egrif

Almost a decade ago, a dear friend gave birth to premature twins — a boy and a girl — who only lived a few hours.

Years later, when my own sibling experienced a stillbirth, this friend provided compassionate guidance to help me support them (from across the country, during COVID). But it was two things she said to me right after her children died that were most impactful: “Sometimes I just go in my room and cry because I know what a baby coffin looks like” and “Sometimes I just want to scream and yell and cry, but I can’t just call people up to do that.”

When my dear nephew died, my first goal was to make sure his parents didn’t have to know what a baby coffin looked like. I coordinated the baby’s transfer from the hospital morgue, to the autopsy location, to the funeral home from across the country. I was able to do almost every thing — at one point there was a form that my brother and his wife had to docusign. I also arranged for baby’s cremains to be delivered by someone at the funeral home rather than FedExed (!?!?). I also found a few options for personalized urns online and sent them to my brother and sister in law, letting them make the decision, but hopefully sparing them having to wade through the dreck. There are a lot of these kind of difficult administrative tasks that happen after stillbirth. Some of them you can do as a third party. Some you can’t. Do the ones you can. Ask if they want a ceremony, curate it to a few choices, and present those. Sent postpartum supplies (remember, mom still gave birth!). If mom wants to pump and donate milk, coordinate it. If they have older kids and you live near by, take them to school and their activities. Send meals and treat and flower. My brother and sister-in-law don’t know what a baby coffin looks like. I do. This is one of my dearest accomplishments in life.

Pick up whenever they call. And call them every day. I told them up front what my friend had said and told them I was going to call every day. That they didn’t have to pick up if they didn’t want to talk and they should feel no obligation, but if they wanted to scream and cry and yell with someone, I was going to give them that opportunity every day. Also if they wanted to talk about anything but the tragedy that had swallowed their lives. No judgement. I called every day for many many days. Most days they picked up, some they didn’t. This was not easy. I had two young children of my own and was working a full time job and it was COVID. My husband is a hero. On my birthday a few days later, they wrote me a card that included how many days in a row I had called (it was dozens). They counted. Because it mattered.

Remember their baby. My nephew has been dead for a few years now. I still reach out when something reminds me of him or their experience with him. I donate to their chosen cause on his birthday. My children know his name. He’s part of our family.

Please support your brother-in-law as well, or try to encourage the appropriate people to. Both my friend and my sister-in-law felt like their husbands didn’t get the support they needed from family and friends.

Take guidance from your sister and brother-in-law. Keep doing what they respond well to and drop what they don’t. Don’t take anything personally.

Understand that all of this is helping along the margins. There’s absolutely nothing you can do with the big thing. Their baby is dead. It’s awful and unfair and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. What you can do is let them know that they aren’t alone in their grief or their love, and ease as many of their other burdens as you can.

I’m so sorry for the loss of your nibling. I am a better mother, sister, wife, friend and person than I was before my nephew’s brief time in our lives. This is a small consolation for the death of a baby, but it’s a real, tangible legacy. He’s there every time I agree to an extra song at bedtime even though I’m bone tired and still have work to do. He’s there every time I’m able to pull myself back from the edge because my six-year-old won’t just put on his shoes so we can leave from school. He’s there when I’m able to stay calm and focused on the way to the ER after a nasty fall and a broken bone. He’s in every hug and kiss and wiped away tear. And my brother and sister-in-law know this. They know that their son transformed us and lives in us.