I have contemplated sharing photos of my stillborn son for months, wrestling with a mix of emotions. The truth is, fear has held me back. I worry about the judgment that my son and I might face and what others might think about our heartbreaking experience. Having worked in social media for years, I am acutely aware of its brutal nature. The thought of exposing my son to negativity and harsh criticism terrifies me more than anything.
My instinct is to protect. I can’t bear the idea of anyone forming their own opinions about our loss or, worse, dismissing him altogether. My anxiety even extends to the possibility of someone misusing his images for political motivations, as I’ve heard stories of baby photos being repurposed to push certain agendas. If someone were to take my son’s photos without consent, I would make it my mission to confront them.
Discussing miscarriage and stillbirth remains uncomfortable in society, and the idea of taking photographs of a deceased child feels even more taboo. When we were at the hospital, two pivotal questions were posed: Would we like any photos of our child, and did we want to hold him? Without thinking, I said, “No.” I hadn’t contemplated this before. Years earlier, I had seen a Facebook post featuring a stillborn baby and thought it was morbid.
If I had only realized back then what I know now.
The thought of holding my lifeless child and capturing images of him filled me with dread. I was afraid of what he might look like. However, my husband expressed his desire to hold our son and have photographs taken. That moment brought tears to my eyes. I knew I couldn’t deny him that connection, even if I felt too weak to engage in the discussion. I was ashamed to admit my fear of seeing him, worried he might appear deformed, which would only deepen my sorrow.
A compassionate nurse provided valuable insight, sharing that not one parent she had encountered regretted holding or photographing their child. Regret stemmed from those who chose not to do so. This perspective shifted my view. I reached out to my aunt for advice, and she suggested that I take the photos and simply not look at them if they were too painful. “At least you’ll have them if you change your mind,” she said.
Ultimately, I did change my mind. As the contractions progressed, I felt an overwhelming urge to see and hold the little life my husband and I had created. It was awe-inspiring to witness my body bring forth our baby after nurturing him for 18 weeks. Despite the tragedy of his passing, I wanted to celebrate the life we had made.
My husband held our son first and wept openly. Exhausted from the labor, I could barely focus on what was happening. When I was finally able to sit up, he handed me our precious baby, weighing just 3.5 ounces and measuring 8 inches long. I stared and memorized every detail—his nose, ears, and tiny fingers, all reminiscent of his father. He was so remarkably perfect, even in his stillness.
Yet, even after holding him and taking photos, I have regrets. I wish I had held him longer, captured more images, and taken a photograph alongside my husband as we embraced our baby. The moment I panicked upon seeing a small injury on his forehead haunts me. My husband instinctively took him from my arms, and I never got to kiss my child. That loss weighs heavily on me, like a 400-pound weight pressing down on my chest.
I understand that for many, my son’s photos might be difficult to view. He passed away at 16 weeks and 5 days; he wasn’t a full-term baby. His neck and head showed signs of being entwined in the umbilical cord, and his skin had begun to change. We were cautious about sharing the photos in the weeks following our loss, knowing that some friends and family might find them unsettling. We chose to show them only to those who asked.
While we comprehended why some might feel uncomfortable, we see our son in those images. He’s not just a small, lifeless baby; he’s our son, with his hands gently resting on his belly.
As time goes on, the ache of loss grows more profound. I feel like I’ve missed out on my “mom justice”—the right to share my pride. I want the world to know my son exists. After all, in today’s social media age, if it’s not posted, did it ever happen?
Recently, I found the courage to share my son’s photos after interacting with a public figure who had also endured a similar loss. Seeing her share her story and photos inspired me. This act raised awareness about miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss. By sharing my own story, I hope to fill the emptiness I feel and confront the anger and jealousy that have lingered too long.
We only have four photos of our son—those precious few that we are willing to share. They are a testament to a life that mattered, even if it was brief.
In Summary
Sharing the photos of my stillborn child is a way to honor his existence, combat the stigma surrounding loss, and connect with others who may feel similarly isolated. It is a courageous act of vulnerability that I hope will foster understanding and acceptance.