# The Games That Got Me Through Our Miscarriages – A Video Essay [The Games That Got Me Through Our Miscarriages – A Video Essay](https://youtube.com/watch?v=wyVbSjWQ1M4) <div class=iframe-container> <iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/wyVbSjWQ1M4?si=JM6CgZKZOapDy19t" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe> </div> I did not plan on releasing two essays in one month. Whoops. 😅 This was not the next essay I planned on making. It came to me at 3:40 AM when I couldn't sleep. I was reminded of this season in my life by happenstance and the whole video ostensively came to me. My heart behind this is near the top of the essay; >I felt that if *our* story could help encourage or comfort anyone else, it was necessary and worth sharing. More than the games I talk about here, it was the stories from other people that helped us through these miscarriages. I hope our story can help someone. That's why I knew I had to make this video. Check out the [[The Game That Got Me Through Our Miscarriages Credits|credits]], should you so desire, along with the [soundtrack](). Thank you for watching and reading. I hope you enjoy. # The Games That Got Me Through Our Miscarriages Script >[!warning] Spoiler Warning >- *The Last of Us Part II* >- *The Last of Us* >- *Death's Door* >- *God of War* >- *Hades* In case you couldn't tell, that was the first time my wife Abby and I found out we were pregnant. It was my 27th birthday. We had been trying to conceive for six months or so and the little test finally turned positive. A month later, we lost that pregnancy. Four months later we'd have another miscarriage. It wouldn't be until the following spring that we'd get pregnant for the third time, which stuck and led to the birth of our daughter Eloise. When we found out that one was sticking around and made the announcement, I was candid about those two miscarriages, just like I am now. It was the hardest year of our relationship and a huge factor in my processing of the events was talking to other couples and hearing about their experienced difficulties getting pregnant. I felt that if *our* story could help encourage or comfort anyone else, it was necessary and worth sharing. Of course, I titled the announcement [[The Next Generation]]; far too easy of a title. I shared our struggles and some of the stories that got me through. But I also framed the miscarriages through some of the games I was playing at the time. And how could I not when the games that coincided with those losses were *The Last of Us* and 2018's *God of War*? These are the cornerstone "Sad Dad" games and the term took on a whole new meaning to me in 2021. I called this shift in perspective out in that original post. I said, > [!quote] > I processed everything different after these miscarriages. A new filter has been placed over the lens in which I view the world. I have a newfound empathy for Joel and Kratos. Not that losing / killing your own child is close to our miscarriages, but we’ve experienced loss of something entirely out of our control. When a second chance came back around for these anti-heroes, neither of them let go of control—and in the cases of those narratives—often to their detriment... > > I get that it is odd, or even out of touch, to work through and talk about miscarriages through video games... That summer (really, all of 2021), I played a lot of video games. Looking back at my list, I was playing a lot of specific games. Sure, my retrospective podcast [[Chapter Select]] was in full blown production with *[[S1 - Paper Mario|Paper Mario]]* and *[[S2 - God of War|God of War]]*, but the games that occupied my free time sort of fell into the same category—comfort food. This shouldn’t be surprising. Abby and I were suddenly put into a situation where we had zero control. I subconsciously sought situations and scenarios where I could exercise some semblance of control (how’s that for alliteration?). The miscarriages made no sense. I *needed* something that made sense, even if I didn't explicitly know or say that. So I kept piling on helpings of video game comfort food. Games like the classic *God of War* titles and *Symphony of the Night*. Heck, even *The Last of Us* in a way is comfort gaming to me. I know that game like the back of my hand. It's not hard to see why these would be my go to's during this time. Some of their comfort aspects are apparent. Some lie in that rhythmic, mindless combo driven game feel. Some had both for me. I dove into these familiar games. I wanted no secrets. No discovery. Nothing truly *new*. I was in a mode of retreat. These games took me from a real world where I had no control to worlds where I had all the control. My knowledge and understanding of Greek myth or vampire's inverted castles or mushroom-infected people, strangely, put me at ease. It's like Captain Quentin Thomas and First Man in charge of Infantry, William Kai of the Aquarius Three said... > [!quote] > F--- you! Chess is amazing. Why even play s--- like this? > Honestly? > Yeah > As an escape > Escape from what? > The day to day, I guess. It's the same reason I lose myself in film and music. It feels like home. > You know what? I may not get that game, but I get that. But I didn't just go through the motions. I didn't just sit back and turn my brain off, doing that would have let the doubt, fear, and uncertainty of reality set back in. I had to engage on a deeper level. So I leaned into that classic "gamification of the game" mechanic, the extrinsic classic—getting the Plat. This stretch of games was one of my most prolific platinum runs. I don't have a ton of these status symbols of completion, but I do care about the ones I have earned. I think it started with *God of War*, the PS3 remaster of the original. I was in the zone and had the time. I figured, "If I don't earn this now, I never will." And the first game seemed the hardest, so if I could earn that, I'd set the pace for the remaining seven games. I have all the *God of War* plats now. I didn't just 100% the game. What I was really doing was establishing a challenge for myself. A challenge that I *knew* I could overcome, because I wasn't sure I could achieve the biggest challenge in my life at the time—becoming a dad. I was looking for a win. I wanted to earn a trophy. And it didn't matter how absurd the challenge set by the developer was. I threw myself into the task. I watched videos. Planned routes. Stacked as many assignments as possible. I was an efficient trophy hunting machine. And those wins felt *good.* I was hooked. I remember the downtrodden feeling of trying to make it to Shaft as Richter; failing over and over to execute the perfect jumps and skips to make it to the iconic boss to *finally* making it through. I remember the grueling tasks in *God of War III*'s challenge mode and the elation that followed when I finally pulled off the win by mere seconds. In hindsight, it mirrors one of my favorite YouTuber's experience a year prior in 2020, The People's Paper Bag, Razbuten > [!quote] > "Oddly enough, the timeframe that I played most of these games was when the stress of the year weighed on me the heaviest. That might sound counterproductive, but I think taking on these **dumb little challenges gave me something to feel good about overcoming...** > > And in a time where it was so easy to spiral down dark paths, these little victories helped ground me a bit. **They gave me something to celebrate when things worth celebrating were hard to find.**" — Razbuten I became fixated on those wins. The pop of a trophy was my medicine. *God of War* and *Castlevania* were just my gateway Platinums though. I soon set my sights on a much more difficult and addictive title, my eyes set on a prize bigger than the game itself. I descended down into the unfathomable roguelite hellish depths of *Hades*. I picked up *Hades* physically for my PS5 in September, right in-between the two pregnancies. I had played *Hades* the year prior on my Nintendo Switch, but stopped after completing two runs. > [!quote] > I do wish the narrative sucked me in more. I “beat” the game twice and felt satisfied. I still have eight more runs to see credits roll apparently. I just don’t feel a pull to keep going though. That pull came nine months later with trophies. The gameplay loop sunk its teeth into my brain. I have credited the newfound addiction to a rock solid 4K60, feeling better on PlayStation over the Switch. In hindsight, I was hooked on the challenge. The all-mighty allure of "one more run." In about a one month period, I spent some 70 odd hours with *Hades*, purely motivated by the Platinum. Sure, the small in-game victories, like clearing a realm for the first time or beating a particular challenge or getting that next level of character development was nice, but I was there for one thing. And I almost got there. I'm still just one task away from joining the other 6.1% of players with the platinum. I just need Achilles’ to profess his love. The key to unlocking this confession is tied with randomly encountering Patroclus in Elysium, three quarters of the way through the game, and randomly getting the relationship with him to advance. It's all but a crapshoot whether or not the key dialogue will trigger. And I had to get two or three levels deeper with Patroclus to unlock this event. The Platinum was out of my hands, out of reach. The thing I wanted was back in the hands of fate (or The Fates, if you will). My control had vanished. I was frustrated. I was exhausted. I was defeated. I gave up. A month later was when we lost the second pregnancy. The end of 2021 was a pretty dark time. Abby and I were crushed. We took the holidays to be surrounded by friends and family. We were loved on and encouraged. We switched doctors. We started rebuilding our hope. I remember going off to my annual trip to see The Boys™ right after the second miscarriage and just how much I *needed* that trip, even though they didn't know about that loss. It was still too fresh. We saw the hot new film *Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City*. We ate at the Pope Table at Buca di Beppo (rest in peace). I beat Sigrún after three a half hours, earning yet another Plat. The healing process was beginning and 2022 would go on to change our lives forever. But there was one more game that stuck with me throughout this whole period. One I didn't realize until *this year* how much it helped me process death, loss, and knowing when to let go. *Death's Door*. I picked up *Death's Door* close to launch on Xbox in August 2021. The word of mouth and a recommendation from my friend Logan sold me on giving the game a shot. I immediately latched onto it. *Death's Door* filled this gap in Chapter Select production perfectly and swept me away to an enchanting world. I wrote about it just a couple days after starting and have sung its praises ever since. It was hands down my Game of the Year in 2021 and I'd "argue" with myself for it again in 2023 when I replayed it on PS5. And that time, I got the Platinum. *wink, tongue click, sort of energy* But all while playing the game, both times, I wasn't really thinking about my experiences with death and miscarriages. I was fixated on just how this was a special and excellent game. From its snappy, kinetic swordplay to its Ghibli-drenched world design—I mean, come on. *Death's Door* is a superb title. I think of it often. The first thing that truly captured my attention though was the game’s use of eulogies after a boss fight. I had never played a game where beating a boss was...respected, honored. These creatures had lives and impacts—both good and bad. It was my job as a little reaping Crow to defeat them, sucked into the task by necessity. Up until the final swing of my sword (or umbrella), these foes represented a challenge, a force of— not really *evil*—but a force of bad juju. They were oppressive; fixated on cheating death. After their soul was cashed, they shifted from a boss to...well, a soul. They had lives, goals, dreams, ambitions. They were flawed beings that never intended to become the big bad. They wanted to help, to live, to dream. But a desire for control crept inside their soul and swelled to a gargantuan size. Their losses and desire to fix said losses became their identity. It made them the "bad guy." And sitting down to share my story with miscarriages, I've realized how close I was to becoming like these souls—of becoming the "bad guy." was put in a situation outside of my control. I sought a solution. I exercised my control over what I could. If I stayed there in that sorrow, I know a negative demeanor would have grown and grown and grown. My loss, my grief, would have become my identity. I would have been stuck in a destructive loop of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. I would have been stuck in grief. The key was going through those emotions, but not letting them take over; a task easier said than done. I had to accept what happened to us. I had to be willing to face the risk of another miscarriage with the hope that one *would* grow and become our kid. I had to let go of my desire for control, because I had none. > [!quote] > I get that it is odd, or even out of touch, to work through and talk about miscarriages through video games... But it's how I processed them all the same. Video games have been there for me throughout my entire life. I can't *not* process aspects of my life through them. They've been there when I moved towns. Made friends. Skipped school. Got my first job. Lost my most recent. And when I went through two miscarriages. And now that I am a Dad, I can't *not* process games without thinking of my daughter. From peak Sad Dad gaming to mystical worlds where crows wield umbrellas, I find myself thinking about my kid. Eloise has given me a hope I almost lost; a chance at something I thought, for a brief time, wasn't possible. But to get here, we went through those miscarriages. We had to struggle. To worry. Fear. We had to overcome. A part of that process, for me, was working through the emotions through games. To find comfort in classics and give myself a win when I needed one the most. Any troubles getting pregnant is something I'd never wish upon anyone, but our struggle did make us who we are—the parents we are—today. If I could go back, I'd go through it all again, because there's no other kid I'd want to make me a dad.