Losing a child is an unimaginable pain, and for me, it was a lonely and isolating experience. When I delivered my baby stillborn, I expected comfort and understanding from those around me. Instead, relatives and friends who visited me in the hospital avoided the topic, distracting me with food and unrelated conversations. Even my husband seemed indifferent. It was only later that I understood—people grieve differently, and many men struggle to express their emotions.
I share my story because I want people to recognize the profound grief and sense of loss that follows the death of a baby. A mother mourns deeply, regardless of whether she has other children. The pain never truly fades, and the memories never disappear.
As a Christian, I had often preached and comforted others with phrases like, “All things work together for the glory of God” and “God is good all the time.” But after losing my baby, these words felt empty. I was angry with God. For a long time, I could not pray—I had lost my faith.
Preparing for My Baby
This pregnancy was different. My first three children, all boys, had arrived close together, and financial constraints had made it difficult to prepare for them properly. But this time, I had planned everything meticulously. I decorated a room, bought a beautiful cot, soft bedding, and plenty of unisex clothes. Friends and relatives hoped I would have a girl, but I only wished for a healthy baby.
A week before my due date, my youngest son fell seriously ill and was hospitalized. I stayed with him in the ward, exhausted and worried. The day he was discharged, I went into labour. I was rushed to the hospital, where, after hours of labour, doctors performed an emergency C-section to save either me or my baby. I was gravely ill. When I regained consciousness, I was told my baby had died before birth. He had weighed 5.5 kilos. The devastation I felt is beyond words. My body was aching, ready to nurture a child who was no more. What was I supposed to do with all the things I had lovingly prepared for him? Was God punishing me?
The Loneliness of Grief
Visitors came, but few offered real comfort. Many came once and never returned. I later learned that some found me too bitter, my expression too fierce to approach. Perhaps they were right—I felt abandoned and betrayed by life.
As I rested at home for two months, neighbours trickled in, some with far fetched explanations about my loss. One friend suggested witchcraft from within the family. Another insensitively speculated that I had “closed my legs” because I didn’t want another boy, oblivious to the fact that I had undergone a C-section and did not even know the sex of the baby beforehand.Yet another warned that preparing too much for a baby invites bad luck, saying, “You shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
It was only when a women’s group I belonged to visited that I finally felt understood. The chairlady hugged me and sighed audibly. Tears welled in my eyes, and some of the other women also wept. The preacher among them spoke of Jehovah Nissi—the Lord our banner—reminding me that even in trials, God is our refuge (Exodus 17:8-16). They prayed fervently, and that night, for the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully.
The next day, another prayer group I was part of came to see me. One woman shared her own experience of stillbirth—a story I had never known despite our long acquaintance. Their prayers and presence soothed my wounded heart.
My Mother’s Revelation
When my mother visited, she surprised me with her own painful story. She had lost five children—miscarriages and stillbirths—before giving birth to her first living child. As her last-born, I had never heard these stories before. That day, she opened up, sharing her sorrow and the impact it had on her. She validated my grief, making me feel seen and understood. That conversation brought us closer than ever.
Lessons Learned
Through this journey, I learned important lessons:
- Not everyone is equipped to comfort the grieving. Some people bring harmful superstitions and blame instead of healing. Surround yourself with those who uplift you.
- Words have power. Thoughtless comments can deepen wounds. We must choose our words carefully when speaking to the bereaved.
- Shared experiences bring healing. Those who had gone through a similar loss helped me the most. This made me realize the value of support groups and professional counselling.
- Faith is a journey. Though I lost faith for a time, I later came to understand that even in suffering, God’s purpose is at work.
Finding Purpose
Four years after my loss, I was given the opportunity to return to school. I pursued a degree in Counselling Psychology, and today, I feel a deep calling to help others through their grief. Perhaps, in a way, I owe this path to my little angel—the baby I never got to know.
Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” Today, I live by these words with a new understanding. While I will never forget my son, I am grateful for the strength, empathy, and purpose his brief existence brought into my life.
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