I had a miscarriage.  There, I said it.  I know everyone has their
own way of handling loss and grief.  My way was very personal
and inner directed.  

I looked for something to keep as a remembrance.  What I found
was much more.  My mother had given me a bracelet; a simple,
beautiful trinket.  Not diamonds, but it was more precious than
any gem could be because it was from my mom.  

I wore the bracelet everyday as a remembrance; in memory.  Only
I knew, but that was enough.  As time passed the bracelet’s
meaning and function changed as I healed.  

At first, I found myself playing with the bracelet when I was
thinking about my miscarriage.  The bracelet became a
distraction.  A place to focus my thoughts so I could go on with my
day.  

Later, it became a reminder to me that there are simple, beautiful
things in the world.  I needed to participate fully in my life, not let it
pass by me in a blur.

When I became pregnant again, I was scared.  Would I miscarry
again? At this time, the bracelet embodied hope for me.  My
bracelet of hope.  Almost like a worry bead with one huge
difference, I would only let myself think positive thoughts when
playing with the bracelet.  

I don’t know if it was my positive thinking, the bracelet, the stars
aligning or what, but 9 months later our daughter was born.  I had
gone from the lowest point in my life with the miscarriage to the
highest having a baby girl in a matter of 14 months.

Afterwards, I kept my bracelet in my jewelry box.  Every morning
when I dressed, I thought of my angel in heaven and my little girl
here.  

When we decided to have another baby, I thought of the bracelet.  
I repeated the same ritual of wearing or carrying the bracelet
every day, and only thinking positive thoughts.   Our son soon
joined us. I saved my bracelet.

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I recognized the devastation in Sharon’s voice immediately.  The
pain.   The searching for answers, when there were none.  The
loss of innocence.  It was all undeniably there.

But I thought, maybe I could help.  Maybe I could make a
difference.  I confessed to Sharon that I too had a miscarriage.  
And that I had a special bracelet of hope to share with her.  

I’m not sure who cried more that day, Sharon or I.  Talking about
my miscarriage and my feelings was cathartic, a huge release.   
Even though time had passed and I had two wonderful children, it
surprised me how much pain I still felt.

While I wouldn’t wish a miscarriage on anyone, knowing that
neither of us was alone in our grief and having the ability to share
hope helped us both.

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our bracelet of hope
Linda Layne, cultural anthropologist and author of Motherhood Lost: A Feminist Account of Pregnancy Loss in America, believes
when a pregnancy is cut short, women are left hanging betwixt and between.  “Gift giving is a powerful way of offering support,” says
Layne.  “By giving someone who has had a miscarriage a comfort item like those available through OurHopePlace.com, one offers
concrete acknowledgment of a painful loss which, more often than not, is ignored or downplayed.”  Here is our story of sharing:
                                                              
The doctor said the words matter-of-factly, “I’m sorry Sharon, but this
isn’t going to be a viable pregnancy”.  No reason why.  Just
“sometimes this happens."   

I had had a miscarriage.  The baby I waited so long for, that was
there, that I already loved so much, was gone.  My baby was gone.  
All our dreams and plans, gone.  

I felt empty.  Alone.  All alone.  Yes, my husband was there, he was
supportive and suffering too.  But I felt alone.  Empty.  Devastated.  
Angry.  Numb.  Grief.  So much grief; I couldn’t explain the level of
pain if I tried.   It didn’t it seem like I would ever smile or feel joy
again.  

My way of healing was to talk about my miscarriage; that and cry in
the shower.  I know everyone has their own way, but that was mine.  
I think I was searching for something.  I didn’t know what, but I
needed something.  

Talking worked for me. I told my friend Laura.  We had been sorority
sisters in college, and friends for many years.  Laura always
seemed so happy.  She had a great husband and two wonderful
kids.  But she knew.  She knew what I was feeling because Laura
had had a miscarriage 4 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, 1 day and 10
hours before me.   I felt pain for Laura.  I also instantly didn’t feel so
alone.

Laura offered more than understanding, more than words, she
offered me hope.  Laura told me about her bracelet of hope and
offered to share it with me.  Through my tears I eagerly accepted.  
The bracelet was something tangible I could latch onto.  I could see
how happy Laura was with her family; maybe I could hope for that
too.  

Over the next four months, I healed physically and started the
journey emotionally.  While it gets easier to go on with life, I don’t
think I will ever forget.  It will always be there.  I continued to cry in the
shower; a private, little break down before I faced the day somehow
gave me strength.  What also helped was Laura's bracelet.  I wore
or carried it everyday.  Each time I thought of the miscarriage, I
played with the bracelet.  It was a distraction.  

One day, I realized the beauty in this simple bracelet.   I started to
notice things in the world again.  I hadn’t even realized how much I
had missed in my everyday life.  We live in the woods.  I don’t think I
heard the birds sing for 2 months.  I didn’t appreciate my
surroundings.  The world had been passing me by and it was time
to rejoin.  

When I became pregnant again I was excited, but I was terrified.  
What would happen this time?  

At my stage two ultra sound, I heard the magic words, “looks like you
are going to have a healthy baby boy”.  Exhale.  I exhaled, the first
time in twenty weeks.  It felt as if I had been holding my breath.

I enjoyed the rest of my pregnancy; morning sickness and all.  And
in a few months, our son was born.  Joy!  So much joy that I couldn’t
explain the happiness I felt if I tried.  And no more crying in the
shower.

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Over the years, we have had the need to share the bracelet of hope with too many friends and family members.  

The facts are staggering.  1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage; there are over 1 million a year in the US alone.  It is unfortunately all too
common.  

Our dream is that miscarriages wouldn’t exist; however, since we can’t solve that, we can try to help in our own way.  Our Hope Place is
about providing friends with the confidence, encouragement, and the opportunity to help their friends through their grief.

Our goal is to allow people to smile again.  To dream.   To hope.  

Together we can share hope.  Our hope place.

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link to customize cope & hope care packages
Bracelet Of Hope:
Click here to purchase