One question we get asked a lot here at Still Mothers is some form of “How do I handle pregnancies and living children after my only child died?”
I would love to sit down and write out the perfect response to this question, because I know how confusing it can be. It’s hard to watch as practically the entire world has a baby to keep while you face each day with a full heart and empty arms. The short version of the answer is that everyone handles it differently. There is no one way to deal with them.
In this situation, like all situations after loss, my best advice is to follow your heart. It will tell you what you can handle, and how you should proceed. Be open to handling it differently in every situation, based on the circumstances and how you’re feeling in that moment.
My way of dealing with pregnancies and children may be different than yours, or maybe you will relate.
In the four plus years I’ve been a Still Mother, I’ve encountered so many pregnancies and children that I can’t possible keep count. Just about every person in my life has had a baby since Samuel died, even people who also lost children around the time (and since) Samuel died. Some have even had more than once child. And let me tell you, it hurts. Deeply.
It shines a great big huge spotlight on both my son’s absence, and the deep feelings of failure in my inability to have a living child. In the moments of hearing about a new pregnancy or a birth, all the feelings of grief and inadequacy bubble up. I either feel numb, or filled with sadness, rage, bitterness, or longing. Sometimes, all of the above. I allow my heart to feel what it needs to, either by crying or screaming or venting to the nearest Still Mother who will understand. Feelings are there for a reason. I let them do what needs to be done.
I go around and around with my head and my heart, trying to convince myself it’s not my fault, it happens to more people than anyone wants to acknowledge, and I didn’t do anything wrong. But there’s only so much you can tell yourself when the proof that you can’t do the one thing every person on the planet was made to do is a constant part of your life. I can’t have living children, but almost everyone else can. That’s my reality and it cuts down deep into my heart.
As much as I hate that reality, it is my life and I have to deal with it.
So, how to I handle pregnancies and birth announcements? I mostly keep my distance. I’ve told my friends and family I don’t want to know and they respect me enough – well, most of them anyways – to keep their news to themselves. I know some of them think I should try to be happy for them, and to be honest, I simply can’t go there most of the time. Really, it depends on my relationship with the parents. The closer we are, the more I’m able to find some happiness okayness for them, but regardless, I still keep my distance.
You see, we’re talking about a basic biological function of all humans that is somehow defective in me. If it were simply a matter of them getting some ‘thing’ I wanted, like a new car, or a job, or what-have-you, and I was just jealous, that would be a time for me to ‘get over it’ or ‘suck it up’ or just ‘deal with it’, but in this case, we’re talking about their ability to have a family, a future, hope, joy, love, and all the things that are painfully absent in my life, for no reason. It’s so far beyond confusing and painful it’s almost impossible to describe. It’s soul-crushing injustice. Because I didn’t do anything to deserve this. And, really neither did they. They simply get to have what most do, and I simply don’t.
I once described it as asking a starving person to be happy for someone who had all the food they could eat, while they sat next to them, dying. No one would expect them to be happy in that situation (well, I hope they wouldn’t…). I give myself permission not to be happy for people who have living children. They will have tons of support, they don’t need mine. And I’ve been through enough without needing to pretend to be happy for people who are already bursting at the seams with joy.
I don’t hold babies, or go anywhere I know a baby will be. It hurts too much. I unfollow anyone with living children on Facebook. I don’t need daily reminders of how my life should be, especially since most parents treat Facebook like their own personal outlet for bragging. I don’t interact with children younger than the age Samuel would be if he’d lived, unless I have prepared my head and heart ahead of time. And, really, there’s a lot of dissociation involved when I do. I turn away from babies in car seats and stroller and wraps. If I’m really honest, I try to pretend children don’t exist in the world. It’s the way I’ve learned to live as a Still Mother. I long to escape to child-free island, but haven’t’ found one yet.
I can guarantee you there will be people who read this who will want to “correct me” or tell me “I’m going it wrong” (don’t you just love the “shoulds” from people who aren’t living your life?) That’s the reason I said before you have to follow your own heart. I personally know other Still Mothers who go out of their way to be around babies and children and try their best to be happy for those are lucky enough to keep their children. And despite how the world sees them as ‘healing beautifully’ or ‘doing so well’, I know inside they are hurting, too. They just chose another path than I do. And that’s okay.
I know have done a lot of healing in the time since Samuel died. I’ve grown and re-learned how to live in the world without him. I have many moments of happiness, and most days I’m as okay as a person can be without a piece of her heart, but nothing can take away the feeling of being left-behind as the world moves on. Nothing can erase the damage of having no reason why he died, or why we have no living children. It’s the ultimate slap in the face from the universe, and I’ve had to learn how to live with that constant feeling of being abandoned by the giver of families, joy, hope and a future (whatever or whomever that may be).
For me, for now, keeping my distance works. The sad part is that I used to love babies and children, and now they break my heart. That alone is hard to live with. But, really, what part of living after your child died isn’t hard to live with? I trust my instincts, follow my heart, and do what feels right. And if I decide tomorrow to do it differently, that’s okay too. Because it’s my life, my loss, and my grief.
How do you deal with pregnancies and children as a Still Mother?
She is the creator, co-founder, and Editor of Still Mothers.She is the founding owner of All That Love Can Do, a resource for families who continue pregnancy after a fatal diagnosis. She is a contributing author of Still Standing Magazine, and All That Love Can Do, and her own blog, The Love We Carry.Her story is featured in Still Standing: Because They Lived and "Invisible Mothers".
She is married to her faithful husband, Bryan.
She speaks openly about life and loss, the joy of carrying her son, and the heartache of living without him. She believes no one should have to face a life of loss alone.
- Still Mothering - May 5, 2017
- The Mothering Project - April 9, 2017
- At Least - November 28, 2016
My husband and I have loved and lost three children (our daughter in stillbirth, our two sons, of SIDS at 7 weeks and 3 days respectively). Even though we are now 10 years, 8.5 years and 7 years post-loss, most of our family still believe we should be “happy” for those who have what we had, and lost. I completely understand your words about losing a family, a future, hope, joy, love, and that is something that almost no parent of a living child will ever understand. Many thought that we could just be like we were “before” — simply a person, or a couple, who was “childless”. Yet, when I confront them with the possibility of losing their child/ren, I get told that I’m being mean. They can’t even imagine, and don’t want to imagine, losing their child/ren, but they expect me sit by and watch and support and be happy for them in their family. Can’t do it, I’m afraid. So now, after many years, I can look at children, and I can accept them, but I avoid them as much as possible. We vacation away from children, we don’t sit in restaurants near children, my husband avoids looking at babies and will go out of his way to avoid them. My family think we’re weird — I think of it as surviving.
This was so beautifully written! I’m finding it very difficult to be around babies, especially those who are the age of my son, but it seems like most people expect me to be okay with it. Or they don’t acknowledge it. I am so appreciative when people give me the opportunity to express my feelings. At a recent baby shower I attended, someone did ask me how I was doing and asked about my son. It made me feel so much better to be able to talk about it without thinking that I was bringing down a happy occasion. I find myself avoiding babies as much as possible. I try to mentally prepare myself for what could be a pregnancy announcement. It’s funny how I can almost predict when someone is going to tell me they are pregnant. I’m just rambling, but thank you for shedding light on such a difficult topic.
This is beautiful RaeAnne, you really hit the nail on the head when you wrote that “…despite how the world sees them as ‘healing beautifully’ or ‘doing so well’, I know inside they are hurting, too. They just chose another path than I do. And that’s okay…”. I definitely have a mix of both. Some days I end up starting at other people’s children and babies with so much longing in my heart and I’m sure their parents think I’m a little crazy but other days is like I see pregnant women everywhere and my heart hurts and my stomach ties in knots and sometimes I’ll go back to my car and cry and even scream a few times to get that emotion out in a physical way. I don’t know for sure whether or not we will ever have a healthy child, the doctors stay positive that things will be different next time we get pregnant so I try to grab hold of that hope when I think about the idea of trying again but there is no certainty. All my friends are either pregnant now or have children already, some the age that our daughter would be and every announcement stings more than the last. Sometimes it is the idea that all these announcements take it for granted that there WILL be a healthy baby coming in the future when I know the all true reality that this is NOT always the case. Thank you for sharing this, the light in me honors the light in you.