“I am so sorry, Mrs. O’Keefe. We cannot find a heartbeat.” I have heard those words before. Several times before. This time, though, it was in week 40 of my pregnancy. My healthy baby boy had suffered an unexpected complication from which he did not survive. I will not pretend that I handled in any sort of understated way. There were likely other laboring mothers who heard me wailing through the hospital.
During this time, friends reached out, to help a grieving friend, while we tried to process what had happened.
The statistics for stillbirth are a little complicated, but from what I understand from research, about 1 in every 167 pregnancies end in a similar way. It’s a lot more common than I had ever realized. It’s easy to assume that after the first trimester, babies just…live.
My son had no health risks, and my OBGYN took every precaution and made every recommendation that she possibly could. James Glen O’Keefe was delivered stillborn. He was a chubby-cheeked, roly-poly little boy. He looked so much like one of his big brothers. I wish I could have seen his eyes. I bet they were blue.
Every person processes grief differently, and there is no protocol guaranteed to comfort a loved one. I would like to share with you, however, many of the kind gestures that our family found incredibly touching while our hearts ached. Here are just 4 ways to help a grieving friend.
Drop off food.
Bringing funeral casseroles is sort of a cliché, but its lack of originality does not diminish its helpfulness. No one in my family had the energy to cook or do dishes, and having several options for comfort food was wonderful. If you are someone who puts your heart into your food, don’t hesitate to knock on the door with your signature chicken soup or fudge brownies. It will be appreciated and a simple way to help a grieving friend.
“Mourn with those who mourn.”
Often, there is very little one can say that is better than silence. Several friends visited in the weeks following James’ death, to help a grieving friend. Sometimes, all we did was sit together and cry. Don’t think you need to hold in your sadness for our benefit. Knowing that this loss is hard for you helps us feel like our pain matters to more than just us.
Help with childcare.
We were very blessed to have three healthy children waiting for us when my husband and I returned home from the hospital. Being able to hold them, smell them, kiss them on the head was the only balm that soothed our broken hearts. Along with this, however, came the difficult task of explaining why their baby brother was not with us.
My husband and I believe strongly that sadness is not something to hide, so we did not conceal our misery to “be strong for the kids” but we also needed time to process things alone. Family and friends planned playdates, so our kids could have some much-needed distraction, and my husband and I could deal with funeral arrangements and sleep.
Just remember.
After death, the world goes on…at least for everyone else. When the casseroles are eaten, the funeral flowers have died, and there is no more bereavement time at work, we feel forced to act almost as if it was a bad dream that has ended. When the anniversary of a loss looms over those grieving, most people have not even thought about the death in months. Make a note of dates that may be hard for your someone. Three, six, and twelve months post-loss may be a great time to take your friend for coffee, send them flowers, or just send a text knowing you have not forgotten their loved one. James’ delivery date is only a few weeks away. My entire family feels surrounded by a thick cloud of melancholy, but we are so thankful for the many people who have reached out to us recently, “just to check in”.
The pain my family has experienced in the last year has been extraordinary, but so has the outpouring of love shown from friends, family, and even strangers. I am so grateful for those who reached out in different ways to help us during our darkest days, and I know that your gestures of kindness, whatever they are, will be appreciated, too.
