Opinion: How Santa and brave women, like Meghan Markle, are helping me process an unimaginable loss

Brynn Gingras is a CNN correspondent. The opinions expressed in this commentary are her own. View more opinion on CNN (CNN)I woke up on a Monday morning, a few weeks before Christmas, and in my inbox was an assignment to do a story on how malls, shopping centers and Santas would be adapting to our new Covid-world this year. I was thrilled! After months of heavy, heartbreaking headlines, I was tapped to cover something fun, creative and uplifting.Every check-up, every ultrasound, every benchmark in growing a baby is being experienced alone as partners aren’t usually allowed into these appointments because of Covid-19 restrictions. Sure, they may just be doctor visits, but when it comes to learning every detail of your unborn child’s life, expectant mothers crave these updates. And with them comes a whirlwind of emotions as you work to meet each milestone in the grueling, but beautiful, nine-month journey.It was the same for me. I was alone when I answered all of the doctor’s questions with pride — that I had a healthy 2-year-old boy at home, that we were rooting for a girl and that I was so sure I was having a girl, I had changed all of my passwords to what would be her name. I then laid down on the examination table, excitedly anticipating the feeling of the warm medical jelly and ultrasound wand on my belly.Read MoreI asked the doctor, “can I FaceTime my husband now?” He responded, “let’s just make sure everything is ok first.” For some reason, those words immediately nicked my heart. In my mind, there was no possibility of anything going wrong. The appointment went downhill from there. Brynn Gingras and her 2-year-old son Gavin.I stared at the ceiling, feeling the doctor feverishly move the wand around my stomach as if he lost something. Soon he softly uttered the words I truly didn’t expect to hear — “I didn’t find a heartbeat”.I couldn’t react. I couldn’t even cry. I just learned my unborn baby was resting in peace in my body and I was numb. I couldn’t even loop my husband in. I have never felt so alone and utterly heartbroken.The next day was filled with more appointments. Another ultrasound. This time I could see the baby. It was a shapeless shadow, strikingly different than what I remembered from my first pregnancy. The technician described in one image how it would have a coloration if it’s heart was beating. It was grey. Confirmation of the miscarriage, as if I needed another. Tears, alone in front of strangers, came much easier this time. What followed was painful physical moments — all triggering the ultimate rollercoaster of emotions:Disgust –Why did my body fail me?Anger — Why did I let myself get excited too soon?Panic — Did picking up my son cause this?Shame — Why did I tell my parents, sister and some of my closest friends?Guilt — Why don’t I feel like putting my son to bed tonight?Grief — How do my husband and I work through this?Confusion — What happens next?I think most journalists would tell you writing can be cathar

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