Stillbirth Anniversary Grief: Living With Loss Years Later
Andrea Bevan
About the Author
Andrea Bevan-Ducker is a trauma-informed coach, author of Sacrificial Girl, and founder of What Life Throws At You.
Drawing from both professional training and lived experience, I support individuals in healing from trauma, rebuilding self-worth, and moving from survival to a life of strength and growth.
My work focuses on self-awareness, acceptance, emotional healing, and helping others reconnect with themselves in a safe and supportive way.
My Story of Loss
If you are here because you have lost a baby, I am truly sorry.
The pain of losing a baby to stillbirth is hard to describe.
Losing a baby is one of the hardest things a parent can face. The grief can feel never-ending and overwhelming, and it changes your life in so many ways.
I’m sharing my story not because I want sympathy, but because I hope it helps others feel less alone and gives some sense of what this kind of loss is like.
I go into this subject in much more detail on my support page. Read here the full story, all about stillbirth and where to get the help and support you need
But in this blog, I wanted to highlight more about the grief surrounding stillbirth
My Own Experience
This year marks 25 years since our loss.
In April, over the Easter Bank Holiday weekend, I gave birth at home to my stillborn baby.
For months during my pregnancy, I had daily bleeding. I went to the hospital many times, but each time they told me everything was fine. Even when I was in the hospital with infections and complications, I was told that both my baby and I were healthy.
I spent about a week in the hospital with an infection. I felt weak, faint, and unwell. As Easter got closer, they let me go home.
On Good Friday, I woke up without bleeding for the first time in months. It felt like things were finally improving.
Later that morning, after severe pain, I delivered my baby at home.
We drove 45 minutes back to the hospital that had sent me home just the day before. They promised us answers, an autopsy, and some explanation of what had happened.
In the days that followed, we got no answers. There was only silence.
We waited, and weeks slowly turned into months.
The chaplain called regularly, confused by the delays, saying, “I’ve never experienced anything like this.”
We couldn’t bury our baby until July, three months later.
The hospital lost reports and wouldn’t share the results with us.
We were never told our baby’s gender, and I hadn’t looked when we wrapped our baby.
I know I will never have that chance again.
Years later, my daughter, who was just one at the time, was diagnosed with a rare bleeding disorder that took years to identify.
I still wonder if having answers back then could have changed things for her.
The Silence That Follows Loss
In the months after losing my baby, I mostly grieved in silence.
Sometimes it came in waves.
Sudden tears I couldn’t explain.
There were moments when everything felt heavy and overwhelming.
No words ever felt big enough for what had happened.
There were questions that never had answers.
And there was guilt.
I still asked myself:
Could I have pushed harder?
Should I have questioned more?
Did I miss something?
These questions never bring answers.
They only add to the weight I carry.
Why Stillbirth Grief Feels Different
Stillbirth is not only grief.
It is also trauma.
You go through pregnancy.
You go through labour.
But there is no cry.
No celebration.
Only silence.
Your body has been prepared for life.
But you are left holding a loss.
This creates a deep emotional and physical disconnect that is hard to explain unless you have been through it yourself.
The Loneliness of Invisible Grief
One of the hardest things about stillbirth is how invisible it can become.
In the beginning, there may be support.
Messages. Flowers. Kind words.
But over time, life continues for everyone else.
And you are left carrying something that stays with you forever.
There aren’t shared memories for others to hold onto.
No stories told over time.
No milestones to mark together.
But your connection to your baby was real.
You felt them.
You carried them.
You imagined their future.
That love never goes away.
Stillbirth Anniversary Grief
Even years later, grief does not disappear.
It just changes over time.
Anniversaries can bring all those feelings back.
The date.
The memories.
The feelings in your body.
You may notice:
A heaviness in the days leading up
Emotional waves without a clear reason
Memories resurfacing
A deep sense of absence
This isn’t going backwards.
This is remembering.
The body remembers.
The heart remembers.
You may find yourself wondering who your baby would have been.
What they would look like.
What their life might have been.
These thoughts are not unhealthy.
They are just love continuing on.
Learning to Live With the Loss
For a long time, the grief felt overwhelming.
Some days, I could function.
Some days I couldn’t.
Over time, something shifted.
Not because the loss became smaller.
But because I learned how to carry it with me.
Healing, for me, was not about “moving on.”
It was about learning to live with both the love and the loss.
It meant letting myself feel moments of joy without feeling disloyal.
It was about realising that remembering doesn’t mean I’m stuck.
It means I loved deeply and still do.
Coping With Stillbirth Grief
There is no single way to grieve.
What helps one person may not help another.
But some parents find comfort in:
Lighting a candle on significant dates
Writing letters to their baby
Creating a memory box
Visiting a meaningful place
Talking about their baby
Journaling thoughts and emotions
Seeking therapy or support groups
Some choose quiet remembrance.
Some choose to speak openly.
Both ways are valid.
The Emotional Reality
Grief after stillbirth may include:
Shock
Anger
Guilt
Numbness
Anxiety
Loneliness
You may feel:
“I should be coping better”
“I should be further along by now”
But grief doesn’t follow a set timeline.
There’s no single “right way” to go through this.
A Gentle Reminder
If you are reading this and carrying this kind of loss:
Your baby mattered.
Your pregnancy mattered.
Your grief matters.
You are not weak for still feeling it.
You are not broken for needing time.
Grief doesn’t just disappear.
It becomes a part of you.
And within that, you can find strength.
Final Words
When I lost my baby, no words felt big enough for the silence that followed.
There was shock.
There was anger.
There were unanswered questions.
There is still a space in our family that has never been filled, even now.
I still wonder who our baby would have become.
I still feel that absence every day.
But I am no longer overwhelmed by it.
There can be joy again.
There can be laughter again.
You can find meaning again.
Not instead of your baby,
but alongside their memory.
You Are Not Alone
If any of this speaks to you, I want you to know:
You don’t have to go through this alone.
If you need support, want to share your story, or just need someone to listen, you are always welcome to reach out.
Get a free copy of my emotional healing guide
Gentle Support
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