Losing a child

While visiting graves of family members on Memorial Day, we noted the poignant grave markers from previous generations: “Baby Cummings,” “Josephine, age 12,” “Walter Davis, 1884-1887.”

As a young mother I lived in dread of losing one of my children. I tried to reassure myself by noting that the vast majority of children outlive their parents, and odds were mine would as well. Statistics support my conclusion: Although UNICEF ranks the United States an appalling 42nd in infant mortality rates (under 1 year) and 151st in child mortality rates (under 5 years) among nations worldwide, fewer than 1 in 100 children born here today will die before the age of 5.

By comparison, Michael Haines of Colgate University estimates that in 1850, 1 out of every 5 Caucasian infants born in the U.S. died before a year old; the ratio was 1 out of 3 for African-American infants. Even today, UNICEF estimates that 1 in 4 children in Sierra Leone dies before the age of 5.

When it was more common for young children to die, parents undoubtedly grieved those losses every bit as much as parents do here today. Those parents faced the additional burden of knowing they might yet lose other children before they personally succumbed to cholera or dysentery or old age. But they also had the support of many people who had faced similar losses — people who understood, joined them and stood by them.

While only a tiny fraction of U.S. parents today will face the death of a young child, those who do will not only deeply grieve but may also feel totally unprepared, singled out and alone with their loss. Something seems to permanently change in such parents, for whom the world is suddenly a much more precarious, dangerous place.

I’ve often thought parents can be divided into two camps: those who have lost a child and those who live in dread of losing a child. The obvious advantage of being in the second camp is maintaining some hope that the angel of death will continue to pass by, for we cannot imagine such a loss can be endured. The only advantage of being in the first camp is learning one can, in fact, survive what feels like the worst thing that can ever happen.

It is difficult to know what to say or how to support such parents. What I’ve learned does not help is telling them they can still have other children, this one was too pure to stay, “at least ... (fill in the blank)” or we understand what they are feeling. We don’t. Each situation is different; each person brings unique circumstances to the loss and each will grieve differently.

What does help, according to friends who have faced such a loss: