“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not tell you… I just, uh, just didn’t know what to say to you,” my friend said, tucking a soft blanket around her adorable chubby-cheeked infant. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to keep her warm or hide her from me.
“But why would you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?” I stammered, still thrown by the surprise of meeting what had been a very close friend who now had a baby I didn’t even know was coming.
“Well, because you… you know.”
I know. I know I had a miscarriage.
“How old is she?” I didn’t want to ask but I couldn’t help myself.
“Two months,” she answered. It felt like a punch to the gut but I tried not to show it.
I grinned my brightest grin and told her, honestly, “She’s marvelously perfect. Congratulations!”
And then I left to go cry in my car because if my daughter had lived she would have been two months old as well. Thinking over our conversation, I realized what had happened. We must have gotten pregnant together but our paths separated at 12 weeks when my “routine” ultrasound found no heartbeat. I remembered crying to her – the baby was very much wanted and I was devastated – but then she slowly drifted out of my life. She had never even told me she was pregnant – perhaps she was waiting for that magical 12-week test of viability so she wouldn’t have to publicly endure what I then had to publicly endure because I’d already told everyone I knew that I was pregnant. (I’ve never been good with secrets. Especially happy ones!)
In hindsight it was obvious why she had stopped calling but at the time I’d hardly noticed as I was so wrapped up in my grief and medical issues. (We found no heart beat at 12 weeks but by 20 weeks I still hadn’t miscarried “naturally” and of course I kept hoping that meant the ultrasound was wrong and she was really alive. But she wasn’t alive, she was just clingy and I finally had a D&C surgery which perforated my uterus and gave me the worst infection of my life. On Thanksgiving day.) I felt bad for not noticing her pregnancy or seeking her out to see how she was doing. But I felt even worse that she hadn’t just told me.
What did she think I’d do? Freak out? Curse her? Try to steal the baby? Did I remind her of the sad fact that some pregnancies don’t end with a baby? Most likely she just thought I was sad and didn’t want to add to my pain. Instead, perhaps afraid of saying the wrong thing, she said nothing to me at all. Maybe she was trying to protect me but losing a friend at that critical point in my life didn’t help.
Since then I went through a greater trauma, having a stillborn daughter (we had issues having children) and I’ve known many woman who’ve had miscarriages or lost babies. It’s given me a lot of time to think about the way we handle miscarriages in our society.
Miscarriages are funny things because depending on the woman and the situation it can be the devastating loss of a much-wanted child or a painful blop of ejected uterine tissue or a confusing mix of the two. And with about 30% of all pregnancies ending in a miscarriage it’s certainly important to discuss. So when I got this e-mail from E, it really hit home for me. I’ve spent two days thinking about it.
She writes,
My sister had a miscarriage in December. She just sent an email saying that she is still really struggling. She said she still feels very “raw” and that as her due date approaches, its very upsetting to her. Having never experienced this myself, I am wondering what you did to find comfort. Also, do you know if its possible to have postpartum depression after only 13 weeks of pregnancy and/or after a miscarriage? I think she would really like to heal but just can’t seem to find peace and happiness. Surely a person doesn’t really ever get over that loss but how does one move on?
Dear E, first I want to tell you how lucky your sister is to have you in her life! I think it’s wonderful you are looking for ways to help and comfort her. Just having someone willing to listen will be a great blessing to her. That said, I do have a few suggestions for you, and for anyone who knows someone who’s having or has had a miscarriage. Just remember that each woman is different and the most important thing you can do is to listen – both to what they’re telling you and in the silences of what they’re not. Sometimes grief is like a batik painting, once the wax is washed away and the empty spaces appear only then can the picture take shape. A portrait of a baby who is not, painted by things that are not.
What To Do For a Woman Who’s Had a Miscarriage
1. Be mindful of anniversaries. E’s sister’s feelings about her due date are so painful and so normal. I remember the week leading up to my baby’s due date was extremely emotional for me and I dreaded it. Yet the day itself was sad but peaceful. My husband and I took a long walk on the beach and held hands and then went to bed early. For our stillborn daughter Faith, each year on her birthday I even make her a birthday cake. Other hard anniversaries to remember are the day of the actual miscarriage, the day she found out she was pregnant or even birthdays of other babies born around the time her child would have been born. I’m not saying you need to calendar all these and tiptoe around her but just keep an open mind and if she seems more sad than usual, consider it might be an anniversary.
2. Encourage her to talk about – or even to – her baby. Of course listen if she wants to talk but I’ve found that grieving women “talk” in so many more ways besides speaking. I’ve always been journaler (I know you’re shocked) so I found a great deal of comfort in writing a letter to the baby I miscarried. But if she’s not a writer, help her to paint a picture, make a scrapbook, shape a sculpture or do something else tangible to help her work out her feelings. Call me a hippie but I find art therapy to be immensely healing. And remember, the art is not about reflecting the baby – it’s about reflecting her feelings about the baby.
3. Give her a memento. I love wearing reminders of my kiddos (and not just because I keep forgetting all their names – although that is also true). I currently have a necklace with stamped metal disks that have the names of all my children – including the two deceased. My favorite gift to give a woman who’s just had a miscarriage or stillbirth is a birthstone ring or earrings in the color of the baby’s birth month. I’ve also seen pins or pendants of little feet, the size the baby’s would have been. One of the sweetest gifts I was given was when a friend went to a memorial/charity event about a year after my miscarriage and bought a candle with my baby’s name inscribed on it and then texted me the picture. I was so grateful that she was thinking of me and my lost one.
4. Help her make it real. Infant death is horrible but most people will allow you to grieve as that baby “was real.” But miscarriages are often treated as “not real babies” even though the loss can feel very real. Perhaps we didn’t lose a physical baby that we held in our arms but we lost the hope of that baby. We lost the dreams we had of his/her future. Worse, we were initiated into the very cruel reality that babies do die. For my husband and I, making our kids real meant naming them. We named the baby I miscarried Morgan, after a book “Morgan Mine” that I had loved as a child and also talked about the death of a baby. (Who knew those two things would ever go together? The 80’s were a weird time.) Some women may not be comfortable naming the baby and that’s fine too. Ask her what would help her make it real. Some people do memorial services. Others release a balloon into the sky, make a donation to a children’s charity, or plant a tree. The thing is: you can’t let go of something if you think you never had in the first place.
5. Include her! I know it may seem like the kind thing to not invite her to baby showers or christenings or parks with babies but the cold, hard truth is that she will see babies everywhere she goes. It may be all she sees for a while. And it does hurt. But being isolated won’t fix that. Offer her the invitation but with the gentle out that if she doesn’t feel up to it, you totally understand. Don’t make her go if she doesn’t want to go but let her make that choice – don’t make it for her. Plus, getting out for me was a huge key in helping me heal. I knew that other people were having babies and I wanted to be happy with them! If she cries, hand her a tissue and let her cry. Don’t be afraid to inhabit her hurt with her.
6. Be aware of the medical stuff. What many people don’t know is that a miscarriage can be excruciatingly painful. And I mean physically. Depending on how far along you are it can range anywhere from an abnormally heavy period to full-blown labor. And if it’s closer to the latter then she will be suffering all the blood loss, pain, nausea and other indignities of childbirth. Stuff you don’t really think about: When I lost my baby, my breast milk still came in. My body didn’t know my baby was dead. So I had to look up breast-binding and ways to dry up my milk. It sucked. E asked if post-partum depression is possible after a miscarriage – it absolutely is! And these hormonal issues can be made worse because we feel like we’re not “supposed” to have them or even that we deserve to feel awful because we “failed” our baby and so we don’t seek medical treatment. There are lots of possible physical complications that can occur so if she’s having a hard time recovering, get her to a doc!
6. Remember the husband/partner. They grieve too and it’s often made worse because they’re supposed to be “the strong one”. People assume that because they didn’t carry the baby they don’t feel its loss. Many of them do, deeply.
What Not To Say To a Woman Who’s Had a Miscarriage
Normally I’d stop my advice here but over the years I’ve been asked SO MANY times “what not to say” to a woman who’s just had a miscarriage or lost a baby. The first thing I tell people is SAY SOMETHING. Say anything. Even if it’s the wrong thing, letting her know you care and are there is a good thing. But that said, there were a few things that really bothered me. And the worst part was that the speaker usually meant them in a kind way! So in the effort to save another mom a little pain, here are my 10 things not to say to a woman who has just miscarried a baby:
1. “It’s God’s will.” I’m religious but even I found this a bit pretentious. Who are you to know what God’s will is? And if the woman is not religious this is even more unhelpful.
2. “It probably had genetic problems, you should feel lucky it didn’t survive.” Not all of us consider a child who is disabled to be a curse. And even so, especially with early miscarriages the cause is often unknown. Speculating about why it happened doesn’t help.
3. “I told you you shouldn’t have kept running/ate sushi/uncrossed your legs on the bus!” Anything that blames the mother is cruel. And anything that starts with “I told you so” is rude.
4. “You must be devastated!” This is a tricky one. Depending on many factors surrounding the pregnancy a woman may or may not feel sad about the miscarriage. For some women the pain is acute but I’ve known plenty others who felt no real attachment to the baby that early on and were made to feel guilty that they weren’t sad. A better approach is to ask “How are you feeling about this?” and then listen.
5. “Let me know if I can help.” This is sweet but it is too vague. Most likely she won’t let you know because it will feel like an imposition. Suggest something you would feel comfortable doing like “May I bring you dinner tomorrow night?” or “Could I take you out to Starbucks for a little break?”
6. “You should be over this by now.” The loss of any child can potentially be devastating for years to come. There is no set time frame for grieving. If you feel like she is “stuck” in the process or has a mental illness then there are kinder ways to help her get help.
7. “Well it’s not like you were that far along…” When you lose a baby, you lose all the hopes and dreams you had for that child, no matter how far along you are. I’ve lost a baby in each trimester and each one was devastating to me in its own right. In addition to the mental pain, there can be physical complications as well. I ended up with a perforated uterus and the worst infection of my life after losing a baby that most people didn’t even know I was carrying.
8. “You can always have more kids.” This may be true but there are so many factors in fertility, unless you are her OBGYN then you don’t know enough to say this. And even if it is the case, for many women one baby does not replace another.
9. “Time heals all wounds.” Eventually perhaps. But saying this to someone at the height of their grief minimizes all the struggles they are having right now, in this time.
10. “You shouldn’t have a funeral/name the baby/keep talking about it.” Grieving is such an individual process. Whatever helps them grieve and heal is appropriate. If it makes you uncomfortable you don’t need to participate. Also, don’t put a time limit on grief. Some people move past it quickly while others will miss that baby for the rest of their lives. Or both. There’s no wrong answer.
If you can’t think of anything to say, simply say “I love you.” And hug her.
Have any of you had a miscarriage? What would you say to the letter writer? This list isn’t meant to be exhaustive – and I’m not trying to speak for any one else so I really hope you chime in with your own experiences and advice!
This is a perfect post. All of your suggestions of what to do and what not to say are spot on.
I may print this for certain people in my life.
Thank you for writing this.
I have every sympathy with your friend and when you ask “What did she think I’d do? Freak out? Curse her?” … my answer to that is, probably, yes.
I lost a baby many years ago. I tried, at the time, to visit some of the miscarriage support groups online (and even, one time, in person). And the depth and anger, hatred, bitterness, and sheer ugliness that many of the women displayed towards friends and family who had successful pregnancies stunned me. It made me not want to be associated with those people at all, ever again.
I heard about people who called dear friends or sisters and told them that being invited to their baby shower or child’s birthday was a “slap in the face”. I have heard and read people say that they’ve cut off contact with friends who “bragged” about their successful pregnancies (as though they were being intentionally spiteful). I’ve listened to women talk about how it was unreasonable and cruel for a pregnant friend to expect a shower gift – because how could the woman who suffered a miscarriage be expected to walk into a baby store and buy anything. I even, with my own ears, heard one woman tell another that she wished a mutual friend would have a miscarriage so she’d know the pain and quit “pushing her pregnancy in my face”.
A great many women who suffer from miscarriages think that it makes them special somehow – that everyone should bow before their suffering and grief.
I suffered my own miscarriage (and subsequent inability to ever conceive) many years ago. I have gone through my share of grief over it. I absolutely have come home and cried after finding out a friend was pregnant or seeing someone’s new baby for the first time. But it never even occurred to me that other people’s lives needed to stop because of my tragedy. Unfortunately there are a great many women who DO feel that. And so it makes everyone scared to even breathe around a woman who has had a miscarriage for fear of getting turned on.
At least IMO>
Yes, yes and yes.
I have a close friend who delivered a stillborn baby. I had just had my 2nd baby 1 month before earlier. We were invited to the funeral, but I planned on not going and sending my husband so I didn’t have to bring our baby. I just thought it would be SO hard for her to see our baby when her feelings were so tender. They actually called to make sure we would be there, so I felt that I needed to go. I ended up bringing our baby, but kept her kind of out of sight and quiet. My friend came over and she asked to see the baby and wanted to hold her. I think it was actually theraputic for her…maybe to just hold a baby was comforting.
Excellent articulation of a very difficult subject, Charlotte.
Warm and thoughtful and kind and considerate and careful.
I was deeply moved by every point, but I was especially grateful for your point (the second) number 6 (In your What To Do list) as you know that I HAVE felt these things very very deeply indeed.
To quote Charlotte: “6. Remember the husband/partner. They grieve too and it’s often made worse because they’re supposed to be “the strong one”. People assume that because they didn’t carry the baby they don’t feel its loss. Many of them do, deeply.”
And you also know no one spoke to me.
Thus I have always made it a point to make myself legitimately available to any Father and Mother I know of who have experienced the loss of a child.
I ALWAYS wanted to be a Dad, since I was very young.
I didn’t marry until I was older than most people are when they get married, and our first pregnancy ended in a D&C (after the ultrasound lady told us bluntly that our baby no longer had a heartbeat).
Hard to wrap your head around.
Especially when just a little earlier our baby was moving.
I had saved OTHER people’s lives…
…from drownings…beatings…wild animals…accidents…mountains…fires…
It’s MY job to protect.
And with the person I wanted to protect the most…I could do nothing.
I was useless.
I gladly would have traded my life for his… (Baby Boy – Darwin Jr.)…but I never got the chance.
I failed him.
And he was counting on me to protect him.
And my wife was counting on me so much.
Her nickname for me was “Superman”.
She didn’t like it if I got sick, because that would imply vulnerability on my part. I had to recover IMMEDIATELY.
If I didn’t I couldn’t tell her about it. Was not allowed.
A lot of people viewed me the same way for some weird reason. “Darwin is indestructible. NO need to worry about him.”
I even requested to talk to people but no one wanted to talk to me about it.
“Let the women deal with that! We’ll go watch some sports.”
I hate watching sports.
Spiritually speaking, I have always felt that many prayers get answered by other people.
Except when other people avoid you.
So I don’t avoid people.
(EXCEPT “dating” because that is just plain SCARY and doesn’t count.)
A past leader in the LDS Church told the story of going to visit a congregation in the South Seas, I forget where, and a boatload of lady members of the Church capsized and they all drowned. He rushed to the families. He mourned with them. He showed forth love. He listened to them tell him all about those who died and the emptiness and horror and sorrow they were feeling now without their respective wives and mothers and grandmothers and aunts and sisters and nieces and cousins and girlfriends.
As Charlotte mentioned, listening is good.
Seeing is good also.
A person who has lost a baby can be overwhelmed. One can offer to cook or clean or walk the dog or pick up some groceries or feed the cat or cut the lawn or answer the phone for them and tend to things and let them sleep or sit or cry or scream.
There is no one size fits all, like Charlotte said.
You may get rebuffed.
You may be tolerated.
You may be appreciated.
You will not get it 100% right 100% of the time. But you can make the effort 100% of the time.
As someone once said “Ideals are stars to guide us, not sticks to beat ourselves with.”
But ideals are powerful…as they help us to reach beyond ourselves.
Love your comment, Darwin. I find it interesting from looking at miscarriages from the male point of view. Plus I appreciate your thouhts about trying to help those who grieve.
Thank-you, Laura P….
I have said before, if King Kong had picked up a giant redwood and whacked me with it, it would not have hurt as much as it did losing that baby.
Or the next one we lost…or the next after that one that we lost.
We had four who survived in between the losses!
Then my then-wife took off with them. (She always knew the best way to hurt me. The best psychological torture.)
But…
…those ex-wife orchestrated tribulations have provided me opportunities for character development…expanding upon humility, faith…
…empathy…
…and gratitude.
And I am grateful that you appreciated my thoughts about helping those who grieve.
Thank you so much for posting this as I just found out this week that I lost one of my babies. I went to my first appointment last week and to my surprise, I found out I was pregnant with twins. Unfortunately, one was much smaller than the other and my doctor was afraid Baby B wasn’t going to be viable. We went and had a much better ultrasound 3 days later to find out in fact that Baby B did not have a heartbeat and had stopped growing about 2 weeks earlier. I was (and still am) devastated, but I am also still pregnant with one baby (who looked absolutely perfect and growing as he/she is supposed to be). We have only told close family so far, but I’m so afraid of people not understanding what I am going through. To me, a loss is still a loss. I still lost a baby, even though I get to keep one. It was still my baby. I think many people are not going to understand exactly why I am still grieving that loss. Don’t get me wrong, I am THRILLED to still have one thriving baby, but I can’t help but wish the outcome was different for our other one.
So, again, thank you for posting what you should and shouldn’t say to someone who lost a child, as I think many people (once I tell them) will not understand exactly what I am going through and I have already had people say exactly the wrong thing to me.
I am so sorry for you and your husband/partner’s devastating loss of your baby. Your overwhelming sadness is necessary, even while rejoicing over your healthy baby.
As a parent, you find you can make time for both emotions…as you make time for both of your children in a healthy way.
Both have very deep meaning for you, because you have a very deep love for both of them.
And that is the unifying emotion that will prevail in your feelings and thoughts for both of them.
Boy did this bring back a long-repressed memory! My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage in my 4th month. Shortly afterward, I was approached by a friend…not even a bestie of any kind….who asked how I was and before I could speak, asked me to drive her to an abortion clinic. I was speechless. Even now, 36 years later, I can’t believe that anyone could be that thoughtless. It absolutely floored me. All I could do was burst into tears, tell her she was a heartless beast asking me to do something like this 3 days after my miscarriage, and walk off. And no, we never spoke again. It was unforgivable.
These are all really good tips. I think it is easy for people to want to back away from a death of any kind because they don’t know what to say but just showing up and even saying, “I don’t know what to say but I am here” means so much. I miscarried my first pregnancy at 14 weeks and had to go get a D&C and then had another miscarriage many years later. The first one was really hard because I had time to get excited about that baby. The second time was easier to cope with because I found out I was pregnant and that there was no heart beat all in the space of about a week and it was very early on.
I had a miscarriage, very early on, at 7.5 weeks. It was my second pregnancy. And my sister-in-law was due on the same day. She went on to have her daughter; I didn’t. I had my second daughter 4 months after that lost baby’s due date, so I had the comfort of passing that anniversary (not to mention the birth of my niece) already pregnant with a healthy baby.
But still, to this day, every now and then I will feel the grief I felt with the loss of that baby. I still remember the sting of that first menstrual period after my miscarriage, when my mother-in-law went on and on about my sister-in-law and the size of her belly. I still tear up when I remember how utterly lonely I felt in my grief. That baby was real to me in a way that he or she was never real to anyone else, not even my husband.
What helped the most was the sudden outpouring of stories from other women who had been through a miscarriage, including my stepmom. I never knew these stories until I had my own loss. Why is this topic so taboo? It just adds to the loneliness of the grief. I wish we’d talk about it openly, and not just when another woman is grieving.
The other aspect that made my miscarriage so difficult was that at the age of 27, it was the first time my body had failed me. And, I felt, had failed my child, and my family. That my body could fail me was a new and bitter lesson.
I remember the day I miscarried vividly. It was very painful. And my husband left me with my toddler at home and went to work. He is a fantastic, loving partner, but that time, he missed the boat. He was a medical resident at the time and didn’t think he could miss work. He could have and should have. I should not have been left alone at all, let alone left to care for my toddler.
My advice: be there for her. Let her know you’re available to listen. Listen without judgement. And be there physically for her if she needs it.
Another great book, one that I read off of Amazon is I hate you Miscarriage by Lily Autumn. Very heart felt and relatable.
Another great book, one that I read off of Amazon is I hate you Miscarriage by Lily Autumn. Very heart felt and relatable. Not knowing what is say was also the responses I get from people, seems like a weak excuse but I guess some people aren’t equipped to handle certain life situations.
The best thing someone said to me after my two miscarriages 3 months apart was, “Hang in there, ” and she hugged me SO tight. I thought that was a lovely thing to say. Just enough for an emotionally repressed scandanavian like myself.
I kept my third pregnancy a secret for as long as I could from my sister in law who had lost her first baby at 34 weeks because I was terrified she would feel so, so bad about it. I told my brother first and let him tell her. It turned out she was happy for us because they were secretly pregnant too. It worked out OK, but could have been very tricky if she hadn’t been expecting as well because she suffered terribly after her loss. We all did, but her especially, and rightly so. I didn’t want to hurt her any more by having her feel I was “rubbing my pregnancy in her face”, so to speak…
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Such good advice. I love the ask them how they are doing, listen and be there for them and if they don’t want to talk about it tell them you love them, hug them and still be there for them. When I had my miscarriage I did not want to talk or see anyone and I’m not sure why that was but my friends came to my house, rang the doorbell and left. When I opened the door they had brought me flowers, a card and a book about miscarriages. I couldn’t have loved them more for that. It spoke volumes to me about their friendship. It’s been 9 years and I still will never forget that. Eventually when I was able to talk and see people a friend of mine came over and told me her story. I will never forget those things. So grateful for that.