After a stillbirth, I was wheeled through a maternity ward with empty arms, surrounded by the sounds of newborn joy that deepened my grief after infant loss. In that unbearable moment, a hospital janitor quietly intervened—creating noise, blocking a doorway, and shielding me from celebration I wasn’t ready to hear. That small act of compassion during pregnancy loss became a lifeline.
I later learned he had experienced the same tragedy decades earlier and had chosen his job intentionally, turning personal loss into quiet service in healthcare. His kindness, and a small handmade keepsake he gave me, helped my husband and me begin healing after losing a baby.
This experience taught me that support doesn’t always come from doctors or counselors—sometimes it comes from strangers who understand grief deeply and choose empathy over perfection. In moments of profound loss, human kindness can be the most powerful medicine.

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