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Helping a Father to Cope with the Loss of his Child
One morning I responded to a trauma case in the Pediatric Emergency Room for a two-week-old baby. Anytime there is a call for a chaplain to come to the pediatric emergency room, it is typically a tragedy unfolding. As I arrived I saw some staff members in tears. Drawing closer I saw the medical team attending to the little body on the bed.
I asked for the family and was directed to a room where I saw a young man with the physique of a fullback, who was the father of the baby. I introduced myself to him and his anxiety was palpable and etched on his face. He asked me how his baby was doing. “I don’t have any information yet. The medical team is working with your baby,” I said. He told me how the night before he fed and bathed the newborn while its mother was at work, and that they had a quiet and pleasant evening together. I knew that although there was not much I could say to ease his distress, I could be a listening presence and be in the moment with him, offering a sympathetic ear. I listened to the loving way that he spoke about being a father, and to help ease his anxiety and distress, I asked him if he would like to recite some psalms together and he agreed. It was a brief moment of peace.
After spending time with the father I excused myself to find out how his baby was doing and went back to the ER. The situation looked even more grim than when I first arrived. I was told that the baby had died and more staff members had gathered and were crying. I wondered how we’d tell this young man who was already unstable and anxious.
I walked back to the room to talk with the father, and said that the doctor would be in soon. The father told me what had caused the baby to come to the hospital. I asked if there were family members I could call for him. He said that his wife and his mother were already on their way. Shortly after, the doctor came into the room. When my eyes met the doctor’s the father realized that it was the news he’d been dreading. The doctor told him that the baby died. The father got up and ran down the hall to the ER screaming. We quickly went after him.
I sat with the father in the ER as he wept over his lifeless baby girl. We sat there for what seemed like hours. I believe that just being with him while he tried to understand what had just happened, helped him to realize that he was not alone in this. The intense emotion abated somewhat over the hour that we sat together, and the father seemed calmer, yet clearly deeply grieving. Just when I thought that the father was ready to leave the ER, he told me that he was going to take the baby home with him. In a split second he picked up the baby and started walking to the door of the ER, cradling her lifeless body just as a football player protects the ball as he is about to get tackled.
This was not something we anticipated—I had to do something immediately. Some individuals tried stopping him and he kept walking. I needed to do something quickly to stop him.
I ran up beside him and put my arm around his shoulders, walking alongside him. “Please think for a minute about what you are doing. Please,” I said. He stopped and we made eye contact for a long few seconds, and then we walked back to the ER together.
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