Dear, Angel.

Today, you gave me a little sign from heaven. I was on my way home when that Jon Secada’s song played on the cab’s radio.

I haven’t told anyone this before but it was almost the same time this year, well maybe the exact moment, when the same thing happened.

And when I heard that song a year ago, it made me sad to the point of crying. At that time, I attributed it to pregnancy hormones. And nostalgia.

Two and a half weeks later, I lost you.

During my recovery, I was thinking.. A LOT. I guess it’s our normal instinct to make sense of everything by putting together pieces of memories leading up to an event.

And this is what I realized:

This song must have been your way of slowly saying goodbye.

I actually lost you before you hit your 11th week but the doctor’s diagnosis is you stopped growing at 8th.

Around this time last year…

It may just be a coincidence, but I feel it deep in my heart that it’s not.

Here I am a year after– hearing your song again. Our song. But this time, I take it as your way of saying,

Hello! How are you, Mama?

Mama’s doing fine, baby. I am writing this with a smile on my face because I know you’re in a better place now. I hope it’s ok if I chose the song for us. Because you really are my Angel… and your light will always shine.

[happy] Mother’s Day, Birthday Girl.

Last Sunday, May 14, was specially hard for me. My birthday coincided with the nationwide celebration of Mother’s Day. People all over are greeting moms, telling them how they are the greatest. Watching ASAP with Jolina Magdangal hosting this special tribute to non-celebrity moms while doing the dishes was a struggle.

I cried silently, careful not to let Cris know; my fat tears mixing with the dishwashing liquid’s foamy formation on the sink. It was a good five minutes of this drama before I decided that I had enough. I searched for the remote and turned off the TV.

A friend who had a miscarriage, too, warned me about how Mother’s Day is specially difficult for us.  For it is a reminder of what you have lost and what could have been. And seeing moms, especially the ones who are just pregnant or recently gave birth, hurt. You want to be happy for them, but you can’t help but feel sorry for you, too.

That’s the sad reality.

I am not a birthday person but on that day, I decided to celebrate like a normal birthday person would. I think part of me was determined not to waste the day feeling sorry for myself. That is not what Ezra would want his Mama to do.


One of my friends whom I barely talk to these past months sent me a message which struck me the most:

This year is just starting and it became the happiest and toughest at the same time. I admire that you can still stand up and offer your smile to everybody. Wishing you more doses of strength, more smiles to offer.

Cheers to your life, Dada.

And in part, he was right. I am one of the most pessimistic person I know, mostly because I believe in self-preservation. I don’t want to get my hopes up over something that will not even materialize. But through this journey, I discovered that I can be really optimistic if I wanted to. And that my strength is something that could withstand all of my weaknesses.

My sister-in-law who, coincidentally, shares her birthday with mine greeted me a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’. She insisted on it upon seeing the surprised look on my face. “You’re still a mother”, she said. Thinking it through, she is absolutely right. I may not have a baby now but I’m currently a mother to my angel. I appreciate her bluntness sometimes. I’m so grateful to her for not skirting around the issue and trying to be polite.

One of the sweetest gifts that I got was from my brother-in-law. It was a picture of Ezra (represented by Ezra Miller as The Flash) playing with Mr. Frodo. A poem was attached to it that makes me tear up every time I read it:


Mama don’t fret. Papa be strong…

Don’t worry, Ezra. Mama and Papa are trying their best. 

It took me almost a month to finish this entry. Part of me was thinking to delete this altogether because this site is becoming a wee bleak. But I found that honest writing helps in the recovery. Especially since I had a hard time talking about my real thoughts and feeling with the people around me. Sometimes I feel like having an alter ego. The public Dada is the happy Dada, while the private Dada is the one who still cry a little every night and still dwell on her what ifs.

Little by little, step by step, I’ll get there…

I already made a small achievement by congratulating a couple friend for being pregnant. And in so doing, I only felt genuine happiness. No sadness; no feeling sorry for myself.

One day at a time…

As they say, there’s always a rainbow after the rain. And right now, these two boys are the very spectrum that completes me.


Someday there might be four, five, or six of us in this rainbow. Who knows?

Mr. Frodo and I

When I went home from the hospital, fresh from my miscarriage and D&C, I was expecting to come home to a dog who will console me. I have pictured it in my mind during our cab ride home: The moment I open the door, he would come up to me, look me in the eyes, and express the same kind of sadness that was overflowing from me. He would give a little howl, perhaps lick my face tenderly, and just stay with me while I drown in my thoughts. Similar to Marley with Jen Aniston’s character when she lost her baby in the movie, Marley and Me.

Marley and Me

But it did not happen. I did not have my Marley and Me moment.

Instead, I came home to the usual overly excited pug who acts like it’s the first and last time he’s seeing me. Since I don’t want my husband and brother to worry about me any more, I gave him the same response that I have each and everyday — greeted him excitedly, patted him, and played with him a little. But deep down I was thinking,

Does he not know? Is he not sad that Ezra is no longer with us? 

Where is my Marley moment? 

The problem with having a dog is we were conditioned to have this great expectations from them — that they would think like us, feel like us, and be like us. Blame the books and movies for giving us Hachiko, Lassie, and, yes, Marley. All of them knows how to console the movie characters on cue. They have full on empathy like a real family member. They will make you feel better, not act like nothing’s happened; like everything’s normal.

The day after, when Mr. Frodo and I were alone in the room, I talked to him. My sister told me that I should try talking to him because it may help with my recovery. So I did. I told him that I’m so sad that Ezra is gone. It feels like my heart has been crushed into pieces and all these tiny pieces are waiting to burst out of me. I told him that I wanted to cry all the time, even if there are no more tears. I told him about all the moments I have imagined Ezra and him would no longer have. But all he did was sneezed straight to my face, turned around, and walked away from me.

I ugly cried after that. I’ve felt like my best friend has abandoned me.

Does he not know? Is he not sad that Ezra is no longer with us? 

Where is my Marley moment? 

The next few days was full of resent for Mr. Frodo. I gave him the cold shoulder; I wouldn’t even look at him. When Cris asked me if there’s something wrong, I told him nagtatampo ako kay Frodo. He doesn’t even console me, I said. Cris, being the good cop that he is, told me that maybe he’s just not showing it. Or he doesn’t have a full understanding of what happened. Maybe he’s just happy to see us safe and well after being confined to the hospital.

I did not buy it. He’s supposed to know; he’s supposed to empathize. He’s man’s best friend, isn’t he?

Sunday came — my most dreaded day of the week. It was a Sunday, a week earlier, when I was first given a sign that I will lose one of my most precious. So that particular Sunday was very difficult for me. I again found myself crying my heart out with Cris consoling me. Let it out, he said. Just cry it out.

And then I felt him — his fur brushed my hand; I heard his ragged breathing going nearer and nearer. He sat in front of me and looked at me with those big black eyes while I was crying. All I can say at that moment was, “Frodo…”, but I know that he somewhat understood. When I was pacified, he stood on all fours, leaned in to me, and licked off the tears that ran down my face. This is it! This is my Marley moment!

But as per normal Frodo style, he sneezed on my face, turned around, and walked away.

That moment made me think: I think that in a way, dogs are like humans, too. They react differently to different scenarios. It’s not like a cookie cutter Marley world where you expect every dog to be as emphatic as you would want them to be… very much the same with humans…

And for me it’s OK.

During this whole ordeal, I learned a thing or two about the people around me — how they reacted to the news, how some consoled me, how some chose not to, how some whom I haven’t talked to in years could give you the kindest words, how some whom you’re expecting to offer even the briefest of “I’m sorry for your loss” could just brush it off and choose not to reach out, and how some would not even utter a single word and yet you know that they are crying with you.

And for me it’s OK.

I can’t blame those who choose not to reach out. Miscarriages still carry a stigma especially here in the Philippines. Most people would rather talk about the weather than know how you bled, how capsules were inserted in your vagina every 8 hours as part of your D&C process, how you last saw your still baby, and how your first consoling words came from a nurse who’s a complete stranger to you.

And the stigma does not stop at the people surrounding you. There’s also a great stigma about talking about your own grief. Most of the time, those who suffered miscarriages are shy, even afraid, to talk about their inner struggles. We are afraid to be branded as weak, overreacting, and hypersensitive. Mainly because of the incorrect notion that our loss is not the same as losing a child that was actually born. To some, a miscarriage is not something tangible so they expect you to get over it quickly.

But as one of my acquaintances who had a miscarriage herself said, talk to your friends who are willing to listen. 

I guess I have Mr. Frodo for that while I’m still mustering the courage to literally face my human friends. I would just have to endure all of his sneezes for now.  Mr Frodo and I