Father’s Day

My name is Chris, and I co-founded It Takes a Herd. Some will celebrate Father’s Day this weekend with their dad by their side. While for others, this day can bring sadness and complicated emotions. It Takes a Herd strives to support those along their journey toward parenthood, but that journey can be messy and filled with loss. 

In May, we took time to recognize mothers who have lost a child and to acknowledge the sorrow that comes along with that. We wanted to do the same for fathers who have lost children, and our search came up empty. We saw Bereaved Father’s Day on random dates scattered across the internet, but nothing concrete to recognize fathers who have suffered a loss. With this revelation, It Takes a Herd will officially recognize Bereaved Father’s Day the Sunday before Father’s Day, and we encourage others to do the same. To the fathers who have lost a child — we see you and acknowledge your loss. Your pain is very real to us.

My wife & I have struggled through infertility, multiple pregnancy losses, and one stillbirth. I’d like to take a moment to share my story. 

Our role as fathers in the infertility struggle can be as an active participant or supportive partners, taking both a physical and emotional toll. When it comes to the loss of a pregnancy, we know nothing of the physical pain our partners feel. Nothing I can think of can compare to the physical trauma my wife experienced when we lost our daughter. The resulting emotional trauma, however, has impacted us both very much, but it affects men differently than it does our partners. In addition to bearing the loss of a child, there is the added weight of supporting our partner and their heartache.

When we found out we were going to lose our daughter, Ella, I was completely devastated. As that day wore on, the situation deteriorated further, and there were significant concerns that I might lose my wife as well. My sadness over losing my daughter turned into complete terror at the thought of having my entire world taken from me in a single day. Thankfully, my wife was in very good hands, and we left the hospital together. We returned to our childless home to dwell in our thoughts over our recent loss.

My sadness for my daughter was overshadowed that day by the thought of potentially losing my wife, but after returning home, the loss of Ella consumed us both. We had to pull ourselves together and try to call a funeral home and explain our situation without breaking down on the phone. We had to cancel our baby registries and try to remove all traces of baby products from our home. The weekend before my wife ended up in the hospital, we had started painting our nursery, which would now be closed off and left unfinished. We both stewed in our sadness, barely doing anything and hardly speaking to anyone. Gradually, the absolute worst of the pain began to subside, and we began to put pieces of our lives back together, knowing we would never be fully complete. 

My wife began seeing a therapist, and I attempted to push through. My primary concern was my wife’s well-being, and I ignored the pain I was experiencing. I would ultimately shut down or lash out and then attempt to gather myself by suppressing the thoughts swirling in my head for the sake of the people around me.

As time has passed, there have been moments when the reality of that day just hits me. I lost a child. I almost lost my wife. I end up replaying the whole day over and over in my head. I have had nightmares and panic attacks. There have been days that I have had to fight to get out of bed or just to get through the day.

As more time has passed, it has become easier to cope. My wife and I slowly began moving forward and planning for the future again. We finally decided to embark on the journey through surrogacy, and we welcomed our rainbow twins, Oliver & Olivia, this past February. Their arrival has been a huge blessing but also a reminder of the child we lost. Each milestone we mark with the twins is another that we never got to experience with our daughter. There are always reminders of the loss, but learning how to manage it has become another part of daily life. It came to the point where I could not keep things bottled up, so I started reaching out for the help I needed and deserved. 

Aside from talking with my family and a few close friends, my most significant outlet has been trying to keep Ella’s memory alive. I try to do things that I know and feel would make her proud of me, and I chose to do this by trying to help others in the same situation as my wife and I. The end result of that, and our continuing work, is It Takes a Herd. So if you find yourself drowning in loss, please (please) know that this community is here to support & recognize you, and we welcome you into our herd.