Losing a baby while pregnant is a lonely experience. The one thing I heard repeatedly from mothers who had stillbirths  was, “Nobody knows what it’s like. Unless they have been through it themselves, they can never understand what it feels like”. And they are right. Grief is a unique experience that we all navigate it in our own way. But…no matter how sad you feel, there is normally a recognition by your community that the person existed. Everyone has something to say about the person you lost; their special qualities, stories about how the deceased impacted lives. They empathize with the magnitude of your loss. People send cards, flowers and call. But when you lose an unborn baby the silence is deafening.

I was initially perplexed by this. I asked a number of friends and family about this. As far as I know, the obvious course of action upon a death is to send words of support to the persons affected; acknowledge their loss. I thought to myself, “the loss of my baby was a death in the family just like any other. After all, just because he wasn’t born it doesn’t mean he wasn’t part of the family. That he wasn’t my son”. The only explanations I got were limp excuses about people “not knowing what to say” or “figuring you would just want to move on”. I don’t know a single mother who has gone through this that thought, “I just want to move on and forget about this” (as if this were even an option!). Of course, I’m heartbroken, but even if I could, why would I want to forget about my son? Does anybody say, “Your Dad is dead. Just forget about him and move on”. So I’m not buying that excuse. The other excuse is just as lame. “Not knowing what to say” doesn’t stop most people from going to a funeral, sending a condolence card, or calling up the grieving person. I have to say, there were thoughtful and loving people who called me to check up on me, sent me cards, flowers and food. Some of them were the usual suspects (close friends and family) and some of them were unexpected. More than knowing they cared enough about me to make the effort, I was grateful that they were acknowledging the existence and the subsequent loss of my child.

So, why the silence? I think the idea that this can happen at all is too disturbing for most people. Babies and pregnancies are symbols of new beginnings and hope. Perhaps some people can’t accept the idea that “baby” and “death” can belong in the same sentence. That a room in the labor & delivery floor can usher in utter devastation while the other rooms in the ward reverberate with excitement. It’s just too emotionally threatening for some and they prefer to pretend it never happened to someone they know…that way they can “forget” it ever happens at all. Another reason might be that it’s hard to understand the impact of a loss of someone nobody ever met or saw. This is a person who never interacted with “our” world. So it’s hard to imagine they will be missed like you or I would be missed. After all, what kind of impact did they make on the world? Yes, the parents grieve the illusion of their life with this child, the expectations and dreams they had for him or her. But all this will fade when they have another child to dream for. “You will see, you will get pregnant again and have another child soon. Then this will all be behind you”, say well-meaning people. As if children were puppies you buy to replace the old dog you lost. Of course I look forward to having another child when the time comes, but each child is unique. One child will never erase the memory or alter the relationship you had with another. But only a small band of mothers will ever have the privilege of understanding this.

Regardless of the “whys” behind people’s silent response, the end result is an underlying feeling of shame. When something doesn’t get talked about, the inherent message we receive is that there must be something “wrong” and unspeakable about what happened to you. There is something surrounding the event you should feel ashamed about and keep quiet for the sake of others. I know some women prefer to cope with their grief privately but I felt the need to “out” my son’s death. One week after he died I posted a picture of his footprints on facebook and announced his death, just as I had seen so many of my friends in the past post about the passing of their parents, siblings and pets. With this act I wanted to say, “My son existed! He was here. His name was Andy and he had loving parents and a brother”. I felt his kicks and I saw him revel in the safety of my womb as he grew. Andy was here.