The Silence No One Prepares You For
(written especially for my brother and sister-in-law, but also for all who have experienced miscarriage and infant loss)
There are losses that the world knows how to acknowledge.
And then there are losses it does not.
Miscarriage and infant loss often fall into that second category—not because they are smaller, but because they are harder to speak about. They interrupt expectations before they fully take form. They leave behind no shared script for mourning.
And so, too often, they are carried quietly.
Not because they are light.
But because they are unbearable.
Shattered
Shattered
Like a windowpane
Broken by a storm
Each tiny piece of me lies alone
And scattered
Far beyond repair
All my shiny dreams
Just lying there
Just lying there
There is a word that captures this kind of loss more accurately than most.
Shattered.
The song Shattered by Jimmy Webb carries that sense—of something broken, not cleanly, but completely. Not something that can simply be put back together, but something that must be lived with in its brokenness.
Grief of this kind does not resolve quickly.
It changes shape over time.
But it does not disappear.
The Life That Was Already Loved
By the time a child is lost, that child has already been received.
Even if no one else has seen the life, the parents have.
In imagination.
In anticipation.
In the quiet reshaping of the future.
Names may have been spoken.
Rooms imagined.
A life begun—not in the world’s recognition, but in the heart.
And when that life is taken, something real is taken with it.
Not hypothetical.
Not abstract.
Real.
Why We Don’t Talk About It
I’m broken but I’m laughing
It’s the sound of falling glass
I hope that you won’t mind if I should cry
In public while I wait for this to pass
‘Cause I am shattered
Into fragments cold and gray
Sweep the pieces all away
Then no one will ever know how much it mattered.
There is a hesitation around this kind of grief.
People do not know what to say.
And when language fails, silence takes over.
But the silence can wound.
Because it suggests—unintentionally—that the loss is not fully legitimate. That it should be processed quickly. Quietly. Privately.
And so those who grieve often feel a second burden layered on top of the first:
Not only loss—
but isolation.
The Weight Carried by a Mother
There is a particular weight that falls upon the mother.
Not because the father does not grieve—but because the loss is carried in a way that is both physical and interior.
In his novel “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” Milan Kundera says, “love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost,” and I think that this implicitly describes the feelings of the mother after miscarriage.
The body remembers.
There is a before and an after.
And between them, a rupture.
The expectations of motherhood do not simply disappear when the child is lost. They remain, but without fulfillment. The arms are empty, but not unprepared. The heart has already opened, and now must remain open to an absence.
This is not something easily explained.
It is something endured.
The Father’s Grief
The father’s grief is often quieter—but not lesser.
He carries:
- the loss of the child
- the pain of the mother
- the responsibility to remain steady
And sometimes, in trying to be strong, he becomes silent.
Not because he does not feel.
But because he does not know how to express what he feels without adding to the weight already present.
Sometimes the only place he feels free to express himself is alone in the bathroom. In fact, a great resource for men is the book, “Sometimes I Cry in the Shower,” by Keith Jenkins.
When Grief Enters a Marriage
Miscarriage and infant loss do not only affect individuals.
They affect the space between them.
Grief rarely moves at the same pace in two people. One may want to speak, the other may withdraw. One may need to revisit the memory, the other may struggle to remain there.
And so, what began as a shared loss can begin to feel like separate experiences.
This is where strain enters.
Not because love is absent—
but because pain is present.
Breaking the Stigma
One of the most important steps forward is simple, but difficult:
Speaking.
Not forcing speech.
Not demanding explanation.
But allowing space for truth.
To say:
- this happened
- this mattered
- this child was loved
And to hear, in response, not solutions—but presence.
The stigma around miscarriage and infant loss persists, largely, because it remains hidden. And it remains hidden because it is painful.
But silence does not protect.
It isolates.
What Helps
There is no formula for healing.
But there are things that matter:
- being able to speak the child’s existence
- being allowed to grieve without timeline
- being met without discomfort or avoidance
- remaining together, even when grief is uneven
Small things.
But not insignificant.
A Different Kind of Holding
‘Cause I’m shattered
Into fragments cold and gray
Sweep the pieces all away
Then no one will ever know how much it mattered
And something deep inside of me is
Shattered
There is a way in which what is lost is still held.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
But truly.
Memory holds.
Love holds.
God holds.
And although it does not help lessen the physical or emotional pain here on Earth, there is comfort in knowing that those of us who have lost little ones will have Saints waiting to greet us one day in Heaven.
I, for one, cannot wait to see my three saints robed in Heavenly glory when I depart this Earthly existence.
This is not an answer that resolves pain.
But it is a truth that prevents it from becoming meaningless.
A Final Word
Miscarriage and infant loss are not minor griefs.
They are profound.
And those who carry them should not have to carry them alone.
If there is something to be done, it is this:
To acknowledge the reality of the loss.
To resist the urge to minimize it.
To remain present, even in silence.
And perhaps, over time, to allow what has been shattered not to be erased—but to be carried with dignity.
A fantastic resource is the group: No Footprint to Small, which offers several amazing resources. Another great online resource is Rachel’s Gift.
If you or someone you know has experienced a miscarriage or the loss of an infant, please do not suffer in silence. Know that there are people and organizations that are willing and able to help. Talk to your spouse, a friend, a counselor, a priest or pastor, the author of this post.
Break the stigma, bring the conversation to the forefront. Our children existed, they mattered, they wait for us and pray for us from Heaven.
For further reading check out my other posts:
“The Trouble With Hello is Goodbye.” https://foodfortheway.com/the-trouble-with-hello-is-goodbye-saying-goodbye-with-love/
“Grant Us Thy Gift of Absolution” https://foodfortheway.com/o-righteous-judge-grant-they-gift-of-absolution-lest-they-be-forgotten/
