Meghan McCain Reveals She Suffered A Miscarriage: “My Father Is Holding His Granddaughter In His Hands”

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Meghan McCain: What I Learned From My Miscarriage

I loved my baby, and I always will.

Meghan McCain

Meghan McCain

The View host Meghan McCain has written a piece for the New York Times, in which she revealed she was expecting a baby girl. Read an excerpt:

A few weeks ago, I was part of the photo shoot for The New York Times Magazine’s cover story about ABC’s “The View.” It should have been a moment of triumph — a vindication of the show’s significance as a place at the center of political debate, a ratings boom, a must for the top tier of presidential candidates. I should have been proud. I knew my father would have been proud.

I look back at those pictures now, and I see a woman hiding her shock and sorrow. I am posed for the camera, looking stern and strong, representing my fellow conservative women across the country. But inside, I am dying. Inside, my baby is dying.

I missed a few days of work. It wasn’t many, but given the job I have, it was enough to spark gossip about why I would be away from “The View.” This was not supposed to be public knowledge. I have had my share of public grief and public joy. I wish this grief — the grief of a little life begun and then lost — could remain private

I am not hiding anymore. My miscarriage was a horrendous experience and I would not wish it upon anyone.

The surprise of learning I was pregnant, many months ago now, swiftly turned to joy. With that joy came all the questions, plans and aspirations that every mother knows.

I was prepared in the circle of women to whom I could turn for advice, for support, for love.
Then it all ended — as our child ended.

I blamed myself. Perhaps it was wrong of me to choose to be a professional woman, working in a high-pressure, high-visibility, high-stress field, still bearing the burden of the recent loss of my father and facing on top of that the arrows that come with public life. This is not a complaint. This is reality. I blamed my age, I blamed my personality. I blamed everything and anything a person could think of, and what followed was a deep opening of shame.

I had a miscarriage. I loved my baby, and I always will. To the end of my days I will remember this child — and whatever children come will not obscure that. I have love for my child. I have love for all the women who, like me, were briefly in the sisterhood of motherhood, hoping, praying and nursing joy within us, until the day the joy was over.

You are not alone.

When my father passed, I took refuge in the hope that someday we would be united in the hereafter. I still imagine that moment, even as I trust that a loving God will see it happen. Now I imagine it a bit differently. There is my father — and he is holding his granddaughter in his hands.

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