Dear Friends of those going through a miscarriage,
I've hesitated, for almost 10 years now, to write something like this, for several reasons. Firstly, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings who may have said something that we found unhelpful when we miscarried our first child. Because secondly, even I (though I know better) have said thoughtless and randomly hurtful things to those suffering from the loss of a child. When grief enters the picture, awkwardness and miscommunication aren't far behind. And thirdly, I recognize that everyone's story is different, and that what spoke love and care to us might not be helpful at all for other people.
But I'd like to try to offer some ideas on how to care for a friend in this situation, in hopes that it will be helpful. And I hope that offering a majority of "do's" (as opposed to a list of "don'ts") will avoid hurting anyone. These are general suggestions, and it's important to understand that although ours is not a dramatic story of multiple losses, ours is a sadly common story. The statistics are disheartening: some show miscarriages as occurring in as much as 20% of known pregnancies. The likelihood that you know someone who has had a miscarriage is high, as is the likelihood that you aren't aware of their loss, for a variety of reasons. For some folks, it just isn't as painful as it is for others, so they don't dwell on it. I want to in no way make them feel guilty for that. But for some others, the pain, grief, and even shame is too much to share publicly. They prefer to grieve privately. And for some others, they just don't have anyone they feel close enough to with which to share such a personal thing.
But some, like us, want to share both the joy (we found out about our pregnancy at 6 weeks, and shared the news shortly thereafter) and the pain (we learned the baby had died at 11 weeks, and I fully miscarried at 14 weeks) with others. So if you have friends who are going through this painful time, and you are aware that they are grieving, may I suggest some things to know, things to say, and things to do to help you grieve well with them? The following is brutally honest and rather graphic in places, so be forewarned.
Something to know: if your friends are like us, they consider this miscarriage to be the death of a child.
Something to say: "I am sorry for your loss." I know this seems simple, but sometimes it's the best option. Offer condolences and then silently grieve with them.
Something to know: if your friend has suffered this specific loss of a child, she is also having to sort through a lot of heartbreaking information and difficult decisions while in the midst of grieving. Though it is very different from the paperwork and arrangements required in the death of someone ex-utero, she still has difficult decisions to make and a painful road ahead. She will either have to wait for her body to expel the remains, or she will have to undergo surgery to remove them. If you want to know more about the physical and emotional pain that will accompany surgery, read this beautiful, harrowing piece (warning: it is very descriptive). If you're wondering about the first option, let me say that (warning: very graphic language ahead) the only thing more horrific than the waiting (in my case, for three weeks) is having to flush the remains of your first baby down the toilet like so much refuse. Far beyond even the excruciating physical pain, the gore of the blood and tissue, and the fear of complications, is that knowledge. The knowledge that your baby is gone, without a funeral, or a marker to visit, or anything. Just gone.
Something to say: "I am sorry for your loss." I cannot emphasize this enough. It can be very hurtful if well-meaning people try to minimize the loss, as though downgrading it to "just a miscarriage" could make it hurt less. "I'll be praying for your health and recovery" could also be a good thing to say.
Something to do: Send a card. Send flowers. Bring food. Bring groceries. Bring all the things you would normally bring to the home of a family who has experienced a death. This includes, hopefully, a willingness to sit and grieve with them.
Something to know: if the loss was indeed a baby, then your friends are also indeed parents. They may not get to hold and raise their child (oh, the ache of those empty, longing arms!) but they are parents nonetheless. They loved their baby as best they could, for as long as they could. The mother, especially, may be feeling guilt, shame, and horror at how her body has betrayed her. She may be worrying that the glass of wine she had or the extra mile that she jogged is what caused the miscarriage. In truth, the most likely reason is a chromosomal abnormality. If she knows this, it may only make her feel more guilty and hopeless. While there is something pure and holy about housing life inside your own body, there is something dark and horrifying about carrying a tiny corpse around inside of you. For me, at least, this constant presence of death weighed very heavily.
Something to say: "I am sorry for your loss." Again, these simple words can mean so much. As holidays like Mothers' and Fathers' Day draw near, saying "I'm praying for you--I know this day will be difficult for you" might also be a kindness.
Something to do: If there aren't other children in the home, remember this couple's baby has died, and many precious dreams along with that baby. I would have given anything to know the exhaustion, frustration, and fear that comes along with parenting a living child. It can be very hurtful if someone implies that life is better or easier without children. That is true; life is "easier" without kids. But only say things that you would say to someone who has lost a child out of the womb (like "I am sorry for your loss.") While it can in no way replace a living child, one of the most precious gifts we received was a stuffed animal with long, furry arms. I cried into that bear a lot, and it is still one of my most treasured possessions. If there are other children in the home, it might be helpful to offer to take them to the park for an afternoon. Either way, bring meals, offer to do laundry, mow the lawn. Like I said, whatever things you normally do for someone with a death in their family, do for this little family.
Something to know: you will probably say something awkward or hurtful, and without even knowing it. Don't let that stop you from loving your friends as best you know how.
Something to say: "I am sorry for your loss." Keep saying that for as long, or as often, as they need to hear it. Depending on their personalities, you might ask them how you can help. Ask them what they need. Rely on the same cues in your friendship that have thus far told you how to be a good friend.
Something to do: but also don't let your feelings get hurt by their erratic grief or anger. A miscarriage (like all deaths) is a life-changing, heartbreaking event, and your friends will not be the same. Your friendship will need to grow and mature as you walk alongside them, as it would in any tragedy. Remember (and send a card for) what would have been the due date. Remember (and give a call on) the anniversary of the miscarriage. Pray with them. Pray for them. Cry with them. Keep loving them.
Almost ten years, two beautiful healthy girls, one failed adoption, and several health issues and surgeries later, we have learned much about parenting, grief, each other, and God. We have learned much about friendship. We have been comforted, been able to comfort others, and found much joy in community. I'm glad that your grieving friends have you, that you care for them, and that you want to love them well. Lament with them, and be blessed by it.
Grieving with you,
A friend.
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