A couple of years ago, my husband visited the doctor and returned with a diagnosis: PTSD. I wasn’t shocked, as I had been diagnosed not long before him. I could easily identify the symptoms—flashbacks, nightmares, social withdrawal, and a pervasive sense of mistrust.
Our tragic loss occurred when our four-month-old daughter passed away suddenly. One morning, after what seemed like a perfectly ordinary weekend, I woke up to find my baby unresponsive, her little body gray and with a bloody nose—a horrifying common sign of SIDS. We called for help, and desperately tried CPR, but it felt like we were fighting a battle we could never win. Each chest compression brought more blood from her mouth, and by the time the first responders arrived, I knew deep down that she was already gone.
The moments that haunt me the most are the vivid images from that day: her lifeless form, the frantic attempts to revive her, and my husband’s heart-wrenching cries of “Not my baby!” as he collapsed in despair. The trauma of that experience is something no parent should ever go through.
In the immediate aftermath, my husband and I began grieving in starkly different ways. In the trauma room, I held our daughter close, tracing her features and kissing her gently, while he withdrew to a corner, overwhelmed by his emotions. He wanted to escape the hospital as quickly as possible, while I struggled to confront the reality of our home—four walls that now felt suffocating.
In the days following her death, he packed away her baby gear without consulting me. I tried to respect his need to distance himself from the pain, but I wasn’t ready to let go. While he locked away memories of our daughter, I found solace in remembering her, cherishing the precious moments we had.
Despite sharing the same PTSD diagnosis stemming from the same tragedy, our experiences feel like they exist in different realms. My disorder manifests as an irrational fear of the future, while he grapples with intense anger over what has transpired. I need to discuss our daughter’s life and death to process my grief, but he prefers silence on the subject.
Our relationship has undoubtedly changed, and it breaks my heart. We struggle to find common ground in our grief, often leading to a painful disconnect. He is the only one who truly understands the depth of our loss, yet he refuses to share that burden with me. Instead, he often lashes out, hurting those he loves most—often me—while I strive to be supportive and compassionate.
I see him awaken from nightmares and rush to check on our other children when they sleep too soundly. Even though he doesn’t speak about his struggles, I can sense the demons he’s battling, and I yearn for him to feel safe enough to confide in me.
His anger and restlessness are symptoms of a deeper pain, and I miss the man he used to be before grief consumed him. I miss the couple we once were and the days when PTSD was not part of our lives. The journey through this shared tragedy has been isolating, but I hold onto hope that we can find a way back to each other.
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Summary
My husband and I are both grappling with PTSD after the tragic loss of our daughter, but we process our grief in profoundly different ways. While I seek to remember and discuss our daughter, he tends to withdraw and suppress memories. This divergence has strained our relationship, leaving us feeling isolated from one another. We miss the connections we once had before the trauma defined our lives.
Keyphrase: PTSD after child loss
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