by Merilyn Leiataua
To those who have been through this traumatic experience, I understand your pain. I understand your frustration — your hurt. This profound loss isn’t fair. Leaving the hospital with only his memorial box and without my baby in my hands is the worst feeling I’ll forever have to endure in this lifetime.
Thank you Lata, for giving me this opportunity to share my experience on grief & my healing process of infant loss. Thank you for honoring my son.
As I write this piece, I have backspaced this numerous times lost in where I should begin. This lost feeling I have felt since the morning of December 11th, 2024.
Talofa Lava, my name is Meri. I have two beautiful children — Mila-Rose who is 7 & Micah Saint, my angel baby who was born silent at 36 weeks’ gestation on December 15th, 2024.
My heart has been heavy on the loss of Micah, without a doubt. When a loved one dies, you have a eulogy of them, their past. Videos, memories of them that can be looped repeatedly. Hearing their sweet voice again, what they were like. In my case, I didn’t get that chance. I grieve the future my child should’ve had. I didn’t get to see his little eyes open. His first smile as he gazes at me. As I touched his little hands & feet, holding his body close to mine — I wept in pain, anger & frustration. I wouldn’t wish this terrible pain upon anyone.
The moment I heard these words “I’m sorry, your baby has no heartbeat” I felt like I died. I thought of my daughter Mila, my heart hurt most for her. She doesn’t deserve this; she now has to carry this heartbreak with her at a young age. If you know Mila, she’s a little old soul. She’s always happy & cheerful. “Rainbows & cupcakes” is how she describes her personality. She saw it all & I hate that she did. It’s not what my little girl should have had to witness and experience.
I labored and birthed my son via c section on December 15th, 2024. Micah Saint Toalepai. Micah weighed 5lbs 4oz, he was a tall boy. Chubby cheeks, Chingy little eyes, big lips. Micah was built for a No.8 in rugby at best haha. He had so much hair, beautiful black thick hair. I’m holding him in my arms and cry silently. Yet, somehow, I felt comforted by him. Like I could feel him Infront of me as if he was touching my face saying “Mum, I’m ok.” This whole process of events was hard. I couldn’t hold him too long each time because his body was giving in, the cold cot he was in wasn’t enough. So, midwives would have to put him in the fridge till it’s time to hold him again. Watching his body deteriorate was devastating — it’s my fault! I should’ve listened to my body & rest. I was the only income holder in my family my whole pregnancy.
To this day, I can’t face anyone with a newborn baby. A pregnant woman, babies giggling & crying. I’ll be honest — it’s a shit feeling to have. Grief, itself. Is messy! It really does come in waves; I’ve learnt to accept it. I use to try and bottle it up and be “strong”. It’s ok to cry, it’s ok to feel the hurt, it’s ok to express my feelings. My feelings are valid. They say, “everything happens for a reason”. This quote always replays in my head, were we not ready? I don’t know what Gods intentions were. But this. Made me question & resent him. A son is all I wanted; we wanted.
To our grieving parents of infant loss — take in each day and allow yourself to grieve. You are not alone, create a distraction. If you have young kids, allow for them to grieve also. My daughter has had break downs at school where she can’t control it but just cry for her brother. Our kids have these triggers too. Hug them tight. Most importantly, listen to your body during your pregnancy, never hesitate to check yourself into hospital before it’s too late. This will forever be my biggest regret in life.
With love,
Meri xx
29 & Widowed 