April 11 was my second-born grandson, Conner’s, birthday. He would have been 16 this year. Oh, the fun age. The 16th birthday, to me, is when you no longer feel like you are a child but not quite an adult. You aren’t quite sure where to go with those feelings you have inside you. Also, the child seems to change physically.
But I will never get to see those changes in my grandson. As a matter of fact, I never got to share any birthdays with him as he was stillborn. To this day, we do not know what happened on his day of birth, but he stopped breathing shortly before he was born. No reason was ever given.
I can still feel the horrific chain of events of that day. As a grandparent, I wasn’t sure what to do. Where is there a handbook written on “What to do when you grandchild dies?” As a grandparent, you are in such grief and in such complete shock yourself, you aren’t sure what to do first when you are given the news of the death of the baby – and your grandbaby!
I think I remember sitting on the edge of the bed completely stunned at first thinking this can’t be happening. The pregnancy was so normal, so what went wrong?
The medical staff had taken my daughter into the operating room to do an emergency C-Section, and when the doctor came out to give us the unbelievable news, I wrapped my arms around my son-in-law, David, and sobbed with him. Later, we went to see Conner in his bassinet together and just wept. The pain in my heart was so deep as I watched his daddy hold him; he shook with grief.
Suddenly, my mind whirled as I thought: What do I do now? And what do I tell my daughter when she wakes up?
After awhile, I called my husband and the other grandparents. Then I sat and waited for my daughter to come back to her room. While waiting, I prayed and prayed for God to give me the strength to help my daughter through this. You see, a grandparent has the pain of losing a grandchild and then there is the enormous pain that you have for your own child. I don’t know which hurts worse.
When Michelle (my daughter) came out, she and David cried like I’ve never seen anyone cry before. It tore me up inside. It took my breath away. I felt smothered. Then my daughter reached out to me, and we hugged and she asked me “why?” Again, no answer. All I could do was hang on to her tight and give her my love and support.
I remember on the day we lost Conner seeing all the people in the hospital walking around. Some were talking and laughing, others having lunch in the café, others leaving in their cars, and I just wanted to yell, “Hey, stop, I just lost my grandson! You need to stop and grieve with me! Can’t you see I am hurting?!” But the world goes on around us.
The pain was at times overwhelming. I felt helpless. I wanted to fix the problem. But I couldn’t. There are some things not even a parent can fix. But with my faith in tact, I went forward and was there for my daughter at all times. I respected her times when she just needed to be alone too.
But I also remembered to grieve for my grandson. You have to. You will go through many grieving steps, and you need to take each one as it comes. Your grief won’t go away overnight, and don’t let anyone try to tell you that it will whether you are the parents or grandparents. Also, friends do console the parents, as they should, but often times forget the grandparents are grieving tremendously. People forget that a grandparent grieves twice – once for the grandchild they lost and again for their own child that is hurting.
I wasn’t upset with anyone, that is just the way it is. I am thankful I was raised to have strong faith in God and that is what I relied on.
Tags: grief, hope, signs and connections
Dear Sherry,
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Judith
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Let me first say I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.
Your tender words about your grandson Conner and how you suffered both for yourself and your daughter (and son-in-law) made me think of my mother Nita’s predicament.
At the time of my husband and my loss (our baby girl Ariane Eira died during the five last minutes of her breech delivery), everything my mother said seemed wrong. Hearing about our baby’s death through the phone from our delivery coach her first words were: “Will she be all right, can she have another baby?” At least that’s what our coach told us. She added in anger that my mother should have gone first, not our child.
Today I can’t imagine a more hurtful thing to say, even if the expectation and hope of parents is that their children survive them.
Thanks to your post my husband and I acknowledged the pain she must have felt but didn’t show, we talked about her limitations, and that the coach, of all people could have known not to ostracize my mom.
Luckily we had a chance to make amends years later, and in a totally unexpected way. One day I received a call from my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s. She must have had a lucid moment when she asked her caregiver to call me, so she could tell me she’d been told she was a grandmother, and to ask me if it was true that our baby had died. I told her yes, and after she asked what happened, I told her. “That’s so sad,” she said. It seemed she wanted to say more, but thought the better of it. “What else did you want to say?” I asked. “Nothing, I don’t want to stir things up for you,” she said.
“You can’t stir things up, everything is in the clear,” I said, “Please tell me.”
“I wanted to say that I’m so impressed with the way you and Gary have dealt with the blows you’ve received, and with the life you have created together. I think that’s awesome,” she said.
“I made you cry,” she said when she heard me sniff.
“They’re good tears,” I said.
Thank you Sherry, for letting me remember.
Warmly,
Thank you for sharing your story with me. It brought tears to my eyes. I am sorry for your loss too. I can’t imagine a person, let alone a coach, saying that it is better that one human dies over another. But in our moments of grief we do not think rationally at times. Also, for some people, even a coach, they are not prepared to handle deaths, especially a child’s death. I am so thankful that God gave your mom a lucid moment and was able to have a conversation with you and you were able to make peace with her concerning the death of your precious daughter.
I am sorry for you loss and as a grandparent I know what you are saying. I just recently lost a granddaughter Alexis to a congenital heart defect that took her at almost 15 months of age. This is actually the second loss for me. I lost another granchild at 3 1/2 months of age to which we really never found out the reason for her death. I grieved for both babies but it is hard to explain but the loss of Alexis is so much harder to handle. Some say because we had her longer and watched all the struggles that she went thru with multiple surgeries and procedures but thru it all my precious angel kept a smile on her face. I have had loss before but the grief that I am experiencing is greater than I have felt before. I know I am grieving for myself and for my daughter. I know there are no magic words to make the pain go away I just want to deal with it in a way so that I am still able to function. Thank You for sharing your story and it helps to know that sometime the grandparents do suffer in silence but they don’t have to.
Lisa