After The Last Embrace

There is no grave. No photos. No name. But there is grief. There is pain. There is emptiness.

People don’t understand. They tell you, “You’ll have another one,” “You’re still young,” “It’s better this way, if it wasn’t healthy.” But no one sees that you had already loved. That you had already imagined. That you had already felt.

It wasn’t just a pregnancy. It was a promise. A dream. A part of me that began to grow without asking for permission. And when it left, it didn’t just take cells with it — it took hopes, chosen names, songs you had already whispered in silence, a part of you you didn’t know existed.

And the worst part is — you can’t mourn it out loud. Because society doesn’t know how to look at that pain. Because there’s no ritual. No space. Because they tell you it wasn’t “real.” But you know it was. You felt it. You lived it. You lost it.

Every day after was a battle. Getting up. Pretending you’re okay. Hearing words that hurt more than they help. Seeing other pregnancies like soft stabs Feeling your body betrayed you. Feeling you failed — even though it’s not true, even though there’s no blame.

And still, you keep going. Because there’s no other choice. Because no one gives you permission to stop. Because the world doesn’t pause for what can’t be seen. But you see it. You feel it. You carry it inside.

And that too is grief. Grief for what wasn’t. Grief for what never arrived. Grief for what you already loved. Grief for what no one acknowledges.

I write this for you — for all who have lost without being able to say it, for all who have cried in silence, for all who have felt their pain had no place. Here, it does. Here, it’s honored. Here, it’s cried. Here, it’s validated.

Because what wasn’t born, still lived within you. And what lived within you, still deserves to be remembered.

🌿 Another Perspective: How to See Invisible Grief

Your pain is real — even if they don’t see it. Even if they don’t understand Even if they minimize it.

You don’t have to justify it. You don’t have to hide it. You don’t have to compare it.

You’re not broken — you’re grieving. And that grief deserves time, space, and respect. It deserves to be lived without guilt.

Without haste. Without shame.

Your body didn’t fail. You didn’t fail. Sometimes, life follows its own rhythms, its own mysteries. And though it hurts — it isn’t your fault.

What you dreamed, what you felt, what you loved — is still part of you. And that is beautiful. That is sacred. That deserves to be honored.

🤍 From Me to You

If you’re reading this with tears you didn’t know were still there, if you’ve lost without being able to tell, if you’ve loved without being able to hold, I want you to know — I’m with you.

I’ve felt that emptiness too. I’ve heard words that broke me. I’ve cried for what never came to life.

And here I am, writing for you — so you don’t have to hide your grief. So you know your story matters. That your pain has a place.

You’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re grieving.

And here, your grief is embraced.

I embrace you from here,

— Luz 🤍