Our Unique Grief

[On] October 1, 1991 — our son, Stefan James Teigland Narum, died. He lived for 12 days. 

To say Stefan lived 12 days is not quite right. He was with his mother for nine  months, and his relationship with her was both loving and intimate. And  everything was fine for those nine months…until the moment it wasn’t.  And then the world as we knew it fell apart.  

There’s not enough time or pages to contain the thoughts of those twelve days  Betsy and I had with our second child, and the journey of grief following. Five  years later I would complete a masters thesis on perinatal bereavement for my marriage and family therapy degree. Looking back, I suppose I was trying to help others, but maybe with all that  writing and talking I was really just trying to get my head around what happened  to our son and to us his parents. Grief includes seeking to understand, but we  don’t move forward because we finally receive some answers, but because we’re  finally able to live with the questions.  

The death of a child is every parent’s greatest fear. I recently turned 60, and I  would’ve gladly stopped at 31 and given my remaining years to Stefan. I wasn’t  offered that option, as many bereaved parents know…as you may well know if  you’ve had a similar experience. We grieved Stefan while we also cared for Ingrid.  For parents whose first child dies, they wonder what it means to be a parent when their hello also means goodbye. For us, our little 2-1/2 year-old daughter gave us solace and hope. But we were sad for her, too. 

What is unique about perinatal death is that we parents don’t have a story to tell,  we have no joyful pictures to share. With Stefan are no happy memories, and his  only home was an isolette in the NICU at UM Hospital in Minneapolis. When a  baby dies it’s the loss of what could have been, what might have been and, yes, what we feel should have been. Nevertheless, those 12 days were the most honest  and real days I have ever lived. Life, and what’s most dear, was never clearer. And  those 12 days are 12 more than some parents get. We were grateful for every  moment we had with Stefan, for the time his grandparents and aunts and uncles  had to meet him. 

Grieving parents say there’s a hole in their heart with their child’s name on it. This  is a sacred space, a holy emptiness, not to be filled in this lifetime. To all you  parents who have experienced the death of a child, I am profoundly sorry. I do not know what you went through, because that experience and relationship is  uniquely yours.  

Though Stefan’s life was not filled with joyful moments, it was filled with love. We are grateful to have met him, held him, and in the goodbye let him know there’s a love that will bring us together again. May that promise and the hope sustain us all. 
​
—Peter Narum, Stefan’s dad
(and also Ingrid’s & Soren’s dad!)  

This piece has been edited from its original format with the author’s permission. Written initially as a devotional, we would be happy to share the unedited version with you. Please email [email protected].