In I’m Sorry for My Loss, authors and journalists Rebecca Little and Colleen Long have created something rare and necessary: a work that bridges personal grief and systemic failure, using deeply human stories to dissect the cultural, medical, and legal treatment of pregnancy loss in the United States. Published in the wake of the seismic reversal of Roe v. Wade, the book is both memoir and exposé—a hybrid narrative that reveals how the most intimate form of loss has become entangled with the harshest forms of judgment, stigma, and political intrusion.
Building on their strengths as investigative reporters and survivors of late-term loss, Little and Long craft a vital, unflinching exploration of what it means to lose a pregnancy in a country that increasingly polices the very act of reproduction. Their latest 2024 book, What a Way to Go, continues the thread of unmasking institutional failure, but I’m Sorry for My Loss remains their most emotionally resonant and culturally provocative work to date.
Grief as Testimony: The Personal Foundations of a Larger Truth
The book begins with the authors’ own stories—devastating, raw, and startling in their candor. Little experienced a stillbirth and a later medical termination that nearly took her life. Long endured a loss at six months pregnant and was forced to seek care at an abortion clinic while anti-choice protestors hurled abuse at her. These personal histories are not presented as exceptions but rather as emblematic of how unprepared and uncaring the American system is toward loss—especially when the loss is inconvenient for dominant narratives around motherhood and morality.
The emotional register of the book shifts seamlessly between outrage and tenderness, dark humor and sorrow. The authors are unapologetically frank, their gallows humor never detracting from the seriousness of the subject matter but instead illuminating the absurdity of societal expectations surrounding motherhood and grief.
Structure and Scope: A Four-Part Journey into the Heart of a Broken System
I’m Sorry for My Loss is structured into four thematic sections:
- How We Got Here: Explores the historical roots of reproductive control, from colonial attitudes to the medicalization of pregnancy and miscarriage.
- Sick Mothers: Analyzes how modern medicine often fails to prioritize the health of the pregnant person, especially those from marginalized communities.
- The Legal Morass: Documents the current state of abortion laws, the criminalization of miscarriage, and the terrifying ambiguity facing doctors and patients alike.
- The Making of Meaning: Investigates how individuals and communities are reclaiming rituals, language, and agency in the wake of reproductive trauma.
This structure gives the narrative both depth and breadth. The authors’ journalistic training is evident in the rigor of their research, but what makes the book transformative is its attention to voice—allowing people who’ve experienced loss to speak in their own words, across age, race, gender, and geography.
A Language Without Words: The Lexical Crisis of Pregnancy Loss
One of the most powerful insights in the book is the argument that pregnancy loss remains misunderstood because we don’t have the right words. “Fetus” is clinical. “Baby” is political. “Miscarriage,” “abortion,” “termination,” and “loss” are loaded with judgment. As the authors illustrate, even medical terminology such as “spontaneous abortion” or “products of conception” often alienate those who are already traumatized.
Their solution is deceptively simple but deeply radical: let people name their own experiences. If someone wants to call it a baby, they should. If they prefer “pregnancy,” “fetus,” or “embryo,” that too must be respected. The call to reclaim language is not just semantic—it’s a demand for autonomy.
Core Strengths of the Book
- Intersectional Analysis: The book does not universalize experience. Black and brown women, queer and trans individuals, and people with disabilities all appear with nuance and visibility.
- Humor as a Coping Mechanism: Unexpected yet effective, the authors’ use of irreverent humor diffuses discomfort while reinforcing the absurdity of cultural taboos around loss.
- Exhaustive Research: With interviews from over 100 individuals and insights from medical, legal, and historical experts, the book balances anecdotal storytelling with authoritative reporting.
- Post-Roe Relevance: In an era where access to abortion is increasingly restricted, the book lays bare how such laws endanger not only those seeking to terminate pregnancies, but anyone who becomes pregnant.
Limitations Worth Noting
While I’m Sorry for My Loss is a tour de force in many ways, its ambition occasionally comes at a cost:
- Information Overload: The breadth of topics—from legal codes to grief rituals—can occasionally overwhelm readers, particularly those new to reproductive justice discourse.
- Sparse Global Perspective: Though the U.S. is the focus, a brief comparative lens (e.g., reproductive rights in Scandinavia or Latin America) might have enriched the argument.
- Minimal Focus on Partners: As acknowledged by the authors, the exclusion of non-pregnant partners’ experiences limits the book’s emotional and relational scope, though it remains justified given the tight thematic focus.
Companion Titles and Recommended Reads
This book sits comfortably among contemporary feminist nonfiction and health journalism. Readers of the following will find I’m Sorry for My Loss equally impactful:
- The Turnaway Study by Diana Greene Foster
- Reproductive Justice by Loretta J. Ross and Rickie Solinger
- Good Talk by Mira Jacob (for its candid narrative style)
- Motherhood by Sheila Heti (for its emotional honesty)
Emotional Intelligence as Advocacy
What sets this book apart is its deep respect for grief—not as a condition to be cured or hidden, but as a legitimate, complex emotional state shaped by social, medical, and political neglect. Little and Long argue that our current systems deny people the right to mourn, to heal, and to feel heard. In its place, they offer a vision of compassionate care rooted in choice, recognition, and community.
The authors also take care to critique the false binary of “good abortions” vs. “bad abortions,” exposing how even progressive frameworks often fail to account for the full range of reproductive experiences. A termination for medical reasons, a joyful abortion, a painful miscarriage, and an unexpected stillbirth are all part of a continuum—not mutually exclusive categories.
Final Thoughts: A Voice for the Voiceless
I’m Sorry for My Loss is not a comfort read, nor does it pretend to be. It is bracing, sorrowful, often enraging—but never gratuitous. The book does what few others dare: it says the quiet parts out loud. It gives language to pain and politics to grief.
At a time when so many are being stripped of their reproductive autonomy, this book reminds us that storytelling is a form of resistance. That honesty, however uncomfortable, is more healing than silence. And that loss—when acknowledged and honored—can be a powerful catalyst for change.
