The Nourishment of the Earth by Ryan Cherecwich
“My barn having burned down, I can see the moon.”
- Mizuta Masahide, seventeenth-century Japanese poet and samurai
June is a meaningful month for our family. In honor of our Saule, would you consider donating $3 to RTZ?
When I was thirty-two, I underwent IVF for the first time, to build my family after years of battling endometriosis. The first time, it worked. My living son Neil is now five. When we were ready to try for a sibling, after vaccines were rolled out in March of 2021, we chose to undergo IVF again, using a previously tested frozen embryo from our first cycle. It appeared to work, and at Christmastime in 2021, we felt the kicks of our baby girl to be, due in June.
In Jan ‘22, our hopes were dashed abruptly. A checkup at 18 weeks revealed many fetal anomalies – our daughter was missing parts of her heart and virtually all of her brain. If she survived, the top fetal medicine experts we consulted told us she would almost certainly live a short and painful life, without ever being able to see us, talk, walk, eat, or know us as her parents.
We then chose to undergo amniocentesis as the last part of our information-gathering process. This resulted in the premature rupture of my membranes, also known as my water breaking or PPROM. This well-known but rare complication not only made it so that the baby’s lungs would also now not develop properly – it also put me at risk for developing sepsis if we did not terminate our pregnancy, which can be fatal. After the amnio, I was rushed to the hospital for observation.
My doctors there determined that a D&E (a surgical TFMR) would be necessary to save my life. It was extraordinarily painful, in part because I had fought so hard for this pregnancy and could not accept that it was already ending. Adding insult to injury was the fact that in my charts, it still reads as an “elective abortion.” I then had a complicated recovery. I still feel so very sad that I was unable to hold my daughter, to touch her – that I will never know what color eyes she had.
That said, we had wonderful doctors who said all the right things throughout– that this would save my life, that we were allowing our little girl a life that was free of pain and suffering, that this was sadly the only way forward if we were to preserve fertility for future family building, and that we were still good and strong parents–that this wouldn’t change that. All of that has helped me to have resilience amidst great suffering.
Not all loss parents refer to their pregnancies using names, or even terms like “babies” and I fully support their right to make meaning in exactly the ways that they need to. That said, it felt important to my husband, and later to me, to choose to refer to this loss as the loss of a daughter-to-be, and to name our daughter Saule Marion. Saule is the name of the Lithuanian sun goddess of compassion, who tends to the orphaned and suffering; Marion is my beloved grandmother.
Due to my work as a grief group facilitator, I now know many people who have multiple TFMR stories, and multiple stillbirth stories – lightning can and does strike again. So though my husband and I have talked many times about what it would mean to grow our family biologically, the Dobbs ruling that came shortly after Saule’s due date hit us hard. The possibility of going septic or bleeding out next time under Dobbs, leaving my living child motherless, is incredibly sobering. So, at this point, we are mulling the choice between either being one and done or considering adoption.
Writing has always been my way to work with the both/and of life, and I’ve written a lot on the topic of this loss, so you may see me sharing links as relevant in this space if I think they will help one of you feel less alone. Gardening is the other way that I make space for my grief. At our last home, we created a grief garden with Saule’s ashes in it to remember her, and hung a wind chime in it with her name and the words from a John O’Donohue poem we love about grief called Beannacht: “May the nourishment of the earth be yours.” Now that we have moved, we carry the pot with her ashes in it still. This fall, it surprised us by sprouting tomatoes, tomatoes that grew from a seed we never intentionally planted, that simply made its way to us through the magic of compost. This is how I feel about my life now without Saule, three years later – that it is bearing fruit, though not the fruit I originally had in mind.
Finding Healing and Strength Through RTZ Hope
After my loss, I attended an RTZ virtual support group for women who had lost wanted pregnancies due to a devastating fetal or maternal diagnosis The facilitators shared their stories of being shattered in this way, then offered us hard-won wisdom on how to put ourselves back together again. One of these facilitators spoke of the Japanese discipline of kintsugi, in which broken pottery is repaired with gold, resulting in a unique new artwork that is more valuable and beautiful, if a bit more fragile, than it was before. In her way, Jess too was teaching us how to tip gold into our own broken places. In 2023 I had the honour of facilitating one of these RTZ support groups alongside one of the facilitators who supported me in my healing.
You can find an interview with one of the facilitators from my support group here
You can help make sure no one walks this path alone.
Pregnancy and infant loss is a deeply personal grief, often isolating those who are mourning. At RTZ Hope, we walk alongside bereaved parents, offering compassionate support, meaningful resources, and a community that understands. Your donation helps us continue this vital work—ensuring that families facing unimaginable loss don’t have to do it alone.
Will you join us in offering hope and healing?
With your support in 2024 (Annual Report) RTZ Hope continued to fulfill our mission of serving bereaved parents and the healthcare providers who support them through a variety of free and reduced fee programs and offerings.
Support Programs
At RTZ Hope, we walk alongside parents in their darkest moments, offering a lifeline of compassion, understanding, and hope. Since 2020, our virtual services have provided over 1,500 families with guidance when life feels out of control and every step feels impossible. Since 2014, our in-person retreats have held space for over 400 women, creating sacred moments of connection and healing in the wake of profound loss. In 2024 we supported more than 600 bereaved parents and provided $7000 in support scholarships.
Provider Education
Provider interactions during pregnancy and infant loss have a lifelong impact on a family’s healing and wellbeing. We partner with health professionals to ensure they have the training, emotional support, and resources they need to confidently care for families at one of the most tragic moments of their journey towards parenthood. In 2024 we led 28 training and education events and reached over 5000 perinatal loss providers.