Charlie Hoffman’s story, "Walking through Grief and Finding Joy," tells of her heartbreaking experience of losing her son Mathias to anencephaly and the difficult decision to end his suffering. Through her pain, she discovered resilience, found healing, and ultimately redefined courage as the strength to keep moving forward and find joy again.
Charlie Hoffman is an organizational wizard with a passion for all things administrative. As a military veteran, she brings discipline and efficiency to everything she does. Alongside her role as a loving mother to two incredible children who face their own unique challenges, Charlie's dedication and multitasking abilities shine, making her a true force to be reckoned with.
Charlie believes that every business and human has the ability to thrive, and her unique approach to marketing combined with her organizational skills is out of this world. Charlie believes in collaboration, attention to detail, and having fun while thinking outside the box.
Her approach is grounded in clear, concise language that is focused and attracts the client's target market, bringing their vision to life.
This story is proudly sponsored by Joanie Elizabeth, a licensed mental health counselor, mental performance coach, author, and speaker. Joanie is passionate about empowering individuals to align with their true desires and embrace fulfilling lives. Her support of this story reflects her unwavering commitment to helping others uncover their inner brilliance and courage. Thank you, Joanie, for championing this brave story.
Wellness With Joanie
Describe the moment when you knew you had to tap into your inner courage and make changes in your life.
I was just twenty-four years old. I was on active-duty in the Navy, married, and had a three-year-old. My husband had recently returned from Iraq where he served a year in the desert with the Army. With both of us just returning from deployment, we did what married couples do. I became pregnant with my second child, Mathias Daniel, a boy.
Before I even had the chance to enjoy the news, my heart was ripped out of my chest. At nineteen weeks, I had routine blood checks to reveal that there was something potentially wrong with our child, something in the chromosomes. I was scheduled for an ultrasound the following week. I knew in my heart there was something very wrong, but we decided if our child survived birth, we would do our best to raise him. I had felt very few movements throughout the pregnancy so far.
The morning of the ultrasound, my mom came with us but waited in the waiting room with our daughter while my husband and I went into the ultrasound. I was hoping for the best news possible. Hopefully, our child was blessed with Down syndrome or something similar. I lay on the table, and the tech began with her screen angled so that we couldn’t see it. My bladder was really full, and I asked the tech if she could let me know when it was a good time to go to the bathroom. She continued her work, taking lots of images, clicking away, and pushing the ultrasound wand here and there across the belly jelly. Suddenly, she stopped, turned off the screen, and said she would be right back with the doctor. She told me to feel free to use the restroom and ran out of the room. It was then that I was 1,000% positive it was something bad. I went to the bathroom and started to cry.
When the doctor returned, she looked at the images and took a few of her own, then turned the camera off again to tell us that our child had anencephaly, a fatal malformation where the head — the skull and the brain, do not fully form. Our child stopped forming just above the ears. They walked us to some back office and explained the whole thing. I was numb.
Walk us through the pivotal moment when you decided to act courageously. What was going through your mind? How did you feel at that moment?
Sitting in that office knowing the facts that if I were able to carry to term, my child would certainly die within hours or minutes of birth. I learned that this child whose heart still beats within me was only surviving because of its attachment to me. I had to ask to know the gender, and they sadly revealed he was a boy. I knew in that moment my life would never be the same, that I had a little girl who still needed her mommy, and I had to return to base where I worked with the other pregnant women. I needed to figure out my next steps. My mind whirled with questions: Would I try to carry to term with the risk of my baby dying at any time? Do I plan to terminate the pregnancy and what does that look like?
I spent the next week researching and going to different doctor appointments to try to figure out the best way to move forward. I even looked into donating his tissue and organs so other children could live; unfortunately, I was told with his defect that his organs weren’t ideal. So, after realizing there was no way for me to help support his bodily transition, I decided termination was best for him — and me.
At twenty-two weeks, I had a procedure for an amniocentesis with PRK potassium chloride to stop his heart, where they took his tissue for genetic testing, and his heart stopped. I was to call my OB-GYN to discuss the next steps. Three days later, I was in the hospital, hopped up on some chemical cocktail at the far end of the maternity ward, hidden away to deal with this tragedy, where I gave birth to the most beautiful nine-ounce, eight-and-a-half-inch long angel.
I was scared, terrified, heartbroken, fearful, and angry for myself and my family. How do you tell your three-year-old her brother is dying? How do you go about breathing?
Paint a picture of what your life was like before you encountered the challenge that called for you to summon your courage.
Before losing Mathias (whose name means chosen by God), I couldn’t imagine how someone could terminate a pregnancy for any reason. Now, I understand and stand with anyone having to make that choice. It took a lot of courage to end his suffering — and mine.
Prior to this, our life was “normal,” with both of us working active-duty military and taking care of our daughter. I had no worries in the world, and life was fairly easy as military life went. Our families didn’t have a history of birth defects or disability. Mathias would become the first of several in my family. His diagnosis helped when my brother’s son was born with the two sides of his brain not communicating and when my niece passed of SIDS at a month old.
I am grateful I was able to walk with my siblings through their trials. My sister and I are closer than ever now because of this.
Were there any doubts or fears you had to overcome before taking action? How did you manage them?
Of course, there were doubts and fears. If I terminate then what kind of person/mother does that make me? Am I guilty of murdering my child? What did I do to cause this? What were my husband or I exposed to on deployment to cause this? Am I doing the right thing for me and my family or am I being selfish? What if I had another child would this happen again?
What were some of the challenges or obstacles you faced during your journey to overcome this particular challenge?
Grief is not simply something you overcome. It comes in waves, sometimes out of nowhere, and sometimes the waves are gentle and soothing, and at other times, the waves crash like a tsunami. The biggest challenge for me was a year later when I gave birth to my second son, Gabriel. I struggled to connect with him out of fear and guilt. I felt like I didn’t deserve this beautiful rainbow in my life. My self-doubt about my worth as a woman and mother crumbled. I ate my feelings for a few years until I was nearly 400 pounds and had to learn to love myself, and accept that I am worthy, and I can love my children unconditionally. The hardest thing I have ever done is learn to love myself, flaws and all — especially to love my body the way I deserved to because where I thought it had failed me, it carried me through.
Tell us about a memorable anecdote or turning point in your courageous journey.
My older sister had a friend who went through the exact same diagnosis as me a year prior. We met for coffee and talked for hours. We cried together and supported each other for the next several years.
We are still friends. It was a huge blessing to both of us to not feel so alone. Then, I went on a retreat at the ocean and met a beautiful soul with a very similar story. We talked and cried for hours. The following day, I walked into the ocean and let myself feel the waves, and they took away my guilt. Seventeen years later, I still have moments of sadness, but it’’ no longer tainted by guilt which is huge for me.
What role models or sources of support helped you stay strong and resilient?
My role models and sources of support are my mom, my sisters, my brother, my amazing friends, and Sarah Slack at The Tears Foundation — for all the reasons above and more.
How did this experience impact your life and your perception of courage?
This experience taught me that I can and will do hard things in life. It’s how you keep going afterward that takes courage and strength. It’s how you go through the hard things that matter.
What lessons or wisdom have you gained from this experience that you’d like to share with others?
Just because you had to make a hard choice doesn’t make you a bad person. You can’t stay in grief but must move with and through it. Even when all you can do is breathe. Keep breathing. Grief is an ocean, and it ebbs and flows. Sometimes, it’s calm as glass, and other times it’s a raging storm. Give yourself grace in the storm.
What unexpected or positive outcomes emerged from your courageous actions?
I would have never had my beautiful son, Gabriel. I would have never bonded with my little sister over the loss of a child. I would never understand why sometimes women choose to terminate. I understand the medical necessity for termination, and I wouldn’t have the compassion for women who have had to make that choice that I do now.
How do you define courage, and how has your definition evolved through your own experiences?
Courage is the ability to keep moving forward when all you want to do is stop existing.
Is there a particular message or advice you’d like to convey to other women who may be facing similar challenges?
One in four women have lost a child. Look around at your girlfriends. Chances are you know a few women who have gone through a similar circumstance. Talk about it, don’t make it weird, and celebrate them.
In retrospect, do you have any regrets or things you would have done differently?
If I were to do it all again, the only thing I would do differently is Mathias’ burial arrangements. There are so many things I didn’t know then were possible.
How has this experience shaped your identity or sense of self?
I am able to live my life more fully and joyfully. The hard things I go through now I like to call challenges, and they are by far not the worst things I have ever been through. I choose joy when I wake up every day, and I choose to celebrate with joy the hardest day of my life.
What would you say to someone who is hesitant or afraid to take a courageous step in their life.
One step at a time, one breath at a time. You got this just keep going! You have support right here. Find the joy in the moment.