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The God's Will thing is so yicky. The only person who said such a thing to me was my husband's grandmother. I understand that it is partly her way of coping, but I made myself feel better by sending her a copy of Rabbi Kushner's book "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." He talks about the possibility of a God that is infinitely good but perhaps not in charge of everything that happens--the difference between random fate and God's goodness.

It is funny. I don't consider myself a religious person. I have no idea if I believe in heaven, per se. However, since I lost my daughter, I need to believe that she is somewhere where she is at peace and happy. I need to believe that I will see her again..

My brother and sister in law's first child was stillborn. I believe that their son and our daughter are together. And I love the idea of them together with the beautiful souls of all of the Glow children.

See, Eliza, the thing is that God is pro-life... unless He has a "reason" to take a baby. Because, surely, there must be some reason He wanted my baby and your babies and the babies of all of the other poor women on this board.

When you figure out that reason, somebody, anybody-- please let me know what it is.

From moment one after my daughter's death... and for every painful moment since... I have never once believed that I, or my daughter, or my husband, are so special that some omnipotent being one day decided: "Steph needs a life lesson in grief and suffering. I think I shall take away her daughter, then give her a son that will struggle for his life. Through this, she will gain enlightenment."

The unfortunate truth is exactly what everyone else here wrote, you will continue to get those thoughtless, careless and well meaning but seriously insensitive comments from all directions, Christian and non-Christian alike. Just because you believe that the Lord is walking through the valley with you doesn't mean that the pain isn't there, and that you still need to grieve.

I lost my daughter Simone in November @ 39 weeks. I am 3 months and 3 days out. I too, went back to work out of necessity, after 8 weeks of disability leave. Immediately after our loss, we were in shock and numb. I thought I was okay, was handling it very well, I experienced no anger, fear or anxiety. Then. My daughter was in heaven, she never suffered, I was still alive and my husband and I have supportive, loving family. Then the numbness went away. The horrible, gut-wrenching pain of the realization that she was really gone hit me like a ton of bricks.

I never dreamed of the twins either and have not dreamt of Will as of yet, though lately I have this mental image of him as a little boy with blue eyes and curly dark hair (my son, Sam, is green eyed with sandy blonde/brown). I'd like to think that God gave me that vision. I yearn to see how he might've looked, even as he lays in me now. I fear it might be too late for us already to try to get a 3D scan image of his body in me, as Will has been gone 3 1/2 weeks now.

I am not able to post on any other BabyLoss website the further I get in this pregnancy. The thought of everything that could go wrong before Abby is born is just too much for me. Renting the doppler was the best choice I made in the days after Will died. Sometimes I even use it despite her kicking, just to make sure her heart is beating fast enough.

I actually have a relative who persists in asking me, 3 1/2 years on, why this all happened. What the meaning was behind Kai's death, behind Chip's. What I was meant to learn. And, 3 1/2 years on, it is all I can do to answer her calmly, to say that it doesn't work that way, when what I really want to do is smack her.

Judaism didn't do much for me after we lost either of our babies- no explanations, no healing rituals. In fact, they were considered never to have been alive in the Jewish tradition, so technically there were no deaths to mourn. I do, however, light candles and say kaddish for them at Yom Kippur and on the anniversaries of their deaths (but on the secular calendar, not the Jewish one.) I found out recently that my mother does, too, and although we have done all our grieving separately, I am touched that this is one place in which we have come together.