize when I see others going through similar trials.

There is one subject I dance around carefully in comments on sub-preg blogs, though. I will congratulate the good milestones, get mad on someone's behalf during difficulties, and express sadness that they must go through all that they do. But I never say I think they'll get a live baby this time. And not at any point in someone's pregnancy do I say "Now you can stop worrying!"

I wonder sometimes if pregnant bloggers want exactly that reassurance -- especially from someone like me, who weathered a shitstorm of a sub preg and still ended up with a live baby. Maybe they want someone on the other side to say it's all going to be worth the effort and risk.

But the problem is that I believe sometimes the reward is NOT greater than the risk. Sometimes God DOES give you more than you can handle, and new tragedies happen, wishes not withstanding. I feel this keenly whenever someone announces a new pregnancy -- history of problems or not.

At the same time, that rather doom-and-gloom world view is the very thing that compels me to root for people in whatever limited way I'm able to do. So it's definitely a mixed bag for me, I guess. Both great and awful. (Sort of like sub pregnancy itself.)

When I first found this land of hurting women I found I read and commented compulsively...to be that help...or so I hopefully imagined.
These days I read less and comment less too.

I do read other lost baby blogs and comment on some of them. I know that through my experience with my 3 losses I really appreciated kind comments from strangers, even if they were just a simple, "I'm sorry." Sometimes when you don't get much understanding in real life (and often really hurtful comments), it's good to know that someone out there understands, sympathizes, or has been there.

When I comment, I sometimes just say sorry, sometime I let them know that I've lost babies too and they are not alone. Sometimes if they are struggling with allowing themselves to grieve (or people around them expecting them to get over it), I'll share what my mother told me after my first miscarriage. She said that she still grieves for the babies she lost almost 30 years ago. It was a huge relief for me to know that it was okay to grieve and cry, and that it was okay if I always grieved and cried and never got over it.

Sometimes there are other specifics to their situation that I feel I can speak to, but I try to be careful. I know that not everything that was helpful to me is helpful to others. I'll say a lot more to someone I "know" than I would to a total stranger.

I do think it helps to let people know you are thinking of them, but what to say to each individual is a bit tricky. Some people don't want the sorry's because they feel like it is pity. And there is always that fear of wording something wrong and saying something unintentionally hurtful. But I try to say something when I feel I can, in a way I think it helps us carry each other's grief. It is too much to bear alone. I know I need help carrying it.

i am not babylost and did not know of the world of these blogs until i found sweet/salty, due to her photographs, not her loss. then i found this blog and the wonderful women who write here. it is not an easy thing to leave a comment, i feel like an outsider, one who cries but does not have the place to say much. i only comment when i am compelled to by the strength of you all, by the need to say anything that might give a little. but it is not easy, the reading, the taking in or the fact that these babies get lost. sometimes i hope it helps somehow to know you are all being heard and seen, in a way. i don't know...does it?

Whenever I see a loss on L&F, I click over. I comment sometimes, when their loss is similiar to mine.

I always appreciate the comments, even the simple "I'm sorry" - So, if that's all I have to give, I figure it's nice for that person to know someone out there is thinking of them.

I don't have a lostbaby, but I read the blogs. I have a lost brother, and though he wasn't a baby, he was my baby brother. Though I don't specifically seek out lostbaby blogs, I read them, and try to empathize, sending out comforting vibes in the only way I know how. But it also helps me, in a way, try to connect with my mother, ridiculous as that may seem.

I don't usually comment, but that has more to do with the fact that I tend to by shy, and don't often comment until I've had interaction with somebody.

When you add that to the from-experience knowledge that comments are comforting, but never really enough, it's often hard to find the right words, when you're not somebody who's been through the same thing.

I do read, but I almost never comment. I don't feel I have the right. I know that no matter how miserable my birth experience has made me physically and emotionally, there isn't a single loss mother out there who wouldn't trade her uterus for having a live, healthy baby in her arms. But I read, because I connect to the grief. My grief is so, so different (I'm sure mothers who have lost, would say mine is nowhere near the same); but when I read these stories of loss, I hear a voice that I recognize, and a bravery that I find admirable, because it is generally impossible for me to muster.

I read some lostbaby blogs, and will sometimes comment if I find that I can add to a discussion or lend some support in any way.

I read some lostbaby blogs and I do try to comment as I like to let people know I am reading. I hope, as others have said, that acknowledging the loss is of some comfort and yet I worry I don't really have the right to comment because I do not share that experience.

I'm feeling compelled to comment, because although I read several blogs about baby-loss and infertility, I have not experienced either and so I usually say nothing...

I feel unqualified to say anything, and don't want to be another bumbling nincompoop when trying to offer solace or support. But I realize that what touches me about what I read is the fullness of the experience of motherhood -- yearning, trying, coping with loss, achieving -- and that it's important for us all to support each other.

I have been incredibly moved and enriched by what I read, and I hope that doesn't sound cheap and shallow and selfish.

I think until now I have been a little fearful of babylost mamas, as you have the unassailable mantle of the Grief of Real Experience, and I'm the annoying perky lady at the table talking loudly about her easy pregnancy and healthy baby. But I don't want to feel guilty about that any more than I want to shy away from reaching out.

So I'm reaching out: Hello. And without knowing exactly what to say to the brave women who share their stories about loss, thank you.

Wow - I'm so very shocked at how many women who have NOT experienced the death of their child read babylost blogs! Before my baby died, I had NO IDEA that these things even existed, such was my total immersion in my belief that everything would be okay. Sorry for the gratuitous use of CAPS, but I'm just FLABBERGASTED by this.

I'm so touched by it, really, and can't quite figure out why.

If this hadn't happend to me, I doubt if I would have the strength to try and understand on such a deep and personal level how things REALLY ARE when your baby dies.

I just want to say thank you to those non-babylost women - thanks for trying to understand.

I do exactly what you do to a t. Read back and see if I can spot anything. Warning, whatever. And like you, I comment, and hope that since we're on the same boat, they'll hear my words and they'll help.

I've slowly found that the number of lostbaby blogs I read is increasing. First, it was stumbling on one blog that led me to another. The circumstances of finding these families, these babies, they always change. Yet here I am, a young woman without a lost baby reading all of these blogs.

I try to comment when I can because I don't want these mothers to see their blog stats increase and have no idea who stopped to read. I don't want it to feel like slowing down for a car crash as another commenter noted. I want these women to know that their lostbabies are not forgotten. Their memories will remain implanted on the hearts of strangers.

I don't have the "right" words to say, but still, I try. Hopefully the acknowledgment is enough for these mothers.

I stumbled upon this world of the lost baby blogs while searching to find something to ease this terrible pain. At first, I just read one or two, feeling great comfort and compassion for these women's bravery to share such raw emotion. Emotions that I haven't expressed very well myself. I also felt so sad and angry that another mama had to join this terrible club.

I don't comment often, even having lived through my own loss, I still don't know what to say. Most of the time I just say that I am sorry. My feelings run much deeper, but I just cannot express them.

If anything, I truly feel gratitude towards these women. They have given me the strength and courage to express my grief and say my son's name without worrying that I am making someone uncomfortable. I know that I am the only one who will keep his memory alive. Thank you.

I was reading Kate's blog before the birth of the twins and continued to comment and read after because not only did I feel moved by her beautiful writing and photography but wanted her to know that as outsiders, we weren't just reading her story in the way people drive by and stare at a car accident - we cared.

I'm not even a mama (yet) but I am a woman, a human being, knowing losses of certain kinds and of the strong belief that we have nothing if we don't have each other. Support of friends, family and strangers. I read your stories, and they change the shape of my heart each and every time. People blog to digest, vent, and share their stories with the world. And as part of the world, I want to be there to listen.

I read and comment from time to time. It is certainly more of a taking from the depth of emotion and experience to help me be less of a bonehead in helping my sister through her babyloss. It is a tough position to be in, and you all provide me a peek into the backroom of what is going on. I appreciate that (and I bet my sister does too--indirectly).

I read. At first it was mostly my "cohort"-- people who started blogging around the time I did, or those whose dates were similar. Gradually, it became more, and I keep feeling like I don't read enough because there are new loss bloggers all the time (sadly, but unavoidably). I don't want them to feel alone in the wilderness, so to speak. I try to add new blogs to my reader, but I don't always have the time to keep up. So I try to add only when I am caught up on everyone I was already reading.

As far as commenting. I try to comment on most posts for those bloggers I subscribe to. Like Wabi, I never ever promise a happy ending. I feel like we all know there is no guarantee and to pretend otherwise is sort of insulting. I try to acknowledge and validate fears and concerns. I share my experience or my point of view, when asked for it. Or I just say that I am sorry. Because I am. Every freaking time.

I also find it very wrenching to read those first posts from people who were blogging before. That line in particular-- the last before post, and the first after-- always, always a sucker punch for me.

Well I just recently came out of the shadows. I have been reading babylossmama blogs since a few weeks after Myles' death in late Feb '08, but I never had the strength to post. I am still rather hesitant to post as I'm not sure that I have the right words to comfort. However, if I think that I have similar feelings I have started to share them. I have found comfort in others validating my feelings, so I'm hoping to do the same for someone else. I just hope that it doesn't seem like I'm trying to make it all about me when I'm simply trying to show them that they are not alone and/or that their feelings are normal.

I read lostbaby blogs and I say nothing because I am not married, not yet trying to have children, don't know what it's like to lose them. I read because for almost ten years now doctors have told me I will have problems conceiving and I have gone through many decisions in my mind since that first diagnosis at 19. I will be married soon, ready to start trying soon, and I want to be prepared--as if reading about so many wonderful, strong, loving women who have suffered so much will help me keep things in perspective when it happens to me.

I hear what Rasee is saying - I want to be prepared.

I don't seek these blogs out, but if I stumble upon a blog about lost babies I read them.. For me I wanted to be prepared so if the worse happens I know to take a breath before drowning, and if the best happens I know to treasure it.

I sometimes comment, but with this huge fear that I am saying all the wrong things. I have not lost a baby, but when I was surviving other losses in my life it meant so much to me for anyone to even try to say or do something. I was in such shock and so numb that I often only remember their good intentions, not what they actually said or did, and that it gave me a second or two of not being completely alone.

I guess I have this sense that we all have different things to give in the way of support - and I offer my thoughts and occasional comments in that spirit.

Like Mattina di Lunedi, I'm a little surprised and incredibly touched by all those, like Robin, Kymberli, The Nanny, Mamie, Ashley, Breanne, Rasee and Clare, who follow the stories of those who write about their lost babies. I think we all struggle find anything even approaching the right words, to reach out to strangers and offer them, if not comfort, at least the message that we are listening and that we care.

And I'll confess here that, long, long before it happened to me and even long before blogging became such a mainstream thing, I used to spend a lot of time reading the web pages that people created for their lost babies. Though I never left comments or even signed their guestbooks, I kept those mothers and their children in my thoughts.

I read them, yes.
I have read them more in the last few months than I have before.
It helps to read of people who have survived past my point but it also helps to see where I have come from.

I comment sometimes but often I don't know what to say. I don't want to say hang in there, time heals because I hated hearing that in the first couple of years.

I must say, I'm finding this discussion (morbidly) fascinating.

I read, I comment. (Unless it's the last two weeks, but that has nothing to do with my emotional status.) I go to the pages where people have just lost -- people I don't know, or have just started writing about loss, because I want to say I'm sorry -- I want them to know they're not alone in this. I want them to at least hear the words "I'm so sorry" from a person who gets it, and I often try and return and say it again when I knew I wanted to hear it again -- when everyone else had stopped and moved on. (I always find it kinda sad that someone announces a loss, and gets 100+ comments, and I'll go back 6-8 weeks later, and they're down to 3 comments/post.) And I guess that's part B of my commenting, that hopefully they'll click over and realize this happens to other people too (even if they don't care for all the f-bombs on my blog, I hope they make their way here or somewhere where they realize they can speak to people). I actually like commenting, both because I like being in a position when I can offer some assistance (finally!), and I like it when other people poke my brain and make me realize something about my grief I hadn't thought of before. Thankfully, I'm far enough along that it no longer crushes me in spirit like it used to, and I find it therapeutic.

I will say, I'm always stunned to read of a death, even now. Like I can't believe it still happens. Or it happened to this wonderful sounding person whom I've never heard of. It still sucks the air out of me.

Like Niobe and others, I'm really quite touched that there is a following by women and mothers who have been untouched by this particular tragedy. I have a few frequent commenters on my blog (hey Kymberli!) who I always appreciate hearing from, and frankly it reminds me of the good in the world -- that there are people out there who are compassionate and understanding. I know I have readers from elsewhere (because they write me privately) that read but don't want to "break up the little community" we all seem to have going, and I appreciate those messages and readers and their willingness to stand back, too.

I too read some of these babylost blogs, I don't where I first found them, but the words are so compelling, they make me feel. I also feel guilty because I have not had the same experience. It makes me feel thankful not have, and blessed for what I have.

Writing and crying and reading and crying was what I did a lot in the beginning. It took me a while to find the lostbaby blogs, but I did. sometimes I comment, sometimes not. Depends on how I feel I suppose... and some days I just feel I cannot say anything "right" so I shut up. Sometimes I feel drained reading about all these sadness and I pull away, shortly.

I am also surprised that there are women who have not had a loss and yet follow such blogs.

I just started reading your blogs two months ago today - the same day my best friend became a babylost mama, over 600 miles away. Since I couldn't be with her, this was the best way I knew to grieve with her, and try to learn what her heart must have been, and still is, feeling.

She returned one of my calls three weeks after he died, and when I told her about your blogs, we wept together - she said she didn't know if she'd ever be able to read them, but the fact that you all exist and share your stories was enough - that she knew she wasn't alone.

I can't thank you all enough for giving her that small moment of peace and sisterhood when she needed it most.

I started reading lostbabyblogs as part of a project at work. Part of my work is researching fertility problems (from a natural perspective mainly), and I have written a little on the subject. As I first started through the blogs 2 years ago, I guess I was expecting to read a lot of "I can't get pregnant" blogs. I was saddened to realize that so many women also experience painful losses during virtually any stage of pregnancy or after an early or not so early birth. In the world of multiples, I followed some of the stories from my favorite bloggers from the beginning, from the first excited announcements to the finality of loss. I really have not been able to wrap my mind around any of it or come up with many comments of support. I have felt like an intruder and in the night when I try to sleep, the stories have haunted me. Yet I keep reading b/c their stories call to me, and I'm hoping to eventually find my voice to offer whatever support I can. Today I was reading one of the lostbabyblogs and "ended up" on the comment page, but I retreated. I did not know what to say that would not seem trivial or at worse hurtful. The mother buried her son the day mine was born. I feel such a profound sadness at that, but how could I share that with her. How would that be helpful to her? So, in the meanwhile, I mainly lurk and continue my research hoping that some day, we may learn more or have some answers, and that I may find a voice that will honor the lostbabymamas pain.

Rita,
You are such a good friend. What a wonderfully nice thing to do. It took my best friend so long to read my own blog because she was so busy, and moving, and disconnected from the internet. I understand I really do. But still, to ask, "Have you read it," not just once, and get "Not yet," over and over was really sad.
I know there are a lot of women on here who did what you did, so I don't mean to leave anyone out, its just that your comment struck me as such as a particularly warm gesture of friendship.
Debbie

I keep reading the comments and am just so speechless at the kindness and the empathy.

You're all so amazing. Thank you for being so forthright and as always, to those mamas who thankfully have every gestation with them here on earth, driving them crazy and leaving cheerios underfoot: you are welcome here, and appreciated, even though we can be a bit like caged animals sometimes that nip at your finger through the fence. I'm so touched that you're here and thinking of all these babies, and your own motherhoods, and us, and finding common ground in between it all.

I have been reading about 20 "lost baby"blogs for the last several months, but I rarely comment. I really didn't know that blogs like this existed when I lost my son Henry, December 15, 2006. Everyone around me, family, friends, and most especially my work couldn't deal with my grief, so I stopped ( good laugh there huh?) grieving openly. I just locked him away so that I would be "normal" and not make anyone uncomfortable. Inside I was dying. After a few months, I found a support group which was a Godsend...then a few months later I found Niobe's blog, and I read everything, sobbing, because she knew, and she was brave enough to put into words the same feelings that I had so deeply kept from everyone.
I was told once that I should move on because Henry hadn't even breathed...it wasn't like I had lost a child I knew. That day what was left of my heart just shattered...then I read what her Rabbi had said, and somehow it was like I shared an even closer bond with her...funny when you don't know someone, and never will, huh?
Now I read so many...and genuinely love and care for these women. I have never been brave enough to write my own story, but laughing, crying, raging, and all the other feelings and thoughts I share with them makes me feel like I am sharing myself with them too, even though I'm not.
I never or rarely post though...I feel like so many "know"each other, that I am would be an intruder...but I wish you all could know how wonderful you are, and how much you have helped me survive.I wish I could hug and thank each one of you, and will continue reading all of you.
Theresa in Tampabay

Ashley echoed my thoughts and put it beautifully I might add - "...I am a woman, a human being, knowing losses of certain kinds and of the strong belief that we have nothing if we don't have each other. Support of friends, family and strangers. I read your stories, and they change the shape of my heart each and every time. People blog to digest, vent, and share their stories with the world. And as part of the world, I want to be there to listen.". I started blogging first in rage and then in grief and feel comfortable in that terrain. I am constantly touched by all of your generosity of spirit, even the "nips through the fences" are inspiring in their courage and spunk.I'm amazed and grateful you exist.

I feel as if I don't have the right to be here, because I don't have a Lostbaby. Sometimes I am afraid that people will think I'm spying, or creepy; zeroing in on the grief of strangers, like a rubbernecker on the Jersey Turnpike. It's not like that. I got here by accident.

I somehow stumbled upon Niobe (perhaps through Cecily? I don't remember). I wondered, quite frankly, what a "Dead Baby Joke" was.

Because I am eternally curious I then came across Tash and Julia and a few others. I guess I feel that even worse than "looking" would be backing away, as if these woman are "other" and not fellow women; sisters.

I'm certainly not very good at expressing myself like Niobe, so the compassion I feel doesn't always come through. In fact, not much comes through because I don't often comment -- chalk it up to shyness -- but I read, and I pray, and I care, and I want miracles for all of you.

I have not lost a baby, nor do I have fertility issues. I did not go looking for blogs about babyloss... I found Bon, Redneck Mommy and Kate through other blogs, and I started reading Niobe after I met her in May. In every case, I started reading these blogs before I knew that the writers had lost children.

I sometimes feel like a voyeur, because I don't feel like I can reasonably comment on something so life-altering when I am lucky enough to have my beautiful boys. I am overcome with an urge to hug these women, to tell them I won't forget their lost children, to applaud them for creating these exquisite memorials to those tiny souls taken too soon.

I don't often wander by here because it feels like a special place for moms to learn who they are again and how to live with their grief. But this post, and the comments, struck me.

Late but I feel I must comment.

I have not lost a baby, only in the figurative sense because at 3-days-old we learned that our son (The Biscuit) has Down syndrome. I learn so many lessons from you all that I can apply to myself. I have said many times that I am not an introspective person by nature and I feel that this reading helps me to understand myself better. Especially as regarding whatever level of acceptance of my son's fate I'm feeling that day. To be honest, most days I completely forget that he's not typical. Then I realize that I'm expecting him to do something he just can't yet.

I started reading Kate's blog during the NICU days, trying to provide support as another NICU mama. I stayed because I had to. I can't pry myself from her wonderful writing. I haven't really searched out any other blogs. Once in awhile I'll check in at the blog of someone who has written or commented here, or commented at Sweet|Salty because I want to learn a bit more about the person behind the comment, but that's it.

I comment when I'm touched or moved because I don't want to be a lookey-loo who is seen in the stats but never makes a comment.

At one time I did seek out and add to my reader a ton of other blogs by parents of kids with Down syndrome. They are still in there, subscribed to but unread. The only one I really feel bad about not reading is the mom in Montana because I want to support her and her writing (she's now had a book published), and because she is the only Ds mom who has commented at my blog. But really, I'm living that, I don't feel I learn much from reading them. I hang out with those mamas in real life.