Grief is tough, but from what I’ve seen, it can bring a community together. So why isn’t it the same when a baby dies? The natural order is broken, and you’re left to bear the pain and confusion alone. People tell you to "move on" or "have another one"—words no one dares to say when it’s a parent, friend or grandparent who passes.

Losing Arjun at full term during labour due to hospital negligence was devastating. I didn’t even know he had passed for two hours. My perfectly healthy baby died.

Since then, life has been a battle, waking up each day with a heavy heart, trying to find small glimmers of positivity. but I’ll always speak his name—he’s my son, and I owe it to him to say it as loudly as I planned.

The Postpartum care I received at the hospital felt more like people trying to clear their guilty conscience. Many other loss parents speak about poor aftercare, and I wondered why people took such care of me. It wasn’t until I read the final report on Arjun’s passing that I realised why they felt obligated to ensure our comfort.

But I was fortunate to have a caring immediate family. The little things mattered—giving us time to grieve privately and a friend who dropped everything to come over daily. They ensured we had healthy food, helped with the funeral, kept the house clean, and made sure I had my medication. They talked openly about the loss, never shying away from my pain. I’d sit there daily with his blanket, and no one ever stopped me from feeling the emotions that surfaced.

Even my husband’s aunt made ‘Katlu,’ a traditional healing remedy, for my postpartum care. Despite there being no baby, she ensured it was delivered every day.

Postpartum is always a fragile time, but when there’s no baby, it feels like your body hasn’t caught up with reality. I’d sit there at night, leaking milk during the times Arjun would have woken up. My body was trying to heal, but my heart could never catch up.

Without the care I received, I know my physical and mental health would have spiralled. After loss, postpartum care—both mental and physical—is incredibly important. It shapes the aftermath and either helps parents heal or adds another mountain to their already overwhelming pain.

I will always be grateful that Arjun chose me. Those nine months of carrying him will always be my most precious gift.