Break the Sound of Silence

“There’s nothing quieter in the world than the sound of a stillbirth,” Emily told me during an interview for "The Due Time," a documentary on stillbirth. Emily lost her son, Tadhg, in 2019 when she was 39 weeks pregnant. Tadhg was stillborn.

Her words struck a deep chord. My husband, Mike, faced a similar haunting moment seven years ago. When our son Lucas was born, a nurse, unaware that Lucas was stillborn, hurried out of the surgical room to congratulate Mike on fatherhood. Initially, Mike felt a rush of joy; however, an unsettling realization soon washed over him—there was no sound of a baby’s cry. That profound silence left him gripped by anxiety.

The word “silence” appeared in nearly every conversation I had with families discussing their experiences of stillbirth. For those of us in the stillbirth community, this silence began the moment we became pregnant with our cherished children.

During our visits to healthcare facilities, be it with doctors, nurses, or ultrasound technicians, the risks of stillbirth were seldom mentioned to expecting mothers. While they may have avoided the topic out of concern for upsetting us, their silence did not safeguard against the reality of stillbirth. Each year, around 21,000 babies are stillborn in the U.S., and about 25% of these heartbreaking losses are preventable.

The silence from healthcare providers during prenatal visits for expectant mothers carries unintended consequences. When stillbirth risks are not communicated, critical warning signs can be overlooked, leaving mothers ill-equipped to advocate for both themselves and their unborn children. Vital practices that could prevent stillbirths, like monitoring the baby’s movements, often go undiscussed and unimplemented.

The lack of education and open conversation doesn’t just end with parents. It also affects healthcare workers, some of whom are unprepared for stillbirths. Shay, a Black mother who lost her son Adam, shared how doctors couldn’t find his heartbeat and instructed her to deliver him naturally, even though her previous two births had been C-sections. No one explained what would happen or how to prepare. “I believe they’re only trained on how to deliver a live birth,” Shay said quietly. Her story reflects the urgent need for better training and communication in prenatal care—especially for women of color.

Silence often envelops families after they experience the loss of a baby. In American culture, there remains a persistent stigma surrounding the discussion of pregnancy loss and the death of an infant. Many individuals who have not gone through this experience tend to stay silent, unsure of what to say to the families affected by such tragedies.

Jenny shared that her address book changed dramatically after her daughter, Isabella, was stillborn. Friends who never reached out or who could not bring themselves to acknowledge Isabella’s brief but meaningful existence quietly faded from her life.

Emily told me she has two answers ready for the question, “How many children do you have?” She adjusts her response depending on who is asking, trying to avoid making others uncomfortable by mentioning her stillborn son. I understand that completely. Like Emily, I still pause when someone asks, “Do you have any children?” My answer depends on whether I sense empathy or the discomfort that so often leads people to turn away. And yes, that has happened more times than I can count.

The silence surrounding stillbirth creates an intense feeling of isolation for many families navigating their grief. This loneliness can be particularly overwhelming for those who lack a strong support system. Without that crucial support, stillbirth can become the beginning of a series of tragic events, such as long-term depression for couples or possibly even divorce.

My own experiences with stillbirth, along with those of other families, inspired me to start a documentary film project on this important topic. Thanks to the generous support of the Zain Jaffer Foundation, the project has had a strong start. However, we still face challenges, and any additional support would be greatly appreciated.

I chose the title “The Due Time” because it is long overdue for America to break the silence surrounding stillbirth. Raising public awareness is the first step toward preventing stillbirths; we cannot prevent what we do not acknowledge. It is crucial that we raise awareness so that future parents can be informed and better equipped to potentially prevent these heartbreaking losses.

Although the film is still in production, the time to speak out about stillbirth is now. October is designated as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, a recognition established by President Ronald Reagan in 1988. October 15 marks International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I urge every family who has faced the heartache of stillbirth to come forward, share their story, and help raise awareness.

If you haven't experienced stillbirth but know someone who has, please take the initiative to reach out. If you're unsure how to support them, consider asking friends or family members who have gone through this; they'll be grateful for your effort to connect. It truly matters to them that you acknowledge their loss instead of remaining silent.

By speaking openly about stillbirth, we can transform silence into awareness, and awareness into prevention. It’s time for change. It’s The Due Time.