If you’re a loss mom, you’ve most likely heard the words “at least” about the death of your child. I wish it wasn’t so, but people love to try to put a pretty bow on things, even ugly unspeakably horrible things like the death of a child. They say “at least” to try to make you feel better. (As if that were possible!) It’s the silver lining they hope to draw around the dark cloud of your grief. And mostly often, all it does is make you feel unheard, unsupported, and even angry.

I’ve been both the recipient and the witness to these phrases. And most of the time, my blood boils when I hear them.

“At least you can have other children”,
“At least he was just a newborn”,
“At least you didn’t get to know them”,
“At least she didn’t have to live with that condition”,
“At least he died quickly”,
“At least you know you can get pregnant”,
“At least you can sleep in late without a baby waking you up”,
“At least you can travel now”,
“At least you have your husband (career, etc)”,
“At least you’re still young”,
“At least you don’t have to change dirty diapers”,
“At least he’s in a better place”.

I could go on, but let’s not. None of these are useful or helpful or supportive. At all. All of them  — even if they have some amount of truth — are dismissive and painful.

So, I have an idea: What if, instead of “at least” being a phrase to dictate how we should feel, or an attempt to comfort someone beyond comforting, we change the meaning. What if “at least” became the way we tell others the bare minimum of support they could offer us?

Instead of you saying to me, “At least you didn’t get attached”, I say to you, at least, you should acknowledge that a baby is a baby, regardless of age, and a mother’s love begins the second she knows her baby is there. At least, you should know I love my baby with all my heart.

Or, to your, “At least you can have other children”, I say, at least, you should realize children are not replaceable. I want my baby who died, not another one. And, at least, you need to realize many loss mothers simply can not have another child.

Instead of your “At least you’re still young”, I’d say, at least you should see that I feel like I’m a million years old. The death of my child has aged me beyond my years. And, at least, you should acknowledge that my age is no indication of my ability to have another child.

When you say, “At least you know you can get pregnant”, I say, at least, you should know that the goal of pregnancy is to have a living child to raise. Being able to get pregnant but not to keep your baby is devastating.

To your “At least he’s in a better place”, I tell you, at least, you should know that the best place a child can ever be is in the loving arms of his or her parents, and at least, you should consider how you’d feel if it was your child in that ”better place”.

When you say, “At least she’s not suffering anymore”, I say to you that, at least, you should know she should have never been sick in the first place, and, at least, you should know that I’d never ever want her to suffer, but that doesn’t make her death okay.

You see where I’m going with this? Let’s take back these words and use them to educate people, instead of allowing them to add pain to our broken hearts.

If you’re not sure why these phrases are hurtful, watch this video and learn the difference between dismissive phrases masquerading as support and true empathy. Because, at least, that’s what bereaved mothers really need.

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RaeAnne Fredrickson

RaeAnne Fredrickson is mama to Samuel Evan, who was carried to birth with all her love, after receiving a fatal diagnosis early in pregnancy.

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.

Latest posts by RaeAnne Fredrickson (see all)

• Still Mothering - May 5, 2017
• The Mothering Project - April 9, 2017
• At Least - November 28, 2016