<p><strong><em>How you can help your children cope</em></strong></p><p>Summary</p><ul><li>Talking to children about <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/bereavement" target="_blank" class="wordlink">grief</a> and loss is always difficult. </li><li>It’s important to talk to them about the loss of a baby or a young child to help them process their feelings. </li><li>Letting the child choose the pace of the discussion, setting boundaries, and allowing space for flexibility can help Solo Moms and others talk about fetal/infant death. </li></ul><p><br></p><p><strong>What happened to my second son</strong></p><p>In the winter of 2005, my second son was stillborn well into my third trimester. I had, at that time, a living son who was almost three years old. When I recall that winter, I remember that the hardest thing my husband and I did was explain to our toddler that the baby he had been promised would not be coming to live with us.</p><p>We have an understandable impulse to shield children from painful realities. Infant death is unimaginable, and <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/pregnancy" target="_blank" class="wordlink">pregnancy</a> loss can be both abstract and utterly devastating. Children in a family facing this trauma tend to be quite young, and that may compound the impulse to obscure the loss. However, a lack of constructive dialogue from parent to child may come at a cost, no matter how well intended the silence. Talking about pregnancy and infant loss remains a social taboo even though <a href="http://www.arhp.org/Publications-and-Resources/Patient-Resources/Fact-Sheets/Miscarriage" target="_blank">1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage</a>, and an additional <a href="http://www.meddean.luc.edu/lumen/MedEd/EOL/Pediatric%20Palliative%20Care.pdf" target="_blank">50,000 children </a>are stillborn or die in the first 30 days of life in the United States annually.</p><p>The loss of a pregnancy or an infant touches on the idea of ambiguous loss, which impacts children as well as adults. “<a href="http://jsc.montana.edu/articles/v11n15.pdf" target="_blank">Ambiguous loss</a> refers to the physical or psychological experiences of families that are not as concrete or identifiable as traditional losses . . . [these losses may be] considered to be taboo . . . such as a miscarriage . . . ‘the relationship is not recognized, the loss is not recognized, or the griever is not perceived as one with permission to grieve’ . . . [B]ereaved children experiencing ambiguous loss often fit into one of these categories.”</p><p>Adults do not always recognize ambiguous loss as experienced by children and thus do not affirm or validate the experiences of those children who are grappling with ambiguous loss. Moreover, the children themselves have difficulty in conceptualizing and articulating their loss and may feel alone and confused.</p><p>Among the many challenges in discussing pregnancy and infant loss with children is the central fact that there is no one correct way to approach the topic. Even within one family, different ages and individual personalities may require different approaches.</p><p><strong>An expert’s perspective</strong></p><p><strong></strong>Writes pediatrician <a href="http://reconceivingloss.com/helping-siblings-through-the-grieving-process-by-dr-david-fenner/" target="_blank">Dr. David Fenner:</a> “No one knows your child better than you do and in many ways, no one knows you better than your child . . . [W]hile it is natural to try to set your emotions aside and show your children only your brave face, they will sense and share your sadness. Often they will have an insight into your emotions that no one else can sense and on a level no one else can reach. Their opportunity to help you will help in their healing as well. Don<strong></strong>’<strong></strong>t be afraid to let them in.”</p><p>Note that it is not necessary to provide a great amount of detail. Says Fenner, “Children will often ‘set aside’ bad news on issues they don<strong></strong>’<strong></strong>t understand only to revisit it again and again to digest in small bites.” Let them help you pace yourself.</p><p>In addition, each party may benefit simply from parent/child connection and presence. If a parent needs some respite, this is an excellent way to make use of offers of assistance from friends and family who are eager to help. Finally, children sometimes need reassurance regarding their own health and safety as well as that of their parent(s). Be careful not to inadvertently distance children during this time and to seek pediatric assistance if a child’<strong></strong>s anxiety becomes excessive.</p><p>It can be helpful to engage your child’<strong></strong>s process. Writes Fenner, “[F]or toddlers and preschoolers, the line between imagination and reality is often blurred. Your child might say at a later time that he misses the baby. In a way, the concept that he had of the baby and the thoughts of what they would do together were to him, real. Support him as he works through his reality.” In this way, parent and child grief around pregnancy and infant loss may not be so very different.</p><p><strong>A winter like no other</strong></p><p><strong></strong>During that terrible and beautiful winter, when I got down on the floor and played with my son, it is true that I have seldom experienced such intimacy. I still think a lot about that searing winter when the dead and the living were juxtaposed, each clamoring impossibly to be understood. I remember the white-hot grief and the blunt-force trauma of my sudden loss, and also the sweet presence of my little boy, playing with blocks.</p><p>We have, as parents, a powerful impulse to correct things. When something terrible happens we want to explain it or fix it. Or, in the absence of explanation, we want to demonstrate our steady presence in the face of it. After the stillbirth, our pediatrician gave us some excellent advice. To this day, it remains the most helpful advice I ever received about <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/parenting" target="_blank" class="wordlink">parenting</a> after baby loss. He suggested that we decide on two or three things we would not budge on as parents. Things like bedtime, how much television to watch or sugar intake. “Then,” he said, “you can be flexible about anything else.” I see now that he was telling us to be gentle with ourselves. And to do what we could to create a modicum of clarity during that bewildering time.</p><p>Making two or three go-to rules about parenting post-loss is a good idea. The definition of these things—no matter what they are—enables reflection regarding priorities and boundaries. When daily life is utterly overwhelming, it is grounding to remember the minimalist decided-upon rules.</p><p>Almost a decade later, the threads of ambiguous loss connect us all. Each of my children asks about the brother they never knew. They are not scared or sad, necessarily. They are interested and curious to imagine his life. We all experience his loss in a different way, but we are all in it together, wondering as a family and carrying on.</p><p><strong>Takeaways</strong></p><ul><li>The loss of a child can be devastating, but when you are parenting other children at the time of the loss, make two to three go-to rules to get yourself through the grief.</li><li>It’s important to validate the experience your child is having.</li></ul><br>This article was <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tara-shafer/talking-to-children-about_pregnancy-and-infant-loss_b_5878730.html" target="_blank">originally published on the <em>Huffington Post</em> blog</a> and was posted here with permission by the author.<hr><p><span style="font-size: 12px;">Illustration credit: Sofia Lindholm</span><br></p>
<em></em><em></em><em></em><em></em><p><strong><em>Lori Mullins Ennis navigates infertility, <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/bereavement" target="_blank" class="wordlink">grief</a>, and her husband’s deployment</em></strong></p><p><em>“The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places,” Ernest Hemingway famously wrote. Traumatic events shape and define us. <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/begin-again/201406/following-loss" target="_blank">Child loss</a> is considered to be among the deepest and most lasting traumas and impacts adult mental health and relationships. </em></p><p><em>Lori Mullins Ennis is the owner and editor of </em><a href="http://stillstandingmag.com/" target="_blank">Still Standing</a><em>, an online magazine for families facing the loss of a child or coping with infertility. Says Ennis, “[T]he mission of </em>Still Standing<em> is to embrace life after infertility and loss . . . to stand even in light of devastation, and hopefully, one day, jump even, at the beauty that can be after tragic events. . . .” </em></p><p><em>When she is not writing, Ennis raises money for orphans. Above all, she raises her four-year-old son, Luke. She is also a <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/military" target="_blank" class="wordlink">military</a> wife, married to Lt. Col. John Ennis, USMC. </em></p><p><em>She came to the wisdom reflected in </em>Still Standing<em> as so many do: through unimaginable adversity. She and her husband experienced a decade-long battle with infertility. Efforts to adopt failed. Following numerous interventions, including in vitro fertilization (</em><em>IVF), they became pregnant with their son Matthew, who was born at term and lived one day, owing to a rare and undiagnosed complication that occurred during his birth. She was devastated and looked for ways to understand the grief she felt at the loss of her longed-for child. </em></p><p><em>Following another round of IVF, she gave birth to her second son, Luke. After Luke’s birth, she lost a set of twins, one child at seven weeks and the other at 14 weeks. </em></p><p><em>When Luke was two years old, Ennis<em>’</em>s husband was deployed to Afghanistan on a one-year tour of duty. Solo <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/parenting" target="_blank" class="wordlink">parenting</a> a two-year-old after loss presented unique challenges, to which Ennis quickly rose. </em></p><p><em>Ennis says, “I’ve been destroyed but rebuilt. There is, without doubt, room for devastation and sorrow, but joy and restoration of my heart has been given to me and I am so grateful. I still see flashbacks; I’ve been treated for PTSD [post-traumatic stress disorder] and probably still could be . . . in the end, my gratitude trumps everything.”</em></p><p><em>I had the opportunity to speak to Ennis about her journey. </em></p><p><strong>Q: What do you think civilians misunderstand about the life of a military <a href="https://esme.com/voices/perspectives/whats-a-solo-mom" target="_blank" class="wordlink">Solo Mom</a>? </strong></p><p>A: I think that people don’t always see it as single parenting—it is not exactly the same thing, but there <em>are</em> parallels. You may <em>have</em> a spouse, but if he is deployed, he is thousands of miles away, and when you and your kid are both sick at 4:00 a.m., this fact does not address the situation in a practical way. It still takes a village. Sometimes people think that families “sign up” for it and that should make it somehow easier. But the fact is that no one ever really knows what it means to sign up for something until they are in it. And a whole village of people in a similar situation can be kind of hard to harness. People understand that the military community is embracing <em>because it is</em>—there are many kind and wonderful and generous people—but you are still alone at 4:00 a.m. with your sick kid and the bills to pay. </p><p><strong>Q: On a daily basis, what sorts of things do military moms face as they run a household? </strong></p><p>A: A lot of people believe that military spouses and their kids have [the] resources that they need when, in fact, they often don’t. Or these resources can be hard to access, especially if the primary beneficiary is deployed. Lawmakers like to sound like they are in touch with military families, and I <em>do believe</em> that many of them do their best. But at the end of the day, all the bounce house family days don’t make up for a deployed spouse who is effectively unavailable for daily help at home. That’s what they are—command-sponsored “family” days—and yet an integral part of the family is missing. It is nice for the kids and the Solo Mom, no doubt, but yeah: <em>[it’s] still not like having dad at home. </em></p><p>There are programs that people can qualify for, but they often have particular requirements. Child care is a huge issue for military families. For example, people may qualify for help if a parent is deployed, but only if the other parent is working full time. It depends on the branch of the military, but some branches are all or nothing. Sometimes moms need a break even when they are <em>not</em> working outside the home. There are programs for the Exceptional Family—for families where a child has <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/special-needs" target="_blank" class="wordlink">special needs</a>—but accessing these services can be hard; and even if services are approved, it does not always cover all the needs associated with multiple medical and therapeutic appointments. So people say that military takes care of military, and, yes, this is true; <em>b</em><em>ut</em> <em>accessing services in any bureaucratic government structure is hard</em>, especially when you are parenting alone and needing to do everything from laundry to specialized medical services. It can beat you down. </p><p><strong>Q: So, speaking of specialized medical services, how did you and John cope with Matthew’s death? </strong></p><p>A: The military was really wonderful after Matthew died. They delayed a scheduled move; they encouraged us to seek counseling as a couple. We went to counseling for a while, and it was really helpful. I remain so grateful for all that support. </p><p>We wanted to get pregnant again, and we did. I was pregnant, and then Luke was born and he was healthy. He was such a blessing. Afterwards, I lost a set of twins. I would just say that navigating infertility and child loss and grief in <em>any</em> setting is hard. This is no less true in the military. After the twins, I was told that further infertility treatments would be dangerous to my health. While there are counseling services available in the military, there can sometimes be a culture of resistance about asking for therapeutic help, and this complicates things. </p><p>Grief in the military is such a part of the experience but so, too, is the need to attend to daily tasks and function on a practical level. You pay the bills, get the kids to school, you take care of them. </p><p><strong><strong>Q</strong>: What resources were available to you as a mom who’d experienced a loss? </strong></p><p>A: Nothing that was really specialized to the military beyond couples counseling. We did attend our local <a href="https://esme.com/resources/c/pregnancy" target="_blank" class="wordlink">pregnancy</a>/infant-loss group sponsored by our local hospice. That group and those women were pivotal to our healing—feeling supported, and feeling “normal” and <em>loved</em>. </p><p>At the time of Matthew’s death, there were some groups . . . <a href="http://www.compassionatefriends.org/home.aspx" target="_blank">The Compassionate Friends</a> and some others. But I was not sure where I fit. That is some of the reason [why] I started working with <em>Still Standing</em>. Sometimes getting help is made harder by a lack of child care. If you have limited time and resources, getting out of the house for self-care is hard. </p><p><strong><strong>Q</strong>: When Luke was two, John was deployed to Afghanistan. What was that like? In the course of a few years, there had been infertility and pregnancy, baby loss, and more infertility treatments, and then your pregnancy with Luke and his miraculous birth, followed by the loss of twins. There were also failed adoptions along the way. How did you cope with all of this? </strong></p><p>A: Yes. Well, I became aware of the fact that I had to limit myself in certain ways to control my PTSD. It is weird—before Matthew died, I did not worry that much about John. I just trusted somehow that he would be OK. I don’t really know <em>why</em>—I mean, he <em>is</em> a test pilot, and sometimes the things they test don’t work. After Matthew died, I knew the worst was possible. When Luke was two and John was deployed, and we had been advised to stop further fertility treatments, I sensed I had to protect myself. I could not watch the news and imagine John in Afghanistan. There was [a] potent mix of fear I felt I had to beat back: as a military spouse with a deployed husband, I worried for him, and as a loss mom of a living child, I had traumatic grief and worry issues. </p><p><strong><strong>Q</strong>: So what did you do? </strong></p><p>A: Oh. Well, I tell you, my word for the year that John was gone was <em>opportunity</em>. All the things that were difficult remained so. But I had a year that was only us—[a] year for Luke and [me]. Matthew’s death taught me to take nothing for granted. After all that had happened, I knew I had to see it and to treat it as <em>the gift that it was—in spite of everything or, maybe even more so, because of everything</em>. We traveled all up and down the mid-Atlantic and the Southeast. We just did things we’d never maybe have the chance to do again together—without the worry of a work schedule or a school schedule. It was beautiful. </p><br>Lori Mullins Ennis invites those who would like to read about others who have experienced infertility, baby loss, or child loss to visit <a href="http://stillstandingmag.com/" target="_blank"><em>Still Standing </em>magazine</a>.<hr>