Ceremony for a Stillborn Baby

Earlier this week a celebrant reached out to me after being asked to conduct a short funeral ceremony for a family whose baby was stillborn, while the twin survived.

She shared that she had never conducted a ceremony for a stillborn or infant before and felt deeply aware of how important it was to get this right for the family. I could feel both her care and the weight she was carrying in wanting to serve them well.

“I hear how important this is and also how tender and challenging  (and possibly scary), it must feel. I am very happy to walk with you (via email) as you prepare.

What first comes to mind, is that in my experience, our quality of presence when we meet with the family, and later when we write and deliver the ceremony, is important. Before meeting them, check in with any fears you may have, and if there are some, it can really help to have a phone call or meeting with someone you trust, someone who can simply listen, without giving advice. It may sound a little contradictory, but being able to speak your fears out loud and have them received can help you settle and find your own inner steadiness. From that place, you will be much more resourced to sit with the family in their heartbreak. Funerals of children with heartbroken parents and family and friends are some of the hardest. Brings tears to my eyes just thinking of their pain.

When you meet with the parents, one of the most important things is simply not to rush to make anything better, which I am sure you would not do, however, it is worth mentioning… refrain from offering platitudes or attempts to soften the reality. Often the most supportive thing we can say is something simple and honest, such as acknowledging that this must be an incredibly complex and painful experience, welcoming one child while mourning another.

You might ask how they would like to approach the ceremony. Some families want to focus primarily on the baby who has died. Others want to acknowledge both children, the joy and the grief arriving together. Sometimes parents are still in shock and may not know what they want. You can name that too. You might say something like, “Many parents in your situation find it hard to know what they want at this moment or… you might find it hard to know what to do…   We can keep it very simple and honour both your grief and the love you have for your son.”

A few questions that can help guide the conversation might be:

• What name have you given your baby? (You may already know this)
• Would you like the ceremony to focus only on your son, or to acknowledge both twins?
• Are there any words, poems, music, or readings that feel meaningful to you?
• Would you like to include a small ritual, such as lighting a candle, placing flowers, or saying a few words to your son?
• Is there anything you would like people to understand about your son or about this moment for your family?

Often with infant or stillborn ceremonies, presence, spaciousness, simplicity and kindness are more important than length.

Here’s an example:

We have gathered here today to acknowledge and honour the short but deeply meaningful life of baby … (name). His time with you was brief, yet the love that surrounds him is immeasurable. Today we come together to hold (parents’ names) and their family in our care, as they navigate the profound experience of welcoming one child into the world while grieving another.

There are moments in life when words feel small beside the depth of what is being lived. This is one of those moments.

The birth of twins has brought both joy and heartbreak to this family. One child is here to be held and cherished in life, while another has died before being able to take his first breath in the world. And yet, even in his brief presence, baby (baby’s name) has already touched many lives. He is loved. He is part of this family. And he will always belong.

Sometimes a life cannot be measured in days or years. Sometimes it is measured in the love that was waiting for this child, in the hopes and dreams already forming, and in the heart space this child will forever hold in the hearts of their parents and family.

Baby (baby’s name) is part of this family’s story, part of this family’s love, and part of the journey that began with two small lives growing together.

(Parent’s names), if you would like to say a few words to your son, to your family, this is a space for that.

Words from parents, grandparents, poem…

Possibly a candle ritual but only if this feels congruent for the family. Rituals like this are not for everyone. However, if this has meaning for the family and you give the ritual space and intention, here’s a possible wording.

We will now light a candle for (baby’s name). This small flame reminds us that even the briefest life can bring light into the world, and that the love we feel does not disappear. It continues, carried in memory, in the grief, and in the bond that will always exist between the child, their parents and family.   (I would ask the family what lighting the candle means for them and then word this paragraph from their ideas. If they are unsure you can offer a few suggestions based upon the conversation you have shared with them)

(Light candle and let there be some silence for quiet contemplation)

Words on Grief

Note to celebrant: You may also find that the parents speak about what this experience is like for them when you meet. If they do, sometimes it can be helpful to include a short reflection on grief in the ceremony, using their words or the spirit of what they have shared. These can be shaped for the ceremony so the family feel seen and understood. Often families appreciate hearing that grief is a natural expression of love, and that they do not have to carry it alone. A few sentences acknowledging the rawness and tenderness of their grief and the importance of support from family and community can help create a space where their feelings are honoured rather than avoided. Here are a couple of examples that could be adapted if it feels appropriate.

1. Grief is the natural response to love when someone we cherish dies. There is no right or wrong way to walk through it, and there is no timetable for how long it lasts. What matters most is that (parents’ names) and their family do not have to carry this alone.
   Today we gather not only to remember (baby’s name), but also to surround this family with care, compassion, and support as they find their way through the days ahead.
2. When a baby dies, the love that was already growing does not disappear. Instead, it becomes grief, a reflection of the deep bond between parent and child. In the days and years ahead, there may be moments of sadness, moments of tenderness, and many moments when the memory of this little life touches the heart. May (parents’ names) and their family be held by the kindness of those around them, and may they know they do not have to walk this path alone.

Closing Words

(Baby’s name) will be remembered in the special family moments, in stories told, and in the love that surrounds his twin (baby’s name) and the whole family in the years ahead.

Today we honour (baby’s name)’s  life, however brief, and we honour the love that brought him into being. May this family be held gently by those around them as they walk this path of both grief and love. Thank you for your presence here today. May peace be with you all.

Note to all celebrants: There is a complete ceremony for a stillborn twin, baby Edward in my ebook Inspiring Funeral and Memorial Ceremonies (on page 144)

Please remember that you don’t need to carry the weight of getting every word perfect. What families tend to remember most is the care, presence, and humanity of the person who stood with them in such a fragile moment.

This celebrant’s email and my reply stirred a memory for me from a novel I was reading just yesterday, The Sun House by David James Duncan. In it, a Jesuit priest reflects on a service he once conducted for a child who had died. As a young priest he was deeply moved and overwhelmed by the enormity of the fathers’ loss of his only remaining family member, a young daughter. Later in life the priest spoke of that moment as a regret, because although he felt the truth of the moment, that the loss was almost beyond words, he didn’t trust that instinct. Instead, feeling unsure, he simply read a prescriptive service and knew it to be inadequate even at the time.

I share that story only to say that the most meaningful thing we can offer is often our honest human presence. Sometimes a few true and kind words that acknowledge the unimaginable nature of a loss can be the perfect words offering connection, understanding and care.