When we lose someone who lived a long life, we grieve what we had. But when we lose a baby—whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, or in infancy—we often grieve what we hoped to have. As one parent put it:
Losing an infant is disorienting. There’s often no laughter to remember, no shared stories, no history to cling to—only an empty nursery. And many unanswered questions. Losing an infant is a thick grief. There is hope and healing, but it likely won’t come easy.
The emotional toll of losing a baby is often hard to explain. You’re grieving a person you barely got to know, and yet the grief feels unshakeable. Walter, who faced repeated miscarriages and ultimately the stillbirth of his child, spoke of the emotional complexity of his grief:
For many parents, that disconnect—between what the world sees and what you feel—can be isolating. You try to explain the depth of your love to others, but they often don’t understand. That love you have, when paired with loss, brings all kinds of emotions: sadness, guilt, confusion, and maybe even numbness. Some days you may want to protect yourself by pulling away from those closest to you. That’s what happened to Walter. He says, “There were days I wanted to emotionally detach from my daughter and my wife. But I realized that staying near—loving them even when it hurt—was one of the ways I could show the kindness of God.”
And then there’s the physical side of grief, which is often overlooked. For many women, the postpartum experience continues—hormonal shifts, physical recovery, and milk coming in without a baby to feed. This embodied sorrow makes even small moments, like walking past a nursery, feel crushing.
After her son died at two months old, Vaneetha felt hopeless. She told a friend, “I might be okay, but I will never laugh again.” It was hard to live in her house; everywhere she turned she was haunted by his absence. She shares that shortly after her son died:
In such moments it can feel impossible to imagine ever moving forward. But many parents have found there are ways to cope and to keep going—even when the unthinkable happens.
There’s no magic formula for coping. You probably feel like there is no way forward. But many parents who’ve been through the loss of a baby have found ways to keep going. Not by fixing the pain, but by learning how to live with it. What follows isn’t a checklist. These are simple, honest practices shared by people who’ve been where you are.
You don’t have to be good at writing to benefit from journaling. You don’t need to be concerned about spelling, grammar, or sentence structure. The effort of writing down what you are thinking and feeling over time helps you better grasp what you are experiencing. And if you do this over time, as you reflect on relevant insights from and the implications of God’s Word, you can see how you’re changing. Many times that is a great encouragement.
Journaling was a lifeline for LaTonya. She shares, “I started journaling after losing Harmony. At first, I just wrote down questions: ‘Why? What now?’ But over time, writing helped me heal.”
You don’t need to write every day. There are a number of ways you could structure a journal, but in whatever way you choose, write about both the thoughts and feelings you have as you work through your grief. Some people start by simply naming what’s hard: Today I feel numb. I didn’t think it would hit me like this. I miss what I thought we’d have. Or: I’m angry, hurt, and confused. I don’t even know how to lift my head off this pillow.
Journaling gives grief a voice instead of keeping it bottled up inside. It doesn’t necessarily fix the pain, but it does begin to help you process it. It also reminds you that your story matters, and your baby’s story matters.
After the funeral, Vaneetha felt completely overwhelmed. She walked back into her house and everything looked different. Paul’s things were still there—his clothes, his baby items—and she didn’t know what to do with any of it.
“Right away I thought, How am I supposed to put my life back together?” she said. Even simple routines felt impossible. Taking her daughter Katie to preschool, making meals, doing laundry—none of it made sense anymore.
At first, the daily tasks felt like too much. She was grateful for the responsibility of caring for Katie and her husband, Dave, but there were days she just wanted to stay in bed and shut the world out.
“I didn’t want to think about meals or anything like that again,” she said. “I wanted someone else to handle it all.”
But as painful as it was, the ordinary tasks slowly began to pull her back into life. She says, “What helped me was being really practical. I stopped looking at everything I had to do and just asked, ‘What’s the next thing?’ Fold the laundry. Put Katie down for a nap. That’s how I made it through—ten minutes at a time.”
Grief can make you want to disappear if people are insensitive. Well-meaning words can land like a punch. And sometimes the silence of others is even louder and more painful. This can make you feel like you need to be around people and yet want everyone to go away at the same time. It’s easier to withdraw than risk being misunderstood.
But over and over, grieving parents have said that community made all the difference. Walter shared how much his local church meant to him in the early days of his loss.
For Walter, this support wasn’t just temporary. Staying connected to his church helped him keep healing long after the funeral was over. They also helped give him purpose. It was here that he found others who’d walked a similar road and he was able to help them. He says, “Helping others through the kinds of grief we’ve been through—there’s healing in that too.”
So whether it’s a church community, a support group like GriefShare, a small circle of trusted friends, or a faithful counselor—try to find people who are safe. Those will be people who don’t try to fix you and who let your tears come freely. You don’t have to tell your story to everyone. But it’s helpful to find someone who sees you and stays with you through this journey.
One of the most difficult things about this particular grief is the pressure to move on. People don’t often say it out loud, but it lingers on the surface. Even if nobody says anything, the way others are going on with their life can make you feel pressured. But, how can you possibly go on after a loss like this?
These simple acts communicate that your child mattered. Your child still matters, and they always will. Grief doesn’t have a finish line, but the shaper edges can dull over time. Though your timeline may be different, listen to the hope that Vaneetha found:
This loss will change you permanently. Your baby’s life mattered. But you can walk in hope and healing. This is not a path you want to walk alone. If you’d like to find hope and healing with others, consider joining a GriefShare group near you. In a GriefShare group you will hear from experts and fellow grievers. You will receive a participant guide with exercises, Bible studies, and brief articles that will provide suggestions for responding to your loss and considering what the future might hold. To find a group, go to GriefShare.
If you’re looking for a guide to help you through journaling, the GriefShare Reflections journal may be just the resource you’re looking for.