What I Birthed When I Lost My Baby

A story about grief, hormones, resilience, and finding meaning in the most unexpected form — a giant yellow duck.

Last year, I had a miscarriage.

After eleven years of marriage, it was my very first pregnancy — and one month after finding out, it was gone. As a woman in her 40s, I thought I could imagine what it would be like. I’ve had painful cycles, hormonal chaos, and days where I didn’t feel like myself. But none of that prepared me for what actually happened.

The physical pain was unbearable… but the emotional pain? That was something else entirely.

During my first ultrasound, I found out I had miscarried. The technician didn’t say a word — just the quiet hum of the machine and the stillness on the screen. I went home confused and devastated, searching for answers on my own. That’s when I discovered what had happened: it was something called a missed miscarriage.

It’s when your baby has passed, but your body doesn’t recognize it and continues to hold on. I carried my baby after its death for three long weeks before I took the pills that forced my body to let go.

Nothing prepares you for that.

The pain was excruciating — I screamed like I was giving birth. I found myself silently apologizing to every woman I’d ever said “I can only imagine” to. Because the truth is, you can’t imagine.

And then came the hormones. My body was still producing pregnancy hormones, but with nowhere for them to go. The more my body absorbed them, the more depressed I became. I thought it was just grief — but it was biology, too.

It was the darkest depression I’ve ever experienced. I felt empty. Numb. Depleted. I was desperate to feel anything.

Weeks later, I woke up one morning and thought:
“Wow. I feel good today.”

Later that day, I got bloodwork done — my hormone levels had finally dropped. It wasn’t magic. It was patience.

But life didn’t pause to let me heal.

Before the miscarriage, I had already lost two of my closest friends. I filed for bankruptcy. I lost more loved ones from afar. My mom moved in with us. We were on the verge of losing our home. My entire world had collapsed — and all I could say was, “Oh well, that’s life.”

But somehow, out of that chaos, I found something extraordinary: Lucky the BYRD — a giant yellow rubber duck that I drove around in my Jeep all over Albuquerque and Rio Rancho throughout 2024.

Lucky became my reminder to keep going.
To smile.
To feel again.

That duck saved me from my darkest thoughts.

Through Lucky the BYRD, I found my resilience.

I realized that I birthed Lucky the BYRD when I started writing the first book. It was incredible to me — I lost a baby, but I found my voice and birthed a character. I was sad, but how could I be completely sad when I had actually created something that meant something? Something that could also mean something to another person? I decided I had to share Lucky — to bring him into the world and, with each book, help at least one person.

That realization changed everything. I shut down my 9-year massage practice to pursue writing full-time — to heal, to help others heal, and to honor the life that never got to be by creating something that lives on.

Now, with three published books and new self-guided writing workshops, I’m living a life that feels aligned — messy, honest, and deeply human.

If you’ve ever felt broken and found a strange, beautiful way back to yourself — you’ll understand Lucky.

You can find my books on Amazon or get a signed and gift-wrapped copy directly from me at: