Welcome to courageous grief

Welcome to the Sh!t club: a male’s perspective on stillbirth, grief, and loss

Jason Dykstra
Seazens Collective, 2023.

During the closing prayer at my friend’s memorial a few months ago, the officiating pastor included a request for “the courage to grieve.” This phrase still hovered in my mind as I opened Jason Dykstra’s memoir about the stillborn death of his third child, Ezra. What does courageous grief look like when a much-loved son is delivered – to use Dykstra’s words –“Straight into the hands of God”?

In Welcome To The Sh!t Club: A Male’s Perspective on Stillbirth, Grief, and Loss Dykstra delves into his complicated questions and emotions in the aftermath of Ezra’s death. His memoir is harrowing, raw and intensely detailed. To me, even its title points to the rawness of a story that cannot be contained in easy words.

As Dykstra notes in the beginning of the book, this is a memoir geared primarily towards those who have personally gone through pregnancy and infant loss. He also acknowledges and welcomes readers (like me) without this particular experience, but with a desire to learn from and support people living with this reality.

The sights, sounds and sensations of the memoir’s many painful scenes make for vivid reading. Dykstra sweats and shakes in a tattered leather chair as he holds Ezra for the first time “praying for him to suddenly grab hold of [his] fingers.” At Ezra’s burial, he almost jumps up to stop a man tasked with tamping the gravesite grass and “tucking [his] son into his forever resting place.” This shocked father’s grief is visceral and unpredictable – not abstract or linear.

Dykstra observes that society has conflicting ideas about the “appropriate” or “best” way to grieve. Some, for example, assume that quiet stoicism or a quick return to routine is an impressive display of strength. Dykstra describes how men, in particular, can be expected to cover up their vulnerability – and he recognizes how he, too, has internalized some false messages about masculinity.

A devastating blessing

Instead of clinging to the illusion of an easy fix for grief, Dykstra allows his reader to dwell in the precariousness of his family’s loss – what he comes to call their “devastating blessing.” His tone is forthright and wise – with welcome spots of candid, self-deprecating humour – as he writes about the challenges and the grace-filled moments that arise in daily life. He carries all of his pain and anger alongside a belief in a loving God, and asks: “How do I sit with this loss, the loss of my baby boy, and offer this experience to God so that I can enter into a time of transformation?”

Support from others willing to “sit with this loss” is crucial to Dykstra’s journey of transformation. Relying on people can be difficult and risky; some people react in awkward and avoidant ways that are hurtful. Thankfully, though, Dykstra and his family are lovingly buoyed by friends, family members, church members and others willing to faithfully and creatively draw near, even when they don’t know exactly what to do or say. Their grief is carried out in and by a community.

Dykstra’s immediate family connects in new ways, too. He and his wife, Gina, feel the privilege and poignancy of bearing witness to their young children’s questions and feelings about their brother. The couple finds themselves talking more honestly with each other than they have in years. In their own unique ways, they strain together to find hope for the future – a future that eventually includes adding another child.

As the book comes to an end, Dykstra’s grief over losing his beloved son is, of course, still there. He knows that it will always be with him. Within it, however, he finds an ever-changing but inspiring source of love. His vocation is linked to Ezra’s legacy as he writes about his journey and becomes one of North America’s first male-identifying Pregnancy and Infant Loss Grief Coaches. He concludes that, “God has used this painful, awful experience in incredible and life-giving ways … He used Ezra to change me.”

I can’t imagine

Dykstra’s insights can be valuable for individuals and entire communities seeking to follow Christ while living in the tension of despair and hope. He cherishes and learns from Jesus’ example of tenderly taking on suffering and embracing weakness as strength. In the noisy depths of sorrow, he works at pausing to ponder God. “It’s time to start being more like Mary, noticing something significant is happening right in front of me, sitting down at the foot of Jesus, and simply taking it all in,” he writes. “Be still, live in the pause and embrace the vulnerable parts of ourselves, engage in curiosity, and venture into those depths so that we can act again.”

I have heard – perhaps even said – the phrase “I can’t imagine” in response to stories of stillbirth. Such words are often offered by those with good intentions. But the inability to imagine is quite different than the unwillingness to do so. I read this book knowing it would be heavy, and fearing its weight. I’m grateful, though, for Dykstra’s sincere invitation to enter into his story and indeed imagine with him. His guidance can help people more accurately fathom pregnancy and infant loss – and more empathetically support those in the midst of it.

This memoir of loving and losing a beloved boy named Ezra is a disarming account of staggering loss, surprising grace and – yes – courageous grief.