Planning Your Baby's Funeral

How do you plan a funeral for your baby? No one wants to think about what to do with your baby’s body after they pass away. It’s an impossible, nausea-inducing, unimaginable task.

And yet, it has to be done. Holding Nathan in my arms in the NICU, moments after he died, I was asked by our social worker what funeral home we wanted to use. I mumbled the name of the cemetery that I knew of because we’ve had so much loss over the past few years, and that’s where everyone else in our family is.

Months later, I went through one of the brown envelopes filled with the resource packages they kept handing us in the NICU. Inside, I found a list of approximately 30 funeral homes, cremation providers, and cemeteries across the Lower Mainland. Maybe naming a provider at the hospital was for their records or part of a checklist; I’m not sure whether the requirements differ between hospitals.

I don’t know why it was necessary to ask us those details in the moments after Nathan died, but I guess being asked at that time forced me to verbalize the truth that my baby was gone, and plans needed to be made.

It turns out that even if you have the wherewithal to name a funeral home or cemetery to the social worker after your baby dies, you still need to be the one to follow through on the next steps. We waited, numb in the days after Nathan died, thinking that we would be contacted about what to do with his body. We didn’t realize that he was in the hospital morgue waiting for us to make the call to arrange his transfer. There’s nothing like having both your father and father-in-law gently, but directly, remind you to find out where their grandson’s body is, eager to plan the services to put him to rest.

This isn’t a story about how to plan a memorial for your baby. Every family experiencing pregnancy or infant loss will have unique, devastating, and deeply personal decisions to make. This is just my experience. Our choices reflected our Christian faith, Catholic family traditions, and what felt bearable for Jordan and me. 

Jordan did all of the logistics and coordination with the funeral home for Nathan’s cremation. I admired his strength and his ability to handle those devastating logistics for his son. I had enough trouble seeing email addresses and subject lines about “bereavement support” and being addressed as a bereaved parent. I can’t imagine what it was like to exchange emails, keep seeing the name of the funeral home in his inbox, and take those calls. We never really talked about it. We just took on separate responsibilities for planning the details.

Just days before, Jordan was registering our baby for a Social Insurance Number and birth certificate. Now, he had to complete the paperwork for Nathan’s death certificate.

My only experiences with deaths on my side of the family involved Catholic Masses and large family gatherings. Jordan said early on that he wanted our baby home with us, and after he said it, I could not imagine a different resting place for him. To get ahead of any questions about how the family would visit Nathan’s gravesite, I said that if Nathan were a living baby, no one would get to see him without us knowing in advance. I decided that if you want to visit Nathan, you have to visit all three of us in our home.

When my parents decided that they wanted Nathan blessed by a priest before his cremation, Jordan coordinated that too. We said no to picking out a tiny casket for him, so my parents attended the blessing with Nathan’s body resting in a basket beneath a white sheet. Jordan and I chose not to go. We wanted to preserve our final memory of our baby in the NICU, where we had already said goodbye and covered him with our kisses on the day he died.

I am grateful that Jordan and I were aligned on these decisions, just as we usually are in choices big and small, including how we decorate and style our home. I could not believe that we were looking through catalogues for something we had never imagined needing to add to it: our son’s urn.

In our typical dark humour, searching for some lightness, we wondered whether we should choose something “full Dumbledore,” made of dramatic white marble, or something wooden and more traditional. In the end, we chose a low-profile urn that was 3D-printed locally in Vancouver to hold our baby. How quickly things had changed from searching for cribs to choosing his final resting place.

A few days after Nathan died, during one of our end-of-day check-ins, Jordan and I talked about what we wanted to do for his funeral. We talked about a smaller service, something for family and close friends, and perhaps a bigger gathering in the sunshine around his original due date in June. 

In the end, we had a service with immediate family only in a Catholic church and did not do anything with our friends. Since none of them had the chance to meet Nathan, we figured that attending his funeral would mostly be about supporting us. We were already experiencing their love and support in the weeks after his death through visits to our house and gentle invitations to manageable get-togethers, so limiting attendance was what felt right to us.

Leading up to Nathan’s funeral, we had organized his blessing and cremation, ordered the urn, coordinated a date with the church, and selected a musician. I knew we would bring his urn to the church along with the baby blue toque he wore in the NICU and the bear crocheted by volunteers that we were given after he died.

As much as I didn’t want to, I could envision everything in the church, and everything felt organized and ready for the funeral to happen except for the flowers. As a sort of protest, I procrastinated.

Flowers had always felt like a treat for me, and now they were all around our house in the condolence bouquets people had brought us. I did not like the idea of buying a specific bouquet for Nathan’s funeral because I worried that I would feel sad whenever I saw those flowers again. I considered repurposing something already in our home, but then I felt guilty about Nathan not getting something special. I planned to go to the grocery store and get something simple and last-minute. I still could not bring myself to do it. My mom, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law offered to help me, but I knew I needed to be the one to make the decision and make it happen.

The afternoon before Nathan’s funeral, I found a woman who was starting a floral design business from her home in our neighbourhood. As much as I tried to be clear and concise, I ended up crying to her over the phone about how I needed flowers for my baby’s funeral, which was happening the next morning. She created a perfect white bouquet with light green and yellow accents, all wrapped in baby blue. It was beautiful and exactly what I wanted. She delivered it to our house and discounted it so heavily that it was basically free. Her kindness and understanding felt like an answer to my prayers during that impossible time.

As much as I procrastinated on the flowers and worried I’d have a negative association with them, I loved them so much, and I am so glad I went in that direction. I ended up having Nathan’s bouquet recreated in clay as a custom magnet. It’s stuck on our fridge, where we see it every day. It doesn’t make me sad to see those flowers; it is a lasting object of remembrance for Nathan. It’s beautiful and something people can ask about so I can tell them about Nathan’s service, the generosity of the neighbourhood florist, and the experience of collaborating with the Etsy artist who memorialized his bouquet so perfectly.

We were able to bring Nathan’s ashes home in his urn the day before his funeral. Again, Jordan was the one who had the strength to collect Nathan’s ashes, and he told me he put the seatbelt around the bag that contained his urn on the drive home. 

That was a deeply emotional day for us. I felt so much anticipation about finally having Nathan with us, and I tried not to dwell on the unbearable reality that he was arriving in an urn. Our baby was finally in the house where he was supposed to live. The three of us were together again, Jordan and I holding each other and our son.

Later that day, Jordan went on a hike, and it started to drizzle. It was the first day that it rained since the day Nathan died. I took it as a sign that even the sky was sad about the upcoming events. Jordan took it as a sign from Nathan that he had given us sunshine for that long stretch after he died, and we needed to take it from here.

The sound of the rain throughout the evening was relaxing, and I appreciated the change in tone for what we were about to do. I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote for an hour in the early morning of Nathan’s funeral day. It was exactly like waking up in the middle of the night and writing in the early hours the day after Nathan died. I wrote to remember that Nathan was created out of so much love, and he died because we could not let him suffer, no matter how much time we wanted to have with him. I wrote to ask Nathan to be with us and help us remember that he is experiencing peace, pure joy, and endless love forever, freed from any pain, suffering, or hardship. I wrote that it feels like a long life without him, but we have him in our hearts, our village, and our marriage. And hopefully, one day, we will have siblings for Nathan too.

I was able to sleep a little longer after writing. When we woke, we talked about our separate experiences that morning and prepared to face the day together.

It was particularly special, precious, and necessary for Jordan and me to have our own moments the day before Nathan’s funeral and use that time individually to prepare for a really hard day ahead.

For us, the funeral became more about officially putting Nathan to rest and giving our families a way to experience some closure as well.

The service was led by the priest who has seen my family through many Gutierrez funerals. Now, my baby, “Baby Gutierrez,” the name used at the hospital before Nathan's records were updated to his full name with my married last name, would be next.

We had a woman from the church I attended in elementary school play the piano and sing. When I called her to arrange the details, we cried over the phone together when she told me that she had a child in heaven too.

I chose songs that I knew and loved. I could never have imagined them playing at my baby’s funeral. I didn’t choose anything too traditional or grand. I chose songs that felt maternal and appropriate for a baby. Some were songs I had planned to sing to my future child, faith-filled songs my mom had sung to me as lullabies that I had intended to pass on. Now, I was sharing them with Nathan in a different way.

I also chose the readings. Again, I did not want anything lengthy or abstract. I chose simple passages about the innocence of children and the promise that those who are weary and burdened will find rest. As a family, we needed that reminder, that faith and trust. 

When it came to reading the Bible verses at the service, I was reluctant because I knew how emotional it would be, but Jordan said right away that he would read to set a good example for his son. I was so impressed by him and admired him. And naturally, I got competitive and said I’d do a reading too.

It gave us both a job to do for our son and his service. I think it allowed us to be present at Nathan’s funeral in a tangible way. Otherwise, it would have been easy to succumb to the sadness and remember nothing except crying through it.

We had the service with our immediate family: our parents, Jordan’s brother, and our sister-in-law. Jordan and I sat in the first row, the first pew, holding hands. Everyone else sat behind us. I could hear sniffles, whispered words of support, and my parents singing along. It brought me so much comfort to know they were right behind us.

There was also a man sitting several pews behind our group. He was older than Jordan and me but younger than our parents. He cried along with us and participated in the Mass. I remember making eye contact with him and wondering who he was.

We did not want to ask him to leave because he had obviously come looking for church that morning. He was gone before the end of the service, so we never had a chance to speak with him. Later, Jordan and I joked that we should have walked over and asked how he knew Nathan. We also laughed, wondering what would happen if we mentioned him to our family and they said, “What guy?” In any case, I like the idea of having one more person praying with us for Nathan that morning.

We also knew that we had the love of many people, even if they weren’t with us in the church. The friends who were leading our text groups let everyone know that we would be having Nathan’s funeral that day. I felt strengthened by the texts in the days before and after, knowing that everyone was keeping our little boy in their minds and hearts.

One of my girlfriends asked if I would share more details about Nathan’s funeral when we talked afterwards. We grew up in different denominations, and I know that she remains spiritual, believing in God and eternal souls, but in a way different from how she was brought up in the church. It meant so much to me when she asked to know which readings we had chosen for our son. She didn’t need to practice the same traditions as me; it felt like a special, intentional part of his service had travelled beyond the church and continued when she took the time to read the words we chose for him and our family.

Many of my family members and my parents’ friends also made church donations in Nathan’s name and offered Mass intentions for him. There was no shortage of prayers for Nathan. Prayer has been a traditional way that many people in our lives show support. It reflects my beliefs and brings me comfort, and it is just one of many ways people remember and care for our son.

Since bringing Nathan home, we have created a corner at the top of our staircase for him with his urn, picture, and footprints. When friends and family visit, many make a point of saying hello to Nathan. For some, it is the first time they are seeing what he looked like too. A little bit like me, and a lot like Jordan, in my opinion. It is special for me as his Mom to watch people acknowledge his place in our home. 

For me, believing that my baby is at peace has helped me make room for the love that remains alongside my grief. I know that not everyone experiences their baby’s continued presence through the same faith or understanding. For me, believing that Nathan is eternal and held close by our relatives who have gone before us brings me comfort. It lets me picture him happy, healthy, and sending us sunshine when he can. 

When people have asked me, I’ve described that Nathan’s funeral was as beautiful and perfect as something so unimaginable could be.

We were there as a family. We prayed for him as a family. We surrounded him with songs, readings, flowers, and an intentional, peaceful service created to honour him and put our son to rest. According to my faith, we know that he is in a heavenly home, and he is also with us here, in ours.