Baby Loss Counselling
for Men & Dads

When everyone asks how your partner is

One of the things that can be particularly difficult for dads is that much of the attention after baby loss is understandably focused on the person who physically carried and gave birth to the baby.

But you’re grieving too.

As men, we can quickly find ourselves feeling as though we have a job to do. We support our partner, tell family members, look after other children, deal with practical arrangements, return to work and try to keep everything functioning.

Some men throw themselves into work or the gym. Others keep constantly busy, drink more, shut down emotionally or find something practical they can do. Some try to create something positive from what’s happened, perhaps raising money or doing something meaningful in their baby’s name.

There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with keeping busy. Sometimes it’s how we get through an incredibly difficult period.

The problem comes when we’re so busy looking after everybody else that our own grief never gets any space.

Sometimes somebody simply needs to ask:

“What about you?”

I understand baby loss from the inside out

Baby loss isn’t something I only understand professionally.

My first son was born prematurely and spent time in neonatal intensive care, so I understand something of the fear and uncertainty that can come with having a baby in NICU.

My second son, Ray, was diagnosed during pregnancy with a serious congenital heart condition. He spent his entire life in hospital and died when he was six weeks old.

Those six weeks in hospital are the memories I have of my son.

Losing Ray is the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced.

Nobody prepared me for how physical grief could feel. It was incredibly heavy and seemed to sap me of energy. My thinking slowed down, my concentration and memory were affected and sleep became extremely difficult.

There were periods when I’d drive to work crying and drive home crying. The triggers could be anything: a song, something on television, a particular time of year or something completely ordinary that suddenly carried enormous meaning.

Over time, the intensity began to change. But grief didn’t move neatly from one stage to another. Sometimes I’d feel as though I was beginning to cope and then, seemingly from nowhere, it could feel like being hit in the stomach all over again.

That’s something I want other bereaved parents to know.

Grief doesn’t follow a timetable, and there’s no correct way to do it.

I’m still Ray’s dad. Losing your baby doesn’t stop you being their parent

Being a dad when your baby isn’t here

I’m very open about Ray.

His brothers know about him. We talk about him. I visit him, do things in his name and much of the work I do today is done in honour of him.

I’m still his dad.

For me, being Ray’s father when he isn’t physically here means continuing to honour him and keeping his name alive. For another dad, that relationship might look completely different.

You might want to talk about your baby. You might visit a grave or special place, mark birthdays and anniversaries, raise money, keep photographs around your home or keep your memories much more private.

Then there’s that deceptively simple question:

“How many children do you have?”

There isn’t a correct answer.

You get to decide how you talk about your baby and what being their dad means to you.