Child Loss: What Happens When there is Little Support?

When child loss occurs, nobody knows what to say or do.  So, many times people say whatever pops into their minds, and that’s usually never a good thing and offers very little, if any support.

When I delivered my little Samuel, I held him close to me as my tears drenched his face.  He was born still.  I knew ahead of time that his heart had stopped beating, but never did I dream that my heart would stop beating, too, when he entered this world.  Even though he was not alive, I still felt safe and close to him when his body was still inside of mine.  Does that makes sense?  It’s probably so hard for a father to understand this, but for those of us who are moms, we get it.  Our child was a very real part of us — growing inside of us each day, depending on us for nutrients and safe keeping.  When my little boy died, part of me died, too.

It’s strange looking back some twenty-five years now since Samuel’s birth (is it called a birth if he never lived outside of my body?).  I remember so few details about most of my pregnancy with him, but those final hours — I remember them as clearly as though it was yesterday.

And, I remember what was said to me when Samuel was born still.

One friend (who I later stopped calling “friend”) said, “You’re just lucky that at your age you didn’t have a baby born alive with a hole in the heart.  He’s better off.  You’re too old to  be having kids.  This is God’s way of keeping you from a lifetime of pain.”

I can still see her face as she stood in my dining room telling me this.  I had just come home from the hospital and she was doing her good deed and delivering food (a pizza) for my family.  It was a long, long time until I ever ate pizza again, and a much longer time until I talked to this woman again.

By the way, I was forty when I delivered Samuel — a fine age to be a mama, I thought!

After that comment, I was very selective who I talked with — it was easier to cry in private than it was to share the innermost thoughts of my heart and risk getting hurt all over again. 

I didn’t need Scriptures shoved down my throat about how I should have a stronger faith.  It certainly didn’t help me to be around other’s babies (why do people think they should shove their baby in your face after yours has just died?).

The fact is — I needed my baby, and I knew that wasn’t going to happen.  I felt like I had dropped into a bottomless pit and the darkness was enveloping me and there would be no way out. I felt alone and hopeless.  This was the same frightening despair I felt years before when my sister died.  Broken to pieces all over again.  How would I ever find the strength to fight my way through this?

My heart hurt so bad that it caused my body to hurt.  I had aches and pains and a sick stomach.  My back hurt.  My head hurt.  I had no energy.  I couldn’t eat.  All I wanted to do is sleep and cry.  Day and night — sleep and cry.

Where are my friends?  Where is my family?  Where did everybody go!

To this day, I don’t get it.  I don’t understand how my family didn’t see how much I needed them by my side.  I don’t understand where my friends were.  I don’t understand, but I did learn some very valuable lessons.

1.  Don’t ever place your faith in people!  Sooner or later, friends and family will disappoint us.  That’s a hard, but true, fact of life.

2.  Don’t ever think “this can’t happen to me”.  This can happen to me, and often it does!

3.  Talk about death as though it is real because it is!  Death is very, very real and it’s less frightening when we talk about it openly.  Talking about death helps to diminish our fear of death.

4.  Force yourself to have positive thoughts for 15 minutes a day.  This does help.  I know it sounds trite and a bit corny, but this is one of the things that helped pull me out of the deep, dark, angry, frightening pit of despair.  I repeated positive thoughts over and over in my mind thousands of times a day so that my grief wouldn’t keep me pressed face down to the ground.

5.  Come up with a plan — you are the only one who knows your heart.  If your plan is to stay in bed 8 hours today and get up for 1 hour, then that’s the plan.  But, if you have no plan, I can guarantee you that you’ll stay in bed for 24 hours.  Have a plan and stick to it!

6.  Others share similar pain.  Find them and get some support flowing.  Maybe your support will be found online.  Maybe you’ll join a local support group of parents who have lost children.  Maybe you’ll buy every book available on child loss to read for your support.  Do what works for you, but find support!  Most often the support will not come to you.

7.  Take a walk every day.  I don’t care if it’s only for a minute.  When I was at my lowest point following Samuel’s death, my “walk” was 22 steps to the bathroom and back.  That’s it.  That’s all I could do at first.  Slowly, I added steps and an extra two minutes.  By the end of a year, I was walking an hour around an open field breathing in fresh air.  Sure, I cried many times during my walks, but…..I was walking!

8.  Face your grief head on.  Scream.  Cry.  Punch a pillow.  Throw a book (preferably not at a person!).  Have your “discussion with God” and tell Him how you really feel.  Let it all out.  And, when you do, you’ll find that afterward, you’ll feel tired enough to sleep — really sleep.  Not just toss and turn.

9.  There will come a time when we will have to say, “This really did happen and I can’t change it.”  Some people like to call this part the reality and acceptance of our child’s death.  We can fight it.  Kick.  Yell.  Curse.  Hold our breath until we faint.  But, the hard, impossible-but-true fact is “my child died” and that is now part of my life.

10.  Say it a thousand times over a day until you really believe it.  “I am never completely alone.”  “I am never completely alone.”  “I am never completely alone.”  Even if the entire earth has abandoned us, God is still near.  Breathe slowly and deeply.  Do it several times until you clear your mind a bit.  In my pain and sorrow and the depths of my darkness, I was able to find God again.  For a long time, I slept with my Bible under my pillow.  My tears fell on the pages and soaked them night after night, but I finally was able to find the presence of God and He held me when no one else was near.

This is not an easy journey, and it’s never over.  The pain of child loss took residence in my heart the day my sister died, and it reared its ugly head full force again when my Samuel died.  But, many years later I’m thankful to say my days are more sunshine than rain now.  My nights are more calm than storms.

And, in my loneliness — God hasn’t left me yet! He is still sticking around to support me in my sorrow!  It has taken me 25 plus years to say this, but I can finally say in complete confidence that I am not alone, and I thank God for that every day of my life!

Feel free to share how you found your support.  As we share ideas and thoughts we grow and learn together.  This thing called child loss isn’t easy and we can’t do it alone!

Love,

Clara

PS  I wrote the book Silent Grief following the death of Samuel.  If you don’t yet have a copy I’d urge you to get a copy today.  The book will become your support and strength.  I wrote it and I still use it!