Thoughtful Parenting After Loss: Reflections for Families Considering Another Child
This is a personal reflection from my own experience growing up as a ‘replacement child’.
Grief, loss, and family dynamics are complex and felt differently by everyone involved. My intention in sharing this is not to cast blame or cause hurt, but to offer insight, healing, and understanding, for others walking similar paths, especially families who may be navigating these delicate emotional landscapes.
Someone recently got in touch after reading my previous blogs on ‘Replacement Children’ and asked if I could share some thoughts for parents who are thinking about growing their family again after a child has died, and how to do so with care and mindfulness.
I loved the idea, so here it is…
As a ‘replacement child’ myself, I’ve spent most of my life trying to untangle the emotional knots that can arise in this space. My hope is to share some reflections from my own experience, alongside thoughts on how parents can support their children without unintentionally burdening them with the weight of unspoken grief.
Every family’s experience is different, and what I’m sharing is just one version of this story. Hopefully, it’ll offer something valuable to think about.
My Story
I had a sister who died before I was born; she was 11. I found out about her by accident when I was around 8 or 9, looking through some photos and questioning who she was. When I was told, it was a huge shock, as I’d had no idea about her, and when I asked further questions of my parents, I was shut down and there was no space allowed by them to talk about her again, any evidence of her existence was hidden away.
As an adult, I understand that my parents were doing their best in terrible circumstances; they were not horrible or bad people, quite the opposite. They were, for the most part, kind and caring, and loved me in their own way. But they were also, understandably, wrapped up in their own grief, emotionally switched off, and unable to see what I needed from them as a child and teenager growing up in the shadow of loss.
This created deep complexities around attachment, particularly with my mum, and throughout my life, I’ve wrestled with overwhelming feelings of grief, anger, exclusion, and betrayal. Some of that grief is for the sister I never knew, and some for the emotionally nurturing, attuned relationship every child needs with their parents, but I never really experienced.
I’ve also come to realise that many of these feelings might not even be mine alone, but unspoken emotions I absorbed from those around me who couldn’t express how they really felt, yet I’ve held them in my body as though they were mine.
I’ve struggled with periods of depression, loneliness, anxiety, and hyper-independence, shaped by the belief that no one understands or can truly meet me on my emotional wavelength.
The silence around my sister’s death and the absence of honest conversation left me feeling disconnected and confused and the unresolved grief shaped how I saw myself and the world.
I grew up unsure of who I was, who I ‘should’ be, where I belonged, and who I could trust.
The Importance of Grieving
The first step in making sure that a new child isn’t seen as a ‘replacement’ is allowing room for grief. Grief isn’t something you can rush or deny. It needs to be fully felt and processed. If grief is ignored, it can create an emotional void that makes it harder to connect with a new child in a healthy, authentic way.
When my sister died, my parents didn’t get the space they needed to grieve. They were in the military, a culture that, at the time, didn’t promote emotional expression, I’ve heard that’s improved now. Instead, they were told to ‘pull themselves together’ and ‘get on with it’, not just by the military but by other family members too. In fact their Dr told them to ‘just have another baby’ (me). The stiff upper lip at its finest!
I’d say my mum turned her grief inward, her emotions manifesting in physical symptoms, while my dad stayed busy, throwing himself into work. It seemed like there was no space for anyone to mourn, or even acknowledge my sister’s life.
I absolutely recognise that for many parents, talking openly about grief and loss is incredibly hard. It can feel too painful, raw, or overwhelming, and sometimes silence feels like the safest option.
Grief doesn’t come with a manual, and coping strategies often come from what feels manageable in the moment. But even when it’s difficult, making space for honest, age-appropriate conversations can be a healing act, not just for parents but for children too. It builds connection, trust, and understanding that no one is alone in their feelings.
Grief that’s acknowledged can be integrated into the family story, instead of lingering unspoken and heavy, like it did in my family.
The Absence of Authentic Connection
For me, growing up as a ‘replacement child’ felt like being in a family that was physically present but emotionally absent. My parents were clearly there, but their hearts and minds were somewhere else most of the time.
I imagine there were huge amounts of complex feelings in the air, including guilt for ‘replacing’ my sister, ambivalence around having me, and anger that I wasn’t her. In fact, I know they were there, I felt them.
My parents carried those feelings in ways that made real connection difficult. My mum would often retreat to her room, or the bathroom, or the garden, isolating herself for hours on end, while my dad’s way of coping was to stay outwardly very jolly and distract himself with work. It was confusing.
As a child, I had no idea why things felt so off, I just knew something was missing. I have a family full of very lovely people but family gatherings often felt strange, and extremely uncomfortable for me. Being an introvert, it was overwhelming anyway, and as a HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), I picked up on all the unspoken feelings, but I had no language for any of it.
I understand that my sister’s death was a devastating and traumatic experience, and I have every compassion and sympathy for my parents and family as a whole. I know now that they didn’t intend for me to feel so alone, but that’s what silence can do. It leaves children to fill in the gaps.
In my case, I filled them with shame. I came to believe I was somehow a poor substitute for the sister I never met, a sister I wasn’t even allowed to know about. I could never live up to this perfect image of her. That belief, that I would never be good enough, and wasn’t really wanted, quietly wove itself into so many of my relationships, as these early internalised patterns often do.
Why Another Child?
Parents may choose to have another baby after losing a child for many reasons. Sometimes it’s an attempt to bring light back into unbearable darkness, or a way of coping with grief by focusing on new life. There may also be family, social, or cultural pressures around how long to grieve, and when to ‘move on.’
Whatever the motivation, the emotional context surrounding this new child can be complex. The baby may be longed for and deeply loved, but they might also carry the weight of unspoken hope, expectation, or comparison. The grief in the family doesn’t disappear just because another child arrives, and the emotional imprint of that grief can shape the new child’s sense of identity in subtle but lasting ways.
If you’re thinking about having another child after a loss, it’s worth reflecting on why. Are you hoping a new child will heal your grief? Are you longing for joy to return to your life? These are completely natural feelings. But it’s important to ensure that your new child is welcomed as themselves, not as a ‘replacement’ for the child who has died.
A child born into grief can pick up on what’s left unsaid. Without any context or reassurance, they might internalise the feeling that they need to fix things or somehow fill the gap.
I didn’t realise it until recently, but I also carried a sense that I wasn’t supposed to be here, my sister was. My existence was a constant reminder of someone else’s absence, and I generally made myself small, quiet, and invisible, hoping not to upset the people around me by not being her.
This eventually turned into anger and rebellion in my teenage years and twenties. Everything felt dark, heavy, and complex, and my relationship with my mum was especially strained. I know adolescence can be a turbulent time for most, but the weight I was carrying made those years feel particularly overwhelming.
After years of therapy and self-healing, I have learnt, and am still learning, to live as myself , not as a shadow, substitute, or symbol of someone else.
The Power of Communication
One of the greatest gifts you can give a child is the truth, shared with love. I wish I had grown up knowing about my sister from the start. I wish we could’ve talked about her in a way that felt authentic and meant a close connection between myself and the rest of my family.
Talking about a child who has died doesn’t deepen the wound, silence does. Children can handle the truth if it’s delivered with compassion and care. It helps them understand that they are not a ‘replacement’, but a cherished individual in their own right.
Secrets might feel protective in the short term, but they often leave children carrying burdens that aren’t theirs. Children don’t need to be shielded from the truth; they need to feel included in it. When things go unspoken, they don’t go unfelt.
When mistakes happen, as they inevitably will, it’s the repair that matters most. Parents don’t have to be perfect, what matters is being willing to listen, acknowledge when something’s gone wrong, and work toward healing together.
Surviving Siblings and Complex Bonds
When there are surviving siblings, whether born before or after the child who died, these dynamics can become complex too. Each child may unconsciously take on a role in the emotional landscape of the family. One might become the ‘good’ or ‘perfect’ one, striving to bring comfort, achievement, or pride to grieving parents. Another may end up holding the shadow, the grief, anger, confusion, or emotional tension that the family can’t speak of or acknowledge.
These roles aren’t consciously chosen, but they can shape how siblings relate to themselves, each other, and the world around them. This can lead to comparison, disconnection, or a deep sense of invisibility, and may cause painful rifts that persist over time, or emerge later, when someone can no longer play the part they were unconsciously given. Bringing awareness to these patterns can be a powerful step toward healing.
Conclusion: A Path Toward Healing
Every family experiences grief differently, and there’s no one-size-fits-all path forward. What I’ve shared here is just my story, and I hope it helps others reflect on their own story.
For me, growing up as the child born after a death meant living in a space of silence, absence, and emotional disconnection. It wasn’t until later in life that I realised just how much I’d internalised, and how impossible it felt to fill the gap, to be good enough.
Luckily, with some amazing therapists and an incredible supervisor, and through years of self-healing work, I feel like I’m now in one of the last phases of my healing journey. I’m learning to take up space, to be me, not someone’s second chance or consolation prize.
I’ve learned that healing doesn’t come from ignoring the pain but from facing it with compassion, creating room for it, and speaking the truth.
Bringing a new child into your family after a loss doesn’t have to mean replacing the one who’s gone. With awareness, care, and support, it can be an opportunity to expand your family’s story with love, not silence.
Here are a few parting thoughts for any parent navigating this challenging terrain:
Acknowledge the loss. Speak of your child who died with openness and love. Let them remain part of the family narrative, not hidden, not sainted, just real.
Grieve together, not alone. Making room for grief as a family, even in small, simple ways, helps children feel part of something truthful and whole.
Welcome a new child as themselves. This child is not here to fix anything, to fill anyone’s shoes, or to carry your sorrow. They are here to be loved for who they are.
Notice the emotional undercurrents. If you’re feeling stuck or overwhelmed, that’s human. Getting support, through therapy, support groups, or honest conversations, can free up space for connection.
Stay curious about your children’s experience. Even if they don’t say much, they’re feeling something. Make it safe for them to bring those feelings to you, in their own time and way.
Closing Note
I share this story with huge compassion for my family and for all families touched by loss. Every person’s experience of grief is unique, and I honour the ways my family have coped and survived. My hope is that by speaking openly about these hidden emotions, we can create space for connection, healing, and love, for ourselves and for the children who come after.
If you’re parenting after loss or are a replacement child yourself, and some of this resonates with you, I invite you to get in touch. Therapy can offer a safe and gentle space to process grief, explore these invisible dynamics, and create more space for love, honesty, and healing, for you and your family.