A spread of fresh bagels and lox, wrapped in the warm embrace of my loved ones—that’s how I envisioned the farewell for my daughter. Yet, there was no gathering, no ceremony, no comforting hugs—only the heavy silence that has enveloped my days since losing my baby girl, Mia.
Experiencing grief in March 2020 meant confronting loss in the shadow of a pandemic. “Would you prefer to delay the service, or hold it without attendees?” the cemetery inquired, a question that echoed painfully in my mind. I couldn’t find the words to respond as I grappled with the reality of my situation.
A few weeks prior, I had celebrated my baby shower, my seven-month pregnant belly prominent in a flowing white dress, my hair styled perfectly. Every moment outside of work was dedicated to preparing the nursery, arranging furniture, toys, and clothes. A trivial dispute over the bookshelf’s placement marked one of our evenings, resolved only after we reached a compromise.
What should have been the final weeks of anticipation for our baby turned into a frantic battle for survival. An induction lasted forty-eight hours, leading to two emergency surgeries, days spent in the ICU, and a week in the hospital. I was discharged in the second week of March, just as stay-at-home orders began.
“Would you like to postpone the funeral, or proceed without a gathering?” The cemetery needed clarity on our choice, which felt utterly impossible. First, we lost our daughter, and now we faced the loss of the chance to mourn together—a secondary grief born of the pandemic.
Mia would be laid to rest in Los Angeles, where both my husband and I grew up, in a cemetery surrounded by family. We could drive the 2.5 hours to attend alone or send a couple of family members as our proxies. Fearing the virus and considering my weakened immune system from a harrowing delivery, we chose to remain in San Diego and watch the service via FaceTime. My sister and my husband’s brother would attend on our behalf.
We sent items for her casket: a yellow blanket adorned with clouds, a personalized blanket, a stuffed hedgehog, and miniature shoes representing her future as a sports fan. As we selected these mementos, I remembered the letters I had penned to her throughout my pregnancy. I decided to include them, placing the stack of sealed letters—each marked with the date and my pregnancy stage—into the box.
Every part of my postpartum body ached as I made my way upstairs. I carried the box to my room, lit my favorite candle—a soothing scent filling the air—and let the tears flow as I tried to express my love for her on paper. This would be the last letter I would ever write, and the weight of that realization struck me deeply.
Days later, the phone rang; it was time for our virtual farewell. Family members gathered in our stead, and I turned off the camera so we wouldn’t be seen. Here we were, FaceTiming for my daughter’s funeral amidst a global crisis—what had become of the world?
I curled into my husband’s embrace, resting my head against his shoulder. He held me tenderly, offering the comfort I so desperately needed—comfort I wished to provide to my baby. He whispered words meant to soothe: “She’s at peace now. No more pain or suffering.”
The ceremony was brief and somber. With the press of a button, we returned to being a family of two, deprived of the third that should have been.
In the initial months, cards filled our mailbox, messages flooded our phones, and packages arrived on our doorstep. Yet, as time passed, those gestures dwindled, leaving us in a profound silence. People assumed we had moved on, unaware that moving on is a myth; we only learn to move forward in our new reality.
First, we lost our daughter, then our right to gather, followed by the silence that accompanies death. Grief is an arduous journey, demanding that we continue living when our worlds have crumbled. Society seldom accommodates grief, and the additional losses we encounter deepen the isolation.
All these truths about grief resonate with anyone who has experienced loss— but what is it like to grieve in a pandemic? There are no gatherings, memorials, or funerals. Many face the anguish of saying goodbye alone, and while some manage virtual farewells, they can never replace the real-life connections lost.
Supporting someone through grief was already challenging; the pandemic has added layers of complexity. But there is still hope: you can help those grieving by offering your presence, even from afar.
Release the notion that you must “fix” their grief. Such a task is unachievable. The best support you can offer is to acknowledge their pain; listen, validate their feelings, and accept their emotional journey. It’s natural for them to express sadness, anger, or despair—allow space for these emotions.
Though the pandemic has been tough on everyone, it hasn’t made anyone’s grief less significant. Remember, those grieving are navigating the same challenges as everyone else, compounded by their loss.
Reach out often—call, text, send cards or food. Let your grieving friend know they matter, and so does their loss. Ongoing support is crucial; grief isn’t confined to a specific timeline.
Isolation can be particularly harsh for someone grieving during a pandemic. They may struggle to access their support systems or engage in activities that typically provide comfort. Remind them they are loved and thought of during this time of reflection and uncertainty.
Grief, while daunting, can be supported. Trained therapists can help navigate the healing process, even though they cannot remove the pain.
To those experiencing grief, my heart goes out to you. Grief is a natural part of life, but that doesn’t make it easy or acceptable. You don’t need to “get over” your loss; your grief is valid. Society often mislabels grief as a disorder, but that reflects a misunderstanding of its nature.
We grieve because we love. We grieve because we are human. This perspective is essential for those of us in the field of mental health. If you’re grieving, it’s normal to struggle—how could you not?
As you navigate this new path of loss, know you’re not alone. I hope you find moments of ease, support, and love. May you also discover light amidst the darkness, allowing for coexistence with your grief, rather than erasure of your experiences.
For additional insights on the topic, you can check out this related post on home insemination, and for more information on artificial insemination, visit Make A Mom. Also, consider exploring in vitro fertilisation for more resources.
Probable Search Queries:
- How to cope with grief during a pandemic
- Virtual funeral experiences
- Parenting after loss
- Supporting a friend through grief
- Grieving without a gathering
Summary:
This article reflects on the profound loss experienced during a pandemic, detailing a mother’s heart-wrenching journey through grief after losing her baby. It discusses the challenges of mourning in isolation, the importance of community support, and offers insights into how to help grieving individuals. Grief is a universal experience that transcends time and circumstance, and this piece emphasizes the need for compassion and understanding during such a difficult period.
Keyphrase: Grief during a pandemic
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]