My father and I have something in common, perhaps many things, but one thing in particular. That is, we’ve both had a stillborn child, and though 41 years divides that time, there is something remarkable about a father’s grief that invites exploration.
One thing that can be said from the outset is, the way my father and I have experienced the loss of our stillborn children couldn’t be more different, and there is always much we can learn from any manifestation of such silent grief (loss that isn’t typically discussed). Stillbirth is not talked about in general, and if that’s the case for women, think about how much less men discuss it.
Men feel grief too. They grieve their babies lost. It may seem pointless or even moot to say that, given that they of course will grieve, but grief for fathers is further confused for several reasons.
Perhaps they may have cause to grieve more so. Let me endeavour to explain.
First, there’s the confusion, “I didn’t carry him or her, so how could I be justifiably as sad as my partner?” Not having carried the baby, fathers struggle to identify with their lifeless infant son or daughter. They have been robbed of that bond that begins in possibly the only moment they had foreseen; when they held their baby in their arms for the first time; that moment a father falls completely head over heels in love with their son or daughter in an instant. Where there was supposed to be a bond developing, the deafening din of nothingness takes its place. There is never more pain than in this place of nothingness where that space should have been filled to capacity with love.
Second, fathers of stillborn infants may truly wonder, “How do I support my partner? I had no idea this was even possible. How could it have happened? I’m in shock myself, she’s distraught, what do I do?” Many men sink into their silence, suppress their feelings, and find other ways to cope, and denial is a compellingly viable option.
Third, it’s, “How do I deal with (the enormity of) these emotions?” The first encounter of grief is shocking. There is no preparation, ever, for the pain that one encounters in loss. And even if it’s not the first time, good responses to loss are inevitably trained into us. To respond well in loss, we need to have learned the hard way first — to have endured the breakage that occurs in loss. The emotions are cataclysmic; little wonder many men find solace in a bottle of something, a substance, an addiction, much as a way of getting relief from the pain. Men actually need to chat through their emotions as much as women do.
There are fathers, and mothers too, of course, who will not have grieved at all.
Especially those who lost babies when my father lost his daughter (my sister). Ministers, counsellors, doctors, and all health and healing professionals were of little help in the main for those grieving in the 1970s — their work was much more stoic and utilitarian as was the tradition and culture of the day. Rare would it have been that any man would have gotten the support he needed then. I know my father didn’t. There is little wonder he has floundered with his feelings for those nearly 50 years. I have nothing but empathy for him. And yet, there is still so much silence and such a paucity of support for fathers and mothers of lost infants even today!
When we lost Nathanael in 2014, I guess it was one of my prayers that in losing Nathanael there would be some agency for healing for my parents. The way I responded to my grief was informed by my faith, by others’ prayers (literally thousands of people because of social media), by my professional counselling knowledge about loss, and by my initial experience in grieving the worst loss of losing my first marriage 11 years beforehand — a loss that almost finished me! So I felt equipped in having my heart ripped apart again. As it happened, my wife was incredibly inspirational in traversing those 19 weeks from diagnosis to the stillbirth with such remarkable valour. We were both amazed at my father’s courage, to hold Nathanael, to selflessly avail himself in that time, to be there as he had always been for me.
Fathers perhaps mourn their lost infant sons and daughters more because theirs is a vicarious loss; they’re further removed, they feel compelled to support their wives, yet they’re probably less equipped culturally and perhaps even biologically than their partner to deal with the rawness of their emotions.
This article doesn’t set out to minimise the heartache of mothers, not at all, but it does seek to highlight the tremendous burden a father of a lost son or daughter bears.
The photo depicted here is a case in point. There are NO photos of my father’s lost daughter. Doesn’t that send a powerful message. At least I have photos. I don’t want any kudos for courage when it was comparatively easy for me to grieve my loss as a father. I want kudos to go to people like my father and those other men who have suffered anguish for years, because a man’s grief for his lost infant son or daughter is unmentionable for much of life, and for all the other reasons, some of which have been highlighted in this article.
Men, you do well to grieve your loss well, now, when it happens, or as soon as possible. Give yourself as much time as you need. Find trusted others to talk at length with. Talking through the pain might seem too hard, futile or not worth it, but it completely isn’t. Indeed, it’s the only way to process the pain you’re feeling.
By the way, Dad, Happy Father’s Day for next Sunday!
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