The Loneliness in Tragedy
“The only word that I can use to describe it is horrific. It really is a pain that I’m not sure that anyone can prepare you for.”
According to the CDC. “Stillbirth affects about 1 in 175 births, and each year about 21,000 babies are stillborn in the United States.” Coen was born sleeping. He had been awake just that morning, and was perfectly formed. “I realized I had no idea what pain was before.”
Merrit and Elisha stayed in the room with Coen for 3 days before having to make one of the most unexpected and heart wrenching decisions of their lives; cremation or burial for their tiny, perfect son. They held him, they sang to him, they cried in ways that seemed to have no end. “They had this thing called a cold cot that they put him in and when I tell people that part of the story, it really freaks people out, but the cold cot kept him preserved. That was the best thing I could have done.” Merritt explained that the nurses were fantastic, and they had a room at the end of the hall so they couldn’t hear the babies crying. “I think the hardest part of those 3 days was the people coming in to get his body. I think I blacked out. I barely remember that part, and then I was just angry again for a long time. I was so angry to be walking out of the hospital with a box.”
The VA reports that, “After a stillbirth, seeing other babies or pregnant women can become painful reminders of the loss. This can lead to social isolation. The sense of isolation can be intensified if people who want to be supportive seem not to understand what stillbirth is like.” Merrit observed that people “can say some pretty stupid things” after a tragedy, and that it was clear that many people are ignorant about grief. “I felt alone a lot.” She said she did see a therapist for several weeks after, and that it did help to talk and sort through it. “Reading the stories of people with similar experiences helped me but I don’t think there’s anything anyone could have said to make me feel better. And I think that’s because no one talks about it.”
According to the CDC, “The provisional infant mortality rate for the United States in 2022 was 5.6 infant deaths per 1000 live births.” And March of Dimes reports that “It's estimated that between 10 to 20 in 100 pregnancies (10 to 20 percent) end in miscarriage.” There are thousands of women who feel isolated and alone because we’re not talking about one of the most excruciating experiences a woman can have. The loss of a child in any form is the kind of pain that makes others who are lucky to have never experienced it very uncomfortable. The kind of pain for which there are no words. The kind of pain that you carry in your heart and gut for all of time. People get weird with that, and try to make it go away by saying things that only serve to invalidate the true experience of loss on that level.
There are long lasting emotional impacts after experiencing the loss of a child. The New England Journal of Medicine finds that, “The risk of psychiatric hospitalization was increased among parents, especially mothers, who lost a child.” Merrit says that she couldn’t sit around and think about it, so she went back to work. Distraction was a blessing. “You have all the post-partum stuff, but you don’t have a baby.” She had to keep going. A National Library of Medicine shows, “clinical work with bereaved parents (e.g., Rando, 1993) has suggested that a source of difficulty for these parents is the failure of family and friends to recognize the need for continued emotional support when individuals return to other life roles and their outward signs of grief are not so apparent.” Because sometimes women try so hard to keep going, that others may not even know they are dying on the inside.
“All I could think about for the first year is that you don’t even know what to do with the pain and I would just cry and cry.” Merrit acknowledges that losing Coen isn’t the first thing she thinks about upon waking every morning now that it has been a couple of years, but he is still the second. He is the second thing she thinks about. Every morning. “I will carry this forever.”
Merrit says she is a completely different person now. “I am funnier for some reason. I feel joy deeper. I am more overtly nice to people. I think I go out of my way to do nice things that I don’t know if I would have done before.” When thinking about her journey over the past couple of years, and what reflections are making their way to the surface, what matters is that “What I can control now is just living the best life I can because he can’t. I don’t put too much pressure on myself, but that’s just where I’ve landed. Just do your best and keep going. I don’t think there’s a good reason for why it happened, but it happened and I just keep going.”
Sharing stories is a vital tool in the destruction of isolation. Feeling seen and heard in your time of great sorrow validates the experience you are having. Raising our voices and howling into the night as a community of women is a necessary piece of healing. Having others acknowledge the most intense pain imaginable allows them to see, honor, and love your lost child with you.
If you are one of many women who find themselves facing the tragedy of losing your child, therapy may be helpful. It can feel insurmountable, but support is available. You are not alone. At Mamaya Health, we believe that maternal mental health is not a luxury, but a fundamental human right. We support women from menstruation through menopause. Explore our website for resources on maternal mental health, to meet our therapists, and learn how to schedule an appointment.