It was a beautiful summer day when my son called to tell me that he and his wife had gone to a prenatal appointment and learned their 10-week-old baby had passed. It’s a phone call no one is ever prepared to receive.
In the days that followed, there were many tears and many prayers as our family asked the Lord for comfort and healing.
Seven years later—almost to the day—I received a video call from another son and his wife. They had lost their unborn baby at 16 weeks. This little one, I had seen during an early ultrasound. Once again, our family entered a season of grief—but not without hope. We know these precious children are with the Lord, along with many loved ones who have gone before us.
As a grandmother reflecting on these two losses, I want to share what brought the most healing and closure for our family.
Grieving Alone
In many cases today, when a miscarriage happens, the hospital handles everything. Families are often given very few choices. Babies lost before 24 weeks are typically classified as miscarriages, and meaningful options for remembrance are limited.
This was our experience the first time.
My daughter-in-law created a small memory box for baby Amy Faith. Each of us placed something special inside. While we all grieved, much of that grief was carried quietly and individually. Life moved forward, and days turned into years.
Grieving Together
When our second loss happened, our son and daughter-in-law made a different decision—they chose to hold a funeral.
With the help of a compassionate doctor, they were able to deliver their baby at the hospital. Baby Zion Shalom was born, and this time, our family grieved together.
A week later, we held a small service with our pastor reminding us that we would see Zion one day in heaven. There were songs, prayers, and a time for sharing. Family and friends gathered to support them. We heard Zion’s story, honored his life, and then laid him to rest.
The Healing
In the months that followed, I noticed something significant.
The grief was still there—but the healing looked different.
With Amy, we didn’t have the opportunity to publicly acknowledge her life. There was no shared moment of remembrance. And while we never forgot her, there wasn’t the same sense of closure.
With Zion, it was different. Gathering together to recognize his life—giving space for grief, honoring him with a burial—brought a deeper sense of healing.
Before the service, our son shared that anyone who had lost a baby without the chance to bury them was welcome to place something in Zion’s grave in remembrance. Several women came forward and buried an item with Zion. That simple act brought healing for these women that had been missing for years.
Going Forward
Because of this experience, I would gently encourage families to consider holding a service when possible. The difference it made in our family was profound.
It gave voice to our belief that every life is created by God and has value.
Although we were not able to bury Amy at the time, a few months after Zion’s burial, we gathered as a family and friends to honor her life. We buried her memory box and took time to remember her together.
Flowers and Stones
At both gravesides, we brought flowers and stones.
Flowers remind us of the beauty and fragility of life, here for a time, then gone. Stones remind us of what endures. The stones represent the eternal soul.
Both are simple and meaningful reminders that these lives are remembered and deeply loved.
Heaven
My grandfather once said in his later years, “Heaven gets sweeter every day.”
I understand that more now than ever.
Today, many of our loved ones have met and held Amy and Zion in heaven. While we still grieve here, we hold onto the hope that one day we will be reunited.
“Let us run with endurance the race set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus...” – Hebrews 12:1–2
Our Hope
If you have experienced the loss of a baby, my hope is that this story brings comfort—and perhaps an idea for how to move forward.
Our prayer is that more families feel supported in acknowledging and honoring these precious lives.
My son handcrafted Zion’s small coffin. He made two—knowing another family might one day need one.
We still talk about Amy and Zion. We still miss them. But we also speak of them with hope.
We may not understand why their lives were so short, but we trust the Lord.
“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” – Job 1:21
