Dear Fellow Dad,
I’m deeply sorry for your loss. A man should never have to say goodbye to his child before hello. I don’t know how you’re coping, but if you’re anything like me, you feel like a walking paradox of mixed emotions and questions. Not only are you dealing with the loss of your baby but you’re also seeing your wife in pain and wondering how to best comfort her, while also trying to work out your own response to a loss that feels so abstract. My hope is that openly sharing my experiences will spur you to process your own complicated emotions in a way that makes sense to you and brings life to your marriage and family.
First, I want to give you permission to acknowledge this as a terrible loss. Growing up in Australia, I didn’t feel this permission was modeled to me—it certainly wasn’t the default among men. I wonder if you can relate. The expectation here has been that men are tough, provide for the physical needs of their family, and remain strong at all costs. Thankfully some of the outdated “macho” attitudes and gender roles are changing as we parent the younger generation, but these norms are still deeply ingrained in our culture. We’ve got to work our way out of them even as we try to change them.
Lost for Words
I was thirty-nine years old when we experienced our first miscarriage, and I had no idea how to deal with it. I can’t recall ever hearing much about pregnancy loss before we experienced ours, and can’t remember a single conversation I had with another man about this kind of grief. We discuss other important issues at the pub with our mates, at church, on social media, on the news, and at work, but miscarriage still feels taboo among men, like somehow it’s a secret women’s problem that we simply need to help them “deal” with as quietly as possible so that no one gets embarrassed or uncomfortable. It’s easy to get the impression that a loss like this is inconsequential and small.
After our first miscarriage, I wanted to talk openly about it but felt lost for words. There was a disconnect between the way I felt I should feel and the way I actually felt. No one needed to convince me that something weighty had happened in our family, but I had no cultural framework to know how to begin the conversation. In retrospect, I think I tried to help myself by helping my wife—if she felt better, then I would feel better too.
With each miscarriage, I clicked into survival mode—caring for Adriel and our other children, organizing meals, answering phone calls, and so on, as if I didn’t have time to be emotional over it. Maybe there was a certain grace to enable me for that role in the early days, and I think that response is appropriate. But the problem comes when we never revisit those emotions. If we stuff them down or turn them off in order to be the “strong one,” they have a way of eating at us from the inside. Unresolved grief can create a roadblock between you and your wife or you and God at a time when you need those relationships most.
My Wife and I Grieved Differently
Another barrier for me was that I found it hard to even wrap my head around the loss in the beginning. Although I was so excited to be having a baby, it was all still so conceptual. I watched my wife grieve in a way that was foreign to me. I’d never seen her in such pain. From the moment she knew she was pregnant, she felt intimately connected to the baby. It’s incredible how quickly hormones kick in and start to change a woman’s body during pregnancy. A baby affects her entire existence. I’ve always thought that sort of connection from the “inside” creates a bond that’s hard for fathers to relate to until the baby is actually in our arms. (At least that’s been my experience.)
I had to wrestle down my own shoulds during that time: I should be more sad, I should grieve more like Adriel, I should know how to talk about this, and so on. I had to learn to accept that miscarriage affected us differently and that this was okay, even normal. I needed to be secure in my own process and let my grief take its own shape.
As an individual, you, too, will process grief in your own way, and it might look very different from your wife’s grief journey (or mine). I hope you have the courage to give yourself permission to lean in to the process and let the grief work its way through your soul so you can heal and grow. You might be surprised at the grace God releases for you to not only deal with your pain but experience him more deeply in the midst of it.
Finally, I want to offer a few practical suggestions in hopes these might serve you.
1. Find a Way to Give Identity to Your Baby
We did this by naming each one. It may seem like a small thing, but it wasn’t. Giving them names with thoughtful meanings helped me think of them as real members of our family. I know some couples feel uncomfortable choosing a name when the baby is still so tiny or when you may not know the gender. If so, consider choosing a gender-neutral name or even a nickname. Whether you decide to keep the name private or share it with others, giving your child a name will help your loss feel more palpable, which can be helpful in the grieving process.
2. Consider How to Commemorate Your Baby’s Life and Say Goodbye
Along with our kids, Adriel and I did a simple goodbye ceremony by writing messages on helium balloons for each of our babies in the weeks after the miscarriages. I was surprised at how good and healing it felt to do something together that would build an experiential memory. Holding the balloons in my hand before seeing them float into the sky created an image in my mind that I’ll always treasure. Take some time together with your wife and find something that suits your family culture. (For more ideas, see appendix B.)
3. Let Your Wife See Your Grief
You might be tempted to think you need to keep it together in order to help your wife “get over” her grief, but from what I’ve seen in my own marriage (and among friends, as we’ve learned to talk about this more openly), is that most women want and need to know you’re grieving too. She doesn’t want to be fixed, she wants to be together. When she sees this matters to you, she’ll draw comfort from knowing she doesn’t have to grieve alone. Processing grief together can also help you get in touch with your own emotions if you’re finding it challenging.
4. Pull Toward Your Wife, Not Away
Weather the storm together, and ask God to build intimacy and resiliency in your marriage as you support each other in your grief. Experiencing heartache together can strengthen or weaken a marriage, so be intentional to turn toward each other instead of away.
5. Be Intentional to Remember
Mark important dates on your calendar—such as the date of the miscarriage and the baby’s original due date—and be sensitive around other special days like Mother’s Day and Christmas. Do something small but intentional to let your wife know you haven’t forgotten. Tell her you miss your baby too.
I don’t think our culture has done us any favors by shielding us from the reality of miscarriage and other types of pregnancy loss, or imposing the notion on us that men have to be the “strong” or silent ones while our wives grieve. Maybe, as we take steps of humility and transparency with our wives and with each other, we can change the conversation and grow more whole together. Perhaps you and I are the ones to help break the stigma surrounding pregnancy loss so future bereaved fathers will feel less isolated and more supported as they grieve—imagine the freedom and healing that would follow.
May you sense God’s nearness in your time of loss.
Warmly,
Ryan Booker (Adriel’s husband)