There is possibly no death as difficult to deal with as the death of a baby or child. Whether the baby is yet to be born, as in a miscarriage or still-birth, or very young as in the case of a cot death or older; all represent the loss of shared love, dreams, the future ? everything. As with all grief, it is important that people are given room to feel what they want to. Everything is acceptable: there is no normal. While it is easy to acknowledge this, it is not always easy to know how to respond when exposed to loss of such precious life. What follows will be, I hope, helpful both to those who have lost a baby or child in showing them how 'normal' their feelings are and those who want to know how to share appropriately in their time of grief and sorrow.

"How are you?" has become a meaningless greeting to which the expected answer is "fine". But I am not fine. At best I'm a bit fragile and a lot of the time I'm far worse ? I feel upset, hurt, bewildered, angry, guilty. But these and other normal feelings which follow the death of someone you love are not the things of polite conversation. So if you are not prepared to hear about them, choose a different way to greet me.

If I'd broken my leg I'd have a plaster cast on and you wouldn't expect me to get back to normal for months. You can't put broken feelings in plaster and you can't see the scars. But they need time to heal and I need time to come to terms with the realisation that "normal" from now on is life without my baby/child and all that meant to me.

You wouldn't have any trouble talking about good news. If I'd just won a huge sum of money it would be the first thing you would mention. Bad news is different ? you probably don't know what to say or how to say it. But the death of my baby/child is the most important thing in my life and it helps to acknowledge that.

"This is awful, I don't know what to say" is far more helpful than clich?d phrases that aren't true anyway. 'Time' alone doesn't heal and the fact we've 'got each other' is irrelevant because two drowning people can't save each other.

I loved this baby/child for who he was as an individual, not as an interchangeable piece in a set and mourning for him, at least at first, may strain rather than strengthen bonds with other children. He can never be forgotten or replaced.

Saying "if there's anything I can do" might make you feel good, but I'm unlikely to take you up because I probably don't know what I need and I'm unsure what your "anything" means. However if you turn up with food, an offer to baby-sit, or just a listening ear, your kindness will be gratefully accepted.

However weak or strong my faith, and whatever your beliefs, this is no time for sermons.

Denial, anger, guilt, depression and acceptance are all stages in the grief process but no two people will go through them in the same way. I'll have good days and bad days, sometimes I'll cope with a lot, at other times I'll be thrown by little things. It may seem illogical to you, but then feelings often are.

A stiff upper lip probably means I've got a tight rein on my feelings, not that I have come to terms with them. You may not be comfortable with crying or screaming but they are far healthier than numbness, which may be a sign of denial.

I'll always be grateful for the practical and moral support you gave immediately after the death and I know you have to get on with your life. But grief doesn't end with the funeral. An occasional phone call, note or visit will let me know you still care. Being contacted on the anniversary of the death each year shows me that the child was real to you too and hasn't been forgotten.

The death of my child has left me emotionally and spiritually shattered. It will take time to put the pieces together again, to rebuild relationships. But when things get really bad, knowing there is a friend who cares may be all I need to tip the balance in favour of recovery.

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