Empty baby bed symbolizing sudden death of a baby and first 48 hours grief challenges.

What No One Tells You About the First 48 Hours After Sudden Loss

The first 48 hours after losing my beautiful son were a blur of shattered reality—a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.  

I could barely brush my teeth. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t face a single person without crumbling. The tears didn’t stop; they were as constant as my breath, ragged and involuntary. 

Leaving the hospital without my baby was the most devastating thing I’ve ever had to do. Walking away from him, from the room where his little body lay, felt like tearing my soul in half. The nurses handed me a box—his tiny belongings, his handprints pressed into clay—and I remember staring at it, confused. How could this be all I had left, it's his first birthday in 5 days?

That night, the paediatric consultant and police came to our home. They asked questions, their voices gentle but clinical, ruling out foul-play. I sat there, numb, while inside I screamed: This isn’t real. This can’t be real. 

I’m normally organised. I’m the person who plans, who copes. But in those hours and days, I couldn’t string a sentence together. My thoughts were shards of glass—sharp, scattered, cutting me each time I tried to piece them into sense.  

And the flashbacks, constant & intense. Every time I closed my eyes, I relived it: the panic, the helplessness, the moment my world ended. With each one, I begged—Please, let this be a mistake. Let him be alive. Let me wake up.

But I didn’t wake up.  

This is what no one tells you: in those first 48 hours, you don’t survive grief. You don’t process it. You just exist in the wreckage, barely breathing, while the universe ruthlessly moves on without you.  

And yet—you are still here. However broken, however lost. However impossible it feels to take the next breath.  

You are not alone.  


Note to readers:  


If you’re in these raw, early hours, I see you. There’s no “right” way to get through this. But if you need a hand to hold, even virtually, my Sudden Loss Emergency Checklist has gentle prompts for when the world feels too heavy.  

💛 Salina

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Frequently Asked Questions About the First 48 Hours of Sudden Loss


What does the first 48 hours after a sudden loss feel like?
The first two days can feel like a fog or dream. You may feel numb, physically frozen, or like you’re outside of your own body. Everything becomes a blur as you try to make sense of the unimaginable.

What should I do if someone I love experiences a sudden loss?
Step in gently and use initiative—don’t ask, just do. Provide food, offer childcare, manage practical tasks like dealing with authorities or funeral homes. Be present and respectful, not overwhelming.

What helped you personally during those early days?
People who stepped in without asking made the most impact. My sister took my children to the doctor, my husband’s cousin handled hospital communications, and friends brought real photos of my son. No one waited to be asked—they just helped.

Is it normal to forget everything and feel like you’re just surviving?
Completely. Many grieving parents don’t remember who visited or what was said. It’s a state of shock and emotional paralysis. All you can do is breathe—and that is enough.

What shouldn’t people say or do in the early hours after a sudden death?
Avoid saying things like “you can have more children” or “stay strong for your other kids.” These comments, though often well-meaning, can be deeply hurtful and dismissive of the child who died and the grief being felt.

 

 

 

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