My Rainbow Baby, Jason: A Mother’s Journey Through Pregnancy after Child Loss

By Patti Miele

A Note from the SUDC Foundation:
In recognition of National Rainbow Baby Day, the SUDC Foundation is privileged to share the story of Patti Miele as she reflects on the deeply personal journey of welcoming her son Jason after the sudden and unexpected death of Ethan.

Pregnancy and parenting after the death of a child can hold love, hope, fear, and grief all at once. We also recognize that the decision of whether to grow a family after loss is deeply personal, and the SUDC Foundation supports every family in the choices that are right for them.

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It’s a very, very brave thing to decide to have a baby after losing your child. I want you to know that. I hope my story can bring comfort to those who may be considering this path.

Ethan was my only child for all 850 days of his life. He was the center of my universe and my endless fountain of joy. Someone once told me losing a child is like undergoing an amputation against your will. Our little ones are our body, our DNA, our heart and soul. We are closely connected physically and emotionally.

We never had the chance to watch our child grow up and start to grow apart as they exerted their independence. Our little ones truly were an extension of ourselves, and losing Ethan felt like an amputation of the most precious part of me. But let me tell you something that may bring you comfort. Their fetal cells crossed our placenta during pregnancy and embedded in our tissues. They may be gone, but you still have their cells in your body, and they will remain with you for the rest of your life. That’s beautiful.

Deciding to try again wasn’t easy. There was so much fear and uncertainty. But I’ll be honest. My world felt completely empty and dark without Ethan. Nothing could bring me any joy. I kept doing my daily routine with Ethan like a ritual. I set food on his tiger plate each meal, even though the food no longer had any flavor. Fresh fruits were his favorite, so I kept buying them for him and asking the cashier for stickers for him even though my shopping cart no longer carried a child. I read to him at bedtime from his favorite books through the tears. I went to his favorite playgrounds while the other moms gave me the side eye. I could hear their thoughts. What’s this lady doing at the playground? She doesn’t even have a kid.

People tell us, “You’ll always be a mom.” but it didn’t feel that way. I was drowning in loneliness and the only thing I could think that would save me was to hold my baby in my arms again. That’s what hurt the most. Not having that warm weight on my chest anymore. His arms circling my neck. His soft cheek resting on my shoulder. That feeling
nourished my soul and I could feel my soul slowly starving.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The pregnancy was an emotional turmoil. I hid it for a while. I was scared to tell people because I didn’t want them to say something hurtful like that, I was trying to replace Ethan.

If you decide to have another baby, you’ll be giving your child a baby brother or sister and that’s beautiful. No one will think you’re trying to replace your child. Framing it as “this is Ethan’s baby sibling” helped lift an enormous burden from my mind. It kept Ethan as part of our family, as he always should be, and acknowledged the relationship that
the baby will have with his big brother.

Deep down, my subconscious mind was wondering if it would happen again. I worried about it constantly, which was inevitable. For the majority of the pregnancy, I thought maintaining some emotional distance meant it would hurt less if I did end up losing another child. And honestly, it’s not that the love wasn’t there, it’s that knowing I’d love someone with every cell of my being again scared me. But it was comforting when my loved ones gave me the space to voice those scary thoughts without invalidating them. They just held my hand and nodded. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. We just need to take a leap of faith.”

It was incredibly helpful to find a group of women who were going through the exact same situation – another pregnancy after losing a child. We grieved, hoped, and shared the beautiful ways we honor our child throughout the pregnancy. For example, I decorated the nursery with Ethan’s artwork and photos; I imagined Ethan painting
pictures for his new baby brother, and I imagined the baby looking up at Ethan’s artwork in fascination. I brought my favorite photos of Ethan to the hospital and included them in the hospital photoshoot when Jason was born. When I went home, I ordered a ring with both my sons’ birthstones and their names engraved.

Postpartum depression is something mamas in our situation have to be very mindful
about because it’s hard to differentiate it from the daily grief that’s just become part of our lives. I cried so much in those first few weeks for all different reasons. Jason was just so beautiful – I felt so blessed. Health scares for both me and the baby, at times, felt very overwhelming. Mostly, I felt incredibly, profoundly alone. It hurt so bad that Ethan couldn’t be there with us. It didn’t feel like a family without him.

What helped me to stay positive throughout all the postpartum emotions was to reflect on the wonderful lessons Ethan taught me. As a fruit enthusiast and the sweetest little boy, he taught me, among other things, to always cherish the sweetness in life. I used it as a mantra to get me through those bitter moments in life. I reminded myself that Ethan wouldn’t like me to focus on the bitterness, and Jason doesn’t deserve that either. He deserves nothing but sweetness in his life, and my mission, provided to me by Ethan, was to always give him that.

Something wonderful that this experience showed me was when Ethan passed, I had a spiritual crisis wherein I struggled with not knowing where my baby was. As a mom of a young child, this was torture – not knowing where your child is or if they’re alright. I’d sit by Ethan’s bed and hold out my hand palm-up and beg him, if he were still here in some way, to put his little hand in mine. I never felt anything and it broke my heart. But as soon as I brought Jason home, the very first thing he fixated his newborn eyes on was the photos of Ethan on my living room wall. The first thing his little hand ever grasped was the heart-shaped necklace with Ethan’s symbol, a baby tiger, that I received on my first Mother’s Day with Ethan and which I always wear. Whenever Jason breastfeeds, his little fingers invariably reach up to hold the baby tiger pendant as if it comforts him. As Jason got older, his favorite toys weren’t the new toys he got, but Ethan’s old toys. Most recently, I sat Jason down in Ethan’s toddler bed. All of Ethan’s favorite stuffies were on his bed and I wondered which one Jason would reach for. Instantly, he reached for Ethan’s urn which I keep nestled between his favorite stuffies. There was no logical reason why a baby would reach for a wooden box instead of a fuzzy chick toy or a bright green cat stuffy, but he grabbed Ethan and pulled him to him in determination.

Ethan is still with us. Jason knows his brother. They never met Earthside, but they have a very special bond.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I first decided to have another baby. I thought I’d be full of guilt, too deep in grief to be a good mom and too neurotic to enjoy motherhood anymore. I feared that I might compare my sons or never fully accept Jason. I feared that the world would replace Ethan with Jason or that our loved ones would forget about Ethan and the pain of his loss. These are all valid fears.

Jason is the happiest, smile-iest baby I’ve ever seen. I often find myself asking him, “why are you so happy?” The answer, I think, is that he’s Ethan’s gift to me. Ethan saw how miserable I’ve been since his death, and he picked the happiest baby ever for me to teach me how to smile again.

Additional Support:
Pregnancy and the postpartum period after the death of a child can bring complex emotions. If you or someone you know could benefit from additional maternal mental health support, the National Maternal Mental Health Hotline provides free, confidential support 24/7 in English and Spanish. Call or text 1-833-TLC-MAMA (1-833-
852-6262) or connect online.

Families affected by Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC) can also contact the SUDC Foundation for information, support, and resources at: Info@sudc.org or 1-800-620-SUDC.