Coping with Child Loss and Grief
The first time I encountered child loss was at my uncle’s funeral at age 8. My uncle was a prolific man and many important people attended, but the most profound thing I remembered was my grandmother’s weeping. At the end of the service after all the guests emptied out of the church sanctuary, Nai Nai bent over the open casket of her second born child and bellowed from the depths of her being for what seemed like an eternity. Her grief was palpable and split the air as my cousins and I played in the church courtyard. When her earth-shattering wails reached our ears, we stopped and watched silently by the door. My heart broke to witness a mother lose her child. I never wanted to hear a woman mourn like that ever again…until I heard those same howls emerge out of me 23 years later.
Now, I’m experiencing my own grief from child loss. From experience, I’m not a good griever. If I know something sad will happen, I pre-grieve. For example, before I move from one place to another, I would say goodbye, host farewell parties and visit all the places I love in that city before I left and never looked back after settling into my new home.
But this miscarriage grief is different because it was a traumatic surprise. I didn’t foresee or have any control over it. I could not escape this grief. I shut down. Time stopped and I was paralyzed from daily life. I stopped taking care of myself, my family, my house. I cried all the time, and couldn’t stop crying for a month. I was beyond sad. I wanted that baby so badly and dreamed fiercely about our future together.
My initial response to grief was to hide but it was too big to escape from. It invaded every part of me. The dead baby, the source of my grief, was physically inside of me for 3 weeks before the miscarriage happened. Once the pregnancy sac finally came out with medical help, I saw with my own eyes the finality of the miscarriage. Aaron and I held a small funeral service in our living room, and it served as a ritual by which to remember our baby. We cried and said goodbye, which was beautiful and good for us. After that night, I began to hope again. Light slowly returned to my life and illuminated the outline of my new identity now that I had sorrowfully tasted motherhood. The fog which took residence in my mind started to clear as the pregnancy hormones departed and my body began to heal itself.
Aaron and I attended a 5-week pregnancy and child loss support group at a local church and gained tools to help navigate our grief journeys. We received a devotional book called “Grieving the Child You Never Knew” by Kathe Wunnenberg, a packet of resources, and a candle holder to represent our baby. The support group was a safe space to openly express ourselves, learn about grief, and share our story with other couples and counselors.
We learned that its okay to be sad or angry because we lost our child and we don’t have to be ashamed of it. The most important thing I gained from the support group was that this grief will never go away but it will be a part of me forever because it is meaningful. My grief is alive because I love my lost child, and his little life should be remembered and honored.
Another way I coped was by eating junk food (lots of dark chocolate!) and reading “About What Was Lost: Twenty Writers on Miscarriage, Healing, and Hope” by Jessica Berger Gross. This book helped me to honestly relate to all the women who have miscarried and lost babies before. It encouraged me to reach out to my friends who had miscarriages and talk truthfully to them about their experiences and my feelings of deep sorrow.
3 months have passed since my miscarriage and most days I feel optimistic about the future and motivated to live well, but there are also some days when I’m triggered by the trauma of child loss and I continue the grief journey. Being a highly empathetic person, I will always cry when I hear someone else’s miscarriage story as I relate and remember my own. I am grateful for this grief because it is a testament to life, love, and being human.
