Infant Loss and Miscarriage
Navigating the Heartbreak of Infant Loss and Miscarriage
The loss of a baby, whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death, or infant loss is an indescribable heartbreak. For those who have experienced the excitement of pregnancy only to have it end unexpectedly, the grief can feel unbearable and isolating. Society often lacks the language or space to address these losses, leaving many parents feeling unseen in their pain.
The Silent Grief of Miscarriage
Miscarriage is more common than many realize, affecting about 1 in 4 pregnancies, yet it is still shrouded in silence. For those who have miscarried, especially later in pregnancy, the loss is profound. Parents envision futures that suddenly come crashing down. Hopes, names, dreams, and plans vanish in an instant, leaving only heartache behind.
What makes miscarriage so difficult to navigate is the lack of formal acknowledgment. Unlike other losses, there may be no funeral, no memorial, and often, nobody to bury. This can leave grieving parents in a confusing emotional space, unsure of how to honor their loss or if they even have the right to feel the depth of their grief.
Grief That Defies Comparison
Whether a parent has experienced a miscarriage or the loss of an infant after birth, their grief defies comparison. It’s important to remember that there is no hierarchy in loss. The pain of losing a baby is intense no matter when it happens. Grief in this context is often not just about the loss of a child but the loss of a future — first steps that will never be taken, birthdays that won’t be celebrated, and a life that will remain unlived.
Breaking the Silence
I experienced this heartbreak firsthand when I suffered a miscarriage at nearly five months along. The connection between myself and the baby felt undeniably strong. I had already felt life moving inside me, already imagined who this little one might become. But then, in an instant, everything changed. The excitement, the hope, and the dreams were replaced with devastation, sorrow, and a profound sense of emptiness. In this body, I would live and in this body, my womb would now become my baby’s tomb.
In those moments, the world felt like it stopped spinning. Time seemed irrelevant as I tried to process the loss of a child I would never get to hold in my arms, watch grow, or even say goodbye to in the way one should. I learned that grief over losing a child to miscarriage is complex—it’s not just the absence of a future, but also the absence of the tangible memories we never get to create with them.
Yet despite this loss, I still consider myself a mother of three. My two living children fill my life with joy, laughter, and love. But my third child “Latkah”—the one I never got to meet—will always hold a space in my heart. My motherhood is no less real because one of my children is not physically here with me. The bond between a mother and her child transcends life and death, seen and unseen. Even in loss, that love remains.
For many of us who have lost a child, the grief is quiet, but it’s ever-present. It’s a sadness that surfaces in unexpected moments, triggered by memories or reminders of what might have been. But it’s important to acknowledge that this grief is valid and real. Whether the loss occurs early in pregnancy or later on, it’s still a loss, and we, as mothers, fathers, extended family, and friends are still allowed to grieve.
