My Miscarriage, a Muslim Woman’s Perspective
Sunday, January 24, 2010 Read more → Cool-Children, death, muslim diaries, parenting, the explorer In the name of God, entirely Compassionate, especially Merciful | Peace be with you
In the name of God, compassionate & merciful بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمنِ الرَّحِيمِ Peace be with you السلام عليكم
Part 1 | Part 2
As a young person, I had heard women talk about how it was a bad omen for an expecting woman to see a woman who’d had a miscarriage or lost an infant child. This deeply controversial topic was never spoken of and prayers were carried around from the mouths of believers against meeting such 'unfortunate women'.
According to the 'muslim' custom, the stillborn child would be buried outside the communal graveyard in an unmarked grave. I never really understood what the women were talking about nor understood why anyone should be banished from being buried in a normal graveyard. It would be years later when I would realise what they were implying.
There are millions of women who lose babies before at or after birth. It is an experience only another woman has felt will understand. It is one of the most traumatic experiences one goes through and no words of comfort can really heal the wounds. It is true that death is inevitable and as Muslims we accept this without question. However, we are talking about the end of life at its beginning which has been growing inside the mother for up to nine months. That is something very difficult to come to terms with and only patience and faith in Allah makes one endure the pain.
Having carried your baby for months, a special bond is already formed. Allah willing, the mother has hopes and expectations for the birth and the early years that will be spent with the baby. The movements of the baby and the heartbeat are a reminder that a miraculous thing is happening in the womb, inside of you. Life has a unique meaning when you watch it develop directly connected to you. You feel blessed, above the world, closer to Allah for allowing you to be a part of creation.
To be then suddenly told by doctors that there is no heartbeat, the baby is not moving… is very difficult to comprehend. The ears wait in pain for the thumping sound on the monitor but all that’s heard is silence and the doctor’s fumbling for double checks. The thought creeps into your head that this is the end, all hopes, desires and wishes are shattered; all your life seems to crumble and all you see is total darkness. The doctor turns around and looks at you with a ‘there’s nothing else we can do’ look and you know you’ve lost everything. A thought comes to your mind ‘why me?' It is something you read about but never imagined would happen.
During the waiting period for the child to be born (there is a choice, you can go home and wait for labour to start naturally or have it induced - started off artificially with medication) your whole mind and body struggles in thought provoking self blame. What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? How could it have been prevented? How will I get through it?
My baby was a beautiful girl. After she was born the nurses took her away, bathed her and dressed her and then brought her back to me. I cuddled her in my arms as if she was alive. My husband and my mother also held her in their arms. In their own way they were also going through pain and found it difficult to console me even though they tried their best. I couldn’t feed her as I had done so with my two other children. I felt very inadequate and incomplete as a mother.
We were asked by the hospital staff if we wanted to bury the baby ourselves or allow the hospital to ‘make arrangements’ for us. We had no idea what their ‘arrangements’ consisted of, we didn’t know what to do, we didn’t have knowledge or experience of these circumstances. I stayed the night in the hospital in a special room away from the maternity ward and read upon all the notes and counselling information they gave me. My husband enquired from our local masjid imam (Muslim community leader) about what we should do. But he was not able to offer us any guidance except to say that the Muslim uneral prayer is not offered on a stillborn child. We had to make a very difficult decision in a very short time. In the end I decided to have a burial in our local graveyard.
We buried our baby on a cold, wintery wet December day in a very tiny coffin.
After the burial the comments from peers were even more painful. ‘Well wishing’ women came to pay their condolences made me conflicted; some said ‘it was good that we did not have her as we already had two girls’; some told us that ‘so and so is expecting a baby so they can’t come near women who have lost babies in case they are “affected”,’(very superstitious old women’s tales). I just got fed up with all of this and did not want to see these ‘well wishers’.
When I finished reading the information the hospital gave me, I discovered that more than one stillborn or miscarried baby is sometimes buried in one grave with parents not knowing where. I was so glad that we had buried our baby ourselves.
As always time is a great healer and gradually the pain became bearable and it became easier to talk about it without crying. Through all of the experience what was really distressing, we did not know what to do Islamically. Should we have performed the ghusal (ritual ablutions), name the baby, offered the funeral prayer, had a proper grave? It was so sad that our religious leaders were not able to offer the guidance at a very distressing time, mostly likely still failing women today.
However, I firmly believe that Allah takes us through situations for reasons – it helps us to become patient, better, wiser and stronger people. It makes us appreciate the small things in life that we take for granted. I thought I could never go through having a baby again but a few years later Allah blessed me with a very beautiful daughter, and then a son. “After every hardship there is certainly ease.” (Quran, 94:5)
By: The Explorer Peace & respect ★ www.Muslimness.com
Part 1 | Part 2
As a young person, I had heard women talk about how it was a bad omen for an expecting woman to see a woman who’d had a miscarriage or lost an infant child. This deeply controversial topic was never spoken of and prayers were carried around from the mouths of believers against meeting such 'unfortunate women'.
According to the 'muslim' custom, the stillborn child would be buried outside the communal graveyard in an unmarked grave. I never really understood what the women were talking about nor understood why anyone should be banished from being buried in a normal graveyard. It would be years later when I would realise what they were implying.
There are millions of women who lose babies before at or after birth. It is an experience only another woman has felt will understand. It is one of the most traumatic experiences one goes through and no words of comfort can really heal the wounds. It is true that death is inevitable and as Muslims we accept this without question. However, we are talking about the end of life at its beginning which has been growing inside the mother for up to nine months. That is something very difficult to come to terms with and only patience and faith in Allah makes one endure the pain.
Having carried your baby for months, a special bond is already formed. Allah willing, the mother has hopes and expectations for the birth and the early years that will be spent with the baby. The movements of the baby and the heartbeat are a reminder that a miraculous thing is happening in the womb, inside of you. Life has a unique meaning when you watch it develop directly connected to you. You feel blessed, above the world, closer to Allah for allowing you to be a part of creation.
To be then suddenly told by doctors that there is no heartbeat, the baby is not moving… is very difficult to comprehend. The ears wait in pain for the thumping sound on the monitor but all that’s heard is silence and the doctor’s fumbling for double checks. The thought creeps into your head that this is the end, all hopes, desires and wishes are shattered; all your life seems to crumble and all you see is total darkness. The doctor turns around and looks at you with a ‘there’s nothing else we can do’ look and you know you’ve lost everything. A thought comes to your mind ‘why me?' It is something you read about but never imagined would happen.
During the waiting period for the child to be born (there is a choice, you can go home and wait for labour to start naturally or have it induced - started off artificially with medication) your whole mind and body struggles in thought provoking self blame. What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? How could it have been prevented? How will I get through it?
My baby was a beautiful girl. After she was born the nurses took her away, bathed her and dressed her and then brought her back to me. I cuddled her in my arms as if she was alive. My husband and my mother also held her in their arms. In their own way they were also going through pain and found it difficult to console me even though they tried their best. I couldn’t feed her as I had done so with my two other children. I felt very inadequate and incomplete as a mother.
We were asked by the hospital staff if we wanted to bury the baby ourselves or allow the hospital to ‘make arrangements’ for us. We had no idea what their ‘arrangements’ consisted of, we didn’t know what to do, we didn’t have knowledge or experience of these circumstances. I stayed the night in the hospital in a special room away from the maternity ward and read upon all the notes and counselling information they gave me. My husband enquired from our local masjid imam (Muslim community leader) about what we should do. But he was not able to offer us any guidance except to say that the Muslim uneral prayer is not offered on a stillborn child. We had to make a very difficult decision in a very short time. In the end I decided to have a burial in our local graveyard.
We buried our baby on a cold, wintery wet December day in a very tiny coffin.
After the burial the comments from peers were even more painful. ‘Well wishing’ women came to pay their condolences made me conflicted; some said ‘it was good that we did not have her as we already had two girls’; some told us that ‘so and so is expecting a baby so they can’t come near women who have lost babies in case they are “affected”,’(very superstitious old women’s tales). I just got fed up with all of this and did not want to see these ‘well wishers’.
When I finished reading the information the hospital gave me, I discovered that more than one stillborn or miscarried baby is sometimes buried in one grave with parents not knowing where. I was so glad that we had buried our baby ourselves.
As always time is a great healer and gradually the pain became bearable and it became easier to talk about it without crying. Through all of the experience what was really distressing, we did not know what to do Islamically. Should we have performed the ghusal (ritual ablutions), name the baby, offered the funeral prayer, had a proper grave? It was so sad that our religious leaders were not able to offer the guidance at a very distressing time, mostly likely still failing women today.
However, I firmly believe that Allah takes us through situations for reasons – it helps us to become patient, better, wiser and stronger people. It makes us appreciate the small things in life that we take for granted. I thought I could never go through having a baby again but a few years later Allah blessed me with a very beautiful daughter, and then a son. “After every hardship there is certainly ease.” (Quran, 94:5)
By: The Explorer Peace & respect ★ www.Muslimness.com
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