Infant Loss Articles
When a Baby Dies Parents of Infants on Losing a Baby
The
Promise
In
loving memory of my sister, Stephanie Denise, born still November 1, 1986
I
dream of orchestras, symphonies of violins and harps,
Lost
in a chorus of down pour;
Rain
giving off a sound of beauty untouched by the hands of man,
Molded
by the soul of time.
I
glance off to the horizon, a beach with white sand.
Each
grain like that of a candle,
Surrounded
by every color of the sunset
The
echo of seashells in an octave most high,
Like
when man speaks the name you were given at birth.
Soft
enough to make the angels cry and the wind dance hand in hand.
Clouds
begin to carry my weight showing me true Mother Nature.
So
many snowflakes, yet none the same.
Flowers
bloom to the sound of your voice.
Seasons
transform as you awaken, fragrance untouched like the depth of the sea.
That
extra mom in the house turns into a playground,
With
no sand, no grass, only gravel.
The
slide no longer present. a swing set with broken chains.
Am
I imaging things? Am I crazy?
Mirages
have become daily, like a prescription drug for reality
So
as I kiss the sky and paint the world with my words,
My
promise is this; there will forever be laughter in my cries.
To
know that you are here, even though you are gone..
To
never abandon, never forget, and to know that you will never let me lose myself
because I never lost you.
Kyle
DaShawn Brooks
Age
16
December
14, 2003
LITTLE BABY
Little baby who was not to be,
You were a person...at least to me.
Would your eyes be blue?
Or hazel and dark?
Would you caw like the crow?
Or sing like a lark?
Would you have ten little fingers and ten tiny toes?
A rosebud mouth?
A turned up nose?
Would you be laughing and happy,
or somber and quiet?
Would you run and jump or rather be still?
Would you like to read, or prefer to play?
None of my questions will have an answer.
Your chance to live will never be.
The only think I truly know...
Little baby,
We would have love you so!
Joan D. Schmidt,
TCF/Spotswood, NJ
TO MY MISCARRIED BABY
Out of our love you came.
Planned, wanted, welcomed!
Your annoucement created excitement, joy...
Friends and family inquired.
Do you want a girl or boy?
Will you take Lazaze?
What colors for the nursery?
Then suddenly you’re gone....and silence...
No one talks about a baby that won’t be.
Were you real or a dream?
I feel alone and empty.
Where can I put my love that was for you?
Now what does it mean?
Betty Butler,
TCF North shore IL
Stillbirth,
Miscarriage and
Infant Death:
The following information is for parents who have experienced a stillbirth, miscarriage or the death of an infant. These guidelines have been gathered from the experiences of other bereaved parents and from the studies and writings of professionals in grief counseling.
Normal grieving, with many ups and downs lasts far longer than society in general recognizes. Too often people do not recognize the grief parents endure after the death of an infant. Others will grieve for you while you grieve for your baby.
The fact that someone else may have known their child longer should not diminish your own sense of loss. Your grief is your own.
Crying is an acceptable and healthy expression of grief for both mothers and fathers which releases built-up tension: cry freely as you feel the need.
Consider whatever you do to be normal for you , don’t be afraid of unusual feelings (such as phantom crying and aching arms)—this is part of normal grief. Your body will seem unkind to you. You will have the same discomfort common to all new mothers who have just given birth, i.e., breast tenderness, mood swings, etc.
Whenever possible put off major decisions (changing residence, changing job, etc.) for a least a year.
Because the bonding between mother and child begins long before birth the mother may have more intense feelings for a longer time; mourn with her and be supportive.
Others may be uncomfortable with your grief. They may think the less said the better. Let them know what you need.
Try to become involved with a group of parents having similar experiences. Be patient with yourself.
The holidays and anniversaries of a baby’s birth and death can be stressful times for parents—allow yourself some emotional space and special time for grieving.
When considering another pregnancy, give yourself sufficient time to mourn and to recover your physical and emotional strength.
When you do have another pregnancy, choose new names; each child is unique and does not deserve to be a replacement.
Bereaved Families and Their Families Can Find Healing and Hope For The Future.
DEATH OF A DREAM
My baby is gone, and no-one understands my sorrow. They said: “You were only seven weeks pregnant.”
They didn’t know I had already named the baby....Rachel for a girl, Joshua for a boy. They didn’t know my twelve year old son had already promised to take care of that baby every day, and was considering even changing diapers. They didn’t know my nine year old had been asking for a brother or sister for six years. They just didn’t know all my hopes and dreams for this baby.
They said: “Don’t worry....you’ll get pregnant again.” They didn’t know it had taken six years to conceive this child. They didn’t know this was a very special baby, conceived under a Christmas tree, with the man I love. This was a baby I wanted...not just any baby. I don’t know if I will ever have the courage to try again.
They said: “You are young. Only thirty-two. You have many years yet to have a child. They didn’t know my mother started menopause at thirty-six. Or that two of my aunts had hysterectomies for cancer, one at twenty-four and the other at thirty-six. Or that my cousin is at stage two with cervical cancer. Even now the clock is running out on me.
They said: “Miscarriages happen...nothing to worry about.” They didn’t know this was my fifth miscarriage, one a set of twins. They didn’t know how losing my baby pulls my emotions inside out and leaves me feeling raw and tender. They didn’t understand my fear that I will never have another baby.
They said that I was silly to cry. They didn’t understand my grief. It was not a lump of flesh, it was my baby. They didn’t understand the joy I felt, or the loss, or the emptiness I feel. They said: “These things happen for a reason. The baby probably hadn’t formed properly.” They said I should be grateful.
They can’t understand the anger I feel....towards women trying desperately to rid themselves of unwanted babies, and towards the happy women awaiting the birth of their babies. They didn’t understand my anger at my own body, for rejecting my baby and
understand my anger at my own body, for rejecting my baby and destroying my dream.
They said: “You already have two healthy children, consider yourself lucky.”
I am fortunate. Many women will never be able to have a child of their own. But it doesn’t lessen my sorrow. My baby is gone and I am sad. Why won’t they let me grieve?
Linda Young
The Compleat Mother / Spring 1987