This Christmas my wife and I will be part of the one in four parents whose child will be missing from their arms but that doesn’t mean we won’t celebrate the holidays as a family.
When my wife gave birth to , a rare chromosomal disorder meant he was stillborn at 33 weeks’ gestation.
For months afterwards when people would randomly ask me If I had any children, I would answer with no. For a long time after Wombat’s birth I didn’t think or feel that I was a proper father. I thought the parents of stillborn children and those who had miscarriages just didn’t count their kids as part of their family.
After all in Australia approximately s will end in a loss. With it being so common I thought people just didn’t talk about it or make a fuss. Don’t get me wrong I was devastated when I lost my son but I thought the healthy way to deal with the loss was to get on with life and the grief would pass.
But I realised that grief is not something that passes. It’s a powerful emotion. There is one particular definition that my friend Chrissie told me that speaks to me in a profound way. She said that grief is not being able to give love to that person anymore.
The way I looked at it, for 33 weeks I was saving up all this love to give to my new born child but after he passed, I was stuck with all this excess love and nowhere to put it.
After Wombat was born on milestone days like Father’s Day, Wombat’s birthday and his due date, I held my feelings of grief at bay. But last year the lead up to Christmas was particularly difficult and awful because that is when my wife and I really felt our son’s absence the most. Everywhere we looked there were reminders of how this particular holiday is for children.
For 33 weeks I was saving up all this love to give to my new born child but after he passed, I was stuck with all this excess love and nowhere to put it.
What made it even more heart-breaking was when my wife was pregnant with Wombat a number of family and friends were also going to have kids at the same time. We were so excited that our son was going have lots of friends and cousins that were all going to grow up together.
So to protect myself leading up to December 25 I tried to stay off social media in case I saw photos of our family and friend’s earth babies posing with Santa. I thought I was doing okay until my wife suggested we visit the beach where we scattered our son’s ashes. Initially I agreed, but on Christmas Eve and despite all my best efforts the pain of my son’s loss crushed me like a wave.
This feeling manifested itself into what I ironically call an ‘anxiety baby’. This feeling of panic is like an uninvited guest that at first feels like butterflies but then materialises into severe stomach pain.
To make matters worse it started happening while my wife and I were eating at one of those expensive two hatted restaurants. It was part of my Christmas present to her and while I was eating my entree of Green Tomato & Cheese Gougères I could feel my anxiety baby kicking. By the time I got to the dessert which was Cocoa Ice Cream with Chocolate Caramel & Almond Sablé I was crowning.
This Christmas will be different. I am definitely going to say hello to Wombat and wish him a Merry Christmas.
The pain lasted for hours. I was cursing my anxiety baby and yelling at my wife saying "you don’t think men know what it feels like to give birth? Well I know! Can’t you hear me making the same noises you were when you had Wombat? Where is my morphine?"
Eventually the pain subsided. I went to Christmas lunch with my family but didn’t go to the beach to see where we had scattered my son’s ashes as my wife wanted. But this Christmas will be different. I am definitely going to say hello to Wombat and wish him a Merry Christmas.
Writing about him makes me feel like I’m a parent. It has allowed me to express my love for him even though that feeling is also associated with great pain.
Now when people ask me if I have kids I say, ‘yes I had a son.’ I explain that he had a rare chromosomal disorder and when my wife was at 33 weeks’ gestation he was stillborn.
While it may make people feel uncomfortable I will accept the awkwardness because it makes me feel like I am a father and that I honour his existence. I’m sure I am not the only parent who feels this way.
This year there will newly bereaved parents who will be missing their loved ones during the Christmas holidays. It’s a grief they will carry inside but even though their children will not be in their arms they will still view that missing baby as part of their family on Christmas Day.
Con Stamocostas is a freelance writer. You can follow Con on twitter at
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Learning to grieve my stillborn son
