Isla will never be newborn. She’ll never let my tummy get so round that I lose sight of my toes. She’ll never cause my stomach to flutter with signs of her beautiful life. She’ll never give her dad the chance to feel her foot press out from the inside of my belly. But she did make me sick, so sick that I spent the month of October on the couch. And she gave me my first taste of unconditional love the moment those two bright pink lines let me know she was on her way. And she turned me to the future, an exciting one where I was no longer just a wife, but a wife and mother. Still yet, on November 7th, 2016, the world turned cold. She was gone, twenty-nine weeks too early, before we even had the chance to hear her perfect heart. And now, because I’m part of the statistic of the “most common” pregnancy loss, I want to challenge everyone who acts as though “most common ”equates to “easiest” by raising awareness of the difficulties of all stages of perinatal loss and by providing the tiniest comforts to the women and families affected by this devastating reality.