17 ways to show up for someone after baby loss

When someone you love loses a baby, it’s easy to feel completely helpless. You want to do something - anything - to ease their pain, but you don’t know how. The truth is: you can’t fix it. But you can walk alongside them in their grief, in ways that honour their baby and their pain.

Over time, I’ve learned from my own experience and from talking to others what can really help when showing up for someone when their baby dies. It’s not about grand gestures. It’s not about saying the perfect thing. It’s about love, shown in steady and thoughtful ways that show them that you see them, and will always be there to hold them in their grief, in their own time.

Here are 17 things that might help to guide you:

A text, a call, a meal, a card: however you choose to show up, don’t expect to be thanked. This is not about you being acknowledged for your kindness. It’s about your friend knowing, quietly and simply, that you’re there for them, and will continue to be there - whether they respond to you or not.

If you drop off food, don’t ring the doorbell. Leave it with a note, then let them know after you’ve gone. Choose things that don’t require extra steps - not flowers that need arranging and watering, or gifts that demand polite replies. Grief is taking all their energy right now.

Grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and it certainly doesn’t follow a pre-determined version of how it should look. Don’t impose your experience, draw comparisons, or any sort of timeline on theirs. Just give them space and time to be in it - for as long as they need to be in it, and however they need to be in it, and let them know that’s completely ok. No judgement. No direction. Just love, respect and understanding.

Losing a baby throws you into free fall with no safety harness. Their world has been blown up. Nothing makes sense, not least how they exist in it. They don’t know if they want to talk or stay silent, be alone or be surrounded, move or stay still. They are numb, paralysed, and often at a loss to understand their own needs. There’s no blueprint. Give them time and space to find their own words for their pain - and let them change their mind a hundred times if they need to. Grief should give them a free pass for as long as they need it.

Wanting them to feel better quickly often comes from your own discomfort, not their need. Don’t try and rush them through. Don’t suggest things to “cheer them up”. Just be there to sit with them in the silence, if they want you to. Or allow them to sit in the sadness, in the nothingness of it all and let them know you’re there, if and when they need company.

Don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Speak their baby’s name as often as you can, but in private, safe moments. Not in public, or in a moment when their grief being given the opportunity to show up will be difficult for them or vulnerable. A simple, “I was thinking of [baby’s name] today”, can mean the world. Yes, they might cry - but it will most likely be from gratitude, and the gift that is someome remembering their baby and saying their name aloud.

Put reminders in your calendar: their baby’s due date, birthday, anniversary, Baby Loss Awareness Week, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day. Send a message, a card, light a candle for their baby, or if you don’t know what to say, simply send a candle emoji to let them know know you remember them too.

Platitudes like “everything happens for a reason,” or “time heals all wounds,” or “you can always try again” do more harm than good. They minimise grief instead of holding it. Replace them with honesty: “This is so unfair,” “I don’t have the right words, but I’m here,” or simply, “I’m thinking of you.”

Expecting them to go to parties, imposing forced merriment on them because “we want to cheer you up”, or changing the subject will only serve to make their grief feel invisible. Let their loss be seen. Let their grief exist and be seen without trying to put a bandage over it.

You don’t need to dim your life, but you can be sensitive. Sending a first-day-of-school picture directly to a bereaved parent can cut deep - yes, even years later. If you post milestones online, which of course you should feel able to do, perhaps acknowledge to your friend that you recognise that it might be hard for them - and balance it with messages of love so they feel seen.

“Thinking of you today.”
“Lighting a candle for [baby’s name].”
“No need to reply, just sending love.”
These little nudges remind them that you’re there, long after the casseroles have stopped coming.

Grief is exhausting. Offer to walk the dog, pick up groceries, do their laundry, clean the kitchen, or take the older kids to the park. Small, tangible actions can be lifesaving.

Sometimes the most supportive thing you can do is sit in quiet with them. No advice. No fixing. Just presence.

They may cancel plans. They may want to talk and then not want to talk. They may disappear for weeks. Don’t take it personally. It’s not about you - it’s about survival.

It doesn’t disappear after a month or a year. Their baby is missing from every future milestone. Show up not just in the early weeks, but in the long term.

They will not “go back” to who they were before. That person is gone, just like their baby is gone. If you can honor and walk with them in who they are now, your friendship will deepen. If not, perhaps it wasn’t built for forever - and that’s okay too.

Sometimes language fails us. That doesn’t mean you stay silent. Read the words of others who have walked this road, and let their wisdom guide you. Share a line from a book, a poem, or a piece of writing that resonates. I have bought so many copies of Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed to gift to friends who are grieving or struggling through a difficult time, that I have lost count.

This is also exactly why I wrote This Wasn’t Meant to Happen - to give words to those who want to support their friends or loved ones through baby loss, but don’t know how.

Finally, a little note to remind you that like this list, grief isn’t neat. It’s uneven, imperfect, messy. And that’s okay. None of these points are about fixing the unfixable. They are about presence, patience, and love. If you can sit beside someone without trying to accelerate or control their pain to make their grief more comfortable for you, but just accepting that being with them, in this dark place, is all they need right now, you will be one of the rare and precious companions on their journey to healing and hope. And they will be forever grateful.