I’ve attempted to write this at least four times, and each time, I’ve hesitated for months. Why haven’t I shared my son’s photos online? The truth is, I’m terrified.
I fear that my son will be scrutinized, and that I will be judged. I worry about how others might perceive both him and me. Having worked in social media for many years, I understand how unforgiving the internet can be. The idea of exposing my son to online criticism is daunting.
I want to protect him. I don’t want anyone to form their own opinions about our loss or, worse, dismiss him as inconsequential. My anxieties even extend to the possibility that someone could misuse his photos for their own agenda. I’ve read accounts of baby photos being appropriated online and misrepresented to support pro-life arguments.
And trust me, if anyone ever uses my son’s images without my consent, they’ll regret it. Consider this a fair warning.
Breaking the Taboo
Miscarriage and stillbirth are often seen as taboo topics, and naturally, capturing the image of your deceased child is equally stigmatized. When we were at the hospital, we were asked two pivotal questions: Would we like photos of our child? Would we like to hold him? Without thinking, I answered “no” immediately.
Back then, I had stumbled upon a post on social media that featured a stillborn baby. My first thought was one of horror, and I quickly scrolled past. If only I had understood then what I know now.
The very idea of holding my lifeless child and capturing his image terrified me. I felt it was too painful and that I wouldn’t be able to bear it. My instinct was to shield myself, and my decisions were made from a place of fear.
However, my husband gently expressed his desire to hold our son and to have photos taken. His words brought me to tears. I realized I couldn’t deny him that precious moment with our child, even if I was too frightened to engage in the conversation. I was ashamed to admit that I feared seeing our son’s appearance and worried he might be different than I imagined.
Words of Wisdom
Our nurse offered some invaluable insight based on her experience working with parents who have faced stillbirth. She told us that not one parent she had encountered regretted holding their child or having photos taken. Regret, she said, often came from those who chose not to do so.
After reflecting on her words, I reached out to my sister, who had always given me straightforward advice. Despite never experiencing such a loss herself, she encouraged me to get the photos and not look at them—at least I would have them if I ever changed my mind.
Gradually, I came to desire the opportunity to see and hold the tiny being my husband and I had created. Each contraction reminded me that my body had nurtured this life for 18 weeks, and I was amazed by its ability to deliver my child into my arms.
The fact that my baby had passed away did not diminish my desire to celebrate his existence. My husband held our son first, tears streaming down his face. I was still recovering from the ordeal and could barely take in the moment. But once I regained my strength, he gently placed our son—just 3.5 ounces and 8 inches long—into my arms.
I wept as I memorized every detail of his face: his nose, ears, and delicate features resembling his father’s. His tiny fingers and toes were perfect. Even with those cherished moments and the photographs we took, I still harbor regrets. I wish I had held him longer, taken more photos, and had a picture of both of us together with him. The moment I hesitated to kiss him when I noticed blood on his forehead haunts me; I never got to kiss my child, and that sorrow feels insurmountable.
Facing the Reality
To some, my son’s photos may be difficult to view. He stopped growing at 16 weeks and 5 days, and his appearance was not that of a healthy, chubby baby. The umbilical cord had wrapped around his neck, leaving him with a swollen head and neck. The photos were taken about four hours after my delivery, so the environment had already begun to affect his fragile body.
We were cautious during the days and weeks following our loss. We were advised that our photos might be too distressing for some friends and family. Many people simply wouldn’t understand, and we were told that showing them to children could lead to uncomfortable explanations. We didn’t share them unless specifically asked.
We could empathize with why some might find our photos unsettling: James was a tiny, lifeless baby. But to us, they are our son, with his hands sweetly crossed over his belly. He was our baby.
Confronting My Fears
A growing emptiness has begun to fill my heart in the weeks since our loss. The ache grows more profound with each passing day, making it hard to breathe. I feel excluded; I didn’t receive my “mom justice”—the right to share and celebrate my son with the world. I want everyone to know about him.
As the saying goes, if it’s not shared on social media, did it even happen?
For a long time, I hesitated to share his photos. That changed after an interaction with a public figure, Sarah Lane, who also experienced a loss at 17 weeks. She bravely shared her story on a social media platform, which inspired me. Her post reached thousands of people, raising awareness about miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss.
By sharing my son’s story and his photos, I hope to alleviate some of the emptiness I feel. I’m ready to confront my fears of anger and jealousy. I am tired of feeling this way.
We have just four photos of our son. That’s it. We will never have his first Halloween photo or a picture of him trying solid foods—only these four precious images that we feel comfortable sharing.
Julia Thompson
Summary
Julia shares her emotional journey of grappling with the decision to share photos of her stillborn son, James. Initially afraid of judgment and societal stigma surrounding stillbirth, she ultimately finds courage through encouragement from her husband and a compassionate nurse. By documenting her experience, she aims to raise awareness around the realities of miscarriage and stillbirth, confronting her fears and allowing herself to honor her son’s brief life.