We panicked in 2020. I know we weren't the only ones, but we really made some bold moves.
In the months before the pandemic started, our little family lived in an RV on our friend’s regenerative farm in Southern California. It was idyllic. Every night we went on a “farm walk” and picked avocados and vegetables and fruit of all sorts for our meal. At the time we had 2 boys, Duke was 3 and Jude was just 1.
Then the pandemic hit. At first it was quiet, but when the summer heat arrived we freaked out. We put our kids, our cat, and the essentials in our SUV and drove to Vermont. We spent a sweet summer in my wife’s parents’ house as the world went bananas, and in the middle of that time we conceived what was to be a baby girl.
When Alysse told me she was pregnant, I didn’t say anything–I just cried a bunch of happy tears. It felt right. We were ready for number 3 and feeling major pressure to find our forever home. We were in the strange modern dilemma of self employment, having friends all over, but no clear and simple place to put down roots. But we needed a home.
Following my wife’s intuition, we found ourselves in a winter rental on the coast of Maine. We hunkered down, built a lot of fires in the fireplace, and settled in. We had a sweet thing going, our boys were happy and Alysse’s pregnancy moved along.
Until it didn’t.
The hospitals weren’t allowing extra visitors, so Alysse had to go to the hospital by herself. I was at home with the boys, scared shitless and feeling completely powerless. Honestly I don’t recall exactly what order it all happened in, but I remember being on the phone with her as she waited.
At some point the waiting turned into wailing. That sound heard over the phone still haunts me. The baby was dead and Alysse would have to wait and pass the fetus.
As she drove home, we talked about when and how we would tell the boys. They were both very aware of and very excited for their sister, it was far enough along to be part of our daily life. We had to be direct and honest.
They shared a small bedroom and when Alysse came home I was putting them down to bed. She walked into the room and burst into tears, and we just all fell into a pile on one of the small beds and cried. All four of us–our tiny little boys probably didn’t need to hear the words to understand, but we told them simply and directly and we just cried together for a long time.
The next week was one of the most raw and real of my life. Alysse carried herself like a sacred warrior. Sometimes I would hold her. Sometimes she would go outside and lie facedown in the grass and wail at the top of her lungs. We are good about feelings in our home and they were all felt. Grief was powerfully alive.
My job during this time was to protect her, to give her space when she needed it and to be there when she needed me. I went on my own emotional journey, but my deeper sense of loss didn’t arrive for a few weeks or months down the road.
When the loss hit, I remember it felt like someone had taken a big red marker to the story we had been writing for ourselves. It felt harsh and unfair, and the sting was particularly sharp because I really wanted to know what it meant to have a daughter. It hurt and it was a reality I simply had to grieve.
There was a haunting beauty to the whole thing–beautiful in the way that only pure, raw emotion can be beautiful. There was no room for intellectualizing or explaining–it was just raw fucking pain, and it felt like as human of an experience as any I’d ever lived.
A few years ago I ran the first cohort of a program called Fatherhood Ready. A client was trying to conceive and he was terrified of being a dad. He also happened to have a handful of friends in a similar position and I put together a program for 6 weeks to help them get ready to step into fatherhood.
I had lots of practical things to share, but what immediately stood out was how profoundly little they men knew about what was coming. The simple act of sharing what my day looked like as a dad blew them away. Showing them birth videos exploded their heads. Expressing the sense of love and responsibility and love that fatherhood brings maybe had been something they had heard before, but they’d never slowed down enough to actually grok the impact.
You see, dads don’t talk. Every dad says that fatherhood is the most important thing in his life, but before you stumble into it you don’t have any clue what it means.
Our village is not intact and our men are simply not in contact with the reality of pregnancy, birth, and family life. I think this is truly wild, and honestly pretty stupid. It’s most certainly unhelpful–and something we can change without too much effort.
In our first program, I made sure to share very honestly about our pregnancy loss. And sure enough, one of the guys went through it during our time together. The way society tells the story of loss is that it happens only to women - when in reality men are also greatly impacted, even though it can appear that we are sitting on the sidelines and unsure of what to do or what to make of how we feel.
Losing this pregnancy changed me, and I wasn’t the only one. When I write about it now, I well up. The emotions are very deep and real. But I was well held, I had plenty of people to talk to. My wife and I walked through the fire arm in arm. We did not hide anything, and the only thing we buried was the tiny body that would have been our daughter.
But most dads don’t talk, and working through grief is harder that way. The good news is that they CAN, and it actually doesn't take long for a guy to learn to open up. When he does, it benefits his partner and his kids, and I would argue–the planet.
Guidance for Men & Couples suffering through loss:
- Try to not "fix". When loss occurs, there needs to be space for grief and all kinds of feelings to play out. Do your best to not try to make things better or fix. This is a go-to move for many men, but deep loss is not fixable. Your best strategy is to simply make space and time for the natural curve of grief to be felt and processed.
- Don't be a lone wolf. Leaning on others is key for any of us to process big, important things. This may not be your first nature, but spending time with friends and family is healing and necessary. This doesn't mean you have to spill your guts, even simply time spent with loved ones can be enough.
- Don't bottle it up. Loss is real, and it runs deep. Grief needs to be felt to resolve. If you do bottle up your emotions, know that they will eventually need to be felt, and it's no good to anyone to carry the weight of them for any longer than necessary. Working with a trained therapist or a good men's group can help.
- Acknowledge each other's needs and grieving styles: Everyone processes loss in their own way, and it’s natural for partners to grieve differently. One may need to talk things through, while the other needs space.
- Create a meaningful way to honor the loss: Find a special way to acknowledge the loss can be an important step toward healing. This could be planting a tree, lighting a candle, creating a memory box, or any other gesture that holds significance. Taking time to honor the experience together may offer a sense of connection and help create a lasting memory to support your grieving process.
My love goes out to any and all parents experiencing loss. We are here to support any way we can. And with every loss grows something beautiful - Wilderness, our third, is now about to turn 3.
WeNatal Final note...
Pregnancy and loss deeply affect both women and men, yet men’s emotional experiences often go unspoken. Just as women need care, men also benefit from being physically and emotionally prepared. Programs like Fatherhood Ready provide expecting dads with a supportive community to open up about the challenges of pregnancy, loss, and parenting. By focusing on their health and sharing experiences, men can strengthen their role in the family, helping both partners navigate this journey with resilience, connection and abundance.
