What: Erin Hirshberg writes a devastating but beautiful essay on having a stillbirth at 36 weeks: “Stillbirth is a polite euphemism for what I went through, but the nomenclature is kind of pitiless. Like a mother’s brain after giving birth to a live being, mine was the opposite of still: It was in overdrive. The doctors told me there was no medical explanation for the death of my son. But I looked and looked for a reason to make it my fault.”

Why it matters: “Mother’s Day still comes every year. And every year, on this day, when I walk down the street with my family, people see me as a mother of two. But I know the truth. I’m a mother of three. Honoring that loss by talking about it makes me able to be present for my 9-year-old daughter, 6-year-old son, and wonderful husband in a way that is respectful to my loss but not crushed by it.”

Source: NY Magazine