Men and all the Babies they’d Lost

Photo by Nynne Schrøder on Unsplash

The last thing I expected to find at a men’s Christian fellowship meeting was men talking about the babies they’d lost.

As a new person to this particular meeting I was asked to share a part of my story. I talked about my children, which means talking about my stillborn son. It wasn’t until after the meeting that one of the men pulled me aside and shared his story, and then another did as well. As the other men watched on, listening intently to each man share his story, there were nods of agreement that suggested more than theoretical knowledge.

I venture to say that each of these men had either personal experience or they knew of someone close to them who had had such experience.

So many men have lost babies; so many have walked alongside their wives as they miscarried, had stillbirths, had lost infants, or had had other family members lose children. And so many babies that are aborted are missed, too, and indeed it can be argued they’re missed more, if that’s possible.

Those who have suffered infant loss
have suffered three losses on average.

As Michael shared, speaking about how he had stood by his wife, he spoke of how shocked they were that, at full term, the baby’s heart had just stopped. As David shared, he stated how much he had learned in losing his baby. (Both men said they’d lost at least one other baby/pregnancy.) They both said that what they hated at the time was people telling them that ‘God had a plan for this in their lives,’ or that, ‘Perhaps you have a secret sin in your life He’s trying to deal with — maybe start going to church again.’ What? Of course, that’s rubbish. And how inappropriate it is to sully God’s name and offend the sensibilities of grief.

What encouraged me most about these two interactions was that these men were being vulnerable and were even prepared to be emotional as they demonstrated their connection with their wives. The meeting was good, but these interactions are the ones that prove transformational.

Having only recently been at a meeting to discuss how a silent grief conference was to be run, there was a comment made that we somehow needed to explore men’s grieving. And less than 24 hours later I found myself absorbed by a conversation that just took off.

It proved to me that men, fathers and grandfathers, brothers and uncles, need to talk about their lost sons and daughters and siblings and nieces and nephews.

When we make space to talk about our grief,
and when others are prepared to listen,
not to interrupt and advise,
but to listen to learn and show care,
great healing can be had.

Men need to process their grief
just as much as women do.

Whilst fathers don’t carry their children,
their children are nonetheless theirs.

Whilst fathers don’t carry their children,
they carry the same hope that mothers do.

When men are bravely vulnerable enough to express their grief, which is them just being honest about how much love hurts in loss, they open up precious emotional space with the women in their lives.

**Michael and David’s names have been changed.