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My Experience Growing Up as a Rainbow Baby: A Personal Story

My Experience Growing Up as a Rainbow Baby: A Personal Story

Yesterday was hard. My brother, Jacob, at exactly 12 weeks old, died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome on January 8th, 1979. I can’t imagine the devastation that this caused my parents and my older siblings. To have your new baby taken away from you forever is something no parent should ever have to go through.

I can’t remember ever NOT knowing that I had a brother who died. I was born three years after his death, with my mom having to have her tubes untied in order to conceive me. I grew up hearing “If Jacob hadn’t died, you’d never have been born.” My parents, and in particular my mother, suffered a tremendous amount of Catholic guilt. She convinced herself that he was taken from her because she’d had her tubes tied. She believed that it was a punishment from God.

When I was born, I was never out of her sight. She held me at all times. I was breastfed exclusively, I co-slept, and in the rare times that I was out of her arms, I was hooked up to heart monitors to ensure that I was always okay.

My mother says that I never cried. I never had a reason to. If anything bothered me – hunger, discomfort, pain – she was always there to soothe me. It became what I was known for – the good natured-baby who turned into a good-natured young girl.

The story goes that my father was angry when my mom became pregnant again. He was convinced that he couldn’t love me. After the death of his baby son, he didn’t believe he was capable of loving a new child. But as he tells it, he fell in love with me the second I entered the world.

I got a lot of that growing up. So much love and praise and adoration – the first child born after the death of another. It is only in the last year that I did the math and truly understood how old my parents were when they suffered this incredible loss – my mother was not yet 24, and my father was only just.

The term “rainbow baby” wasn’t one I’d heard until a few years ago. It is described as the baby born after the loss of a child. It is so named because if losing a child is like the worst storm of your life, the new child is the rainbow that appears to remind you that everything will be okay.

mother and baby

When I was seven, I remember standing in line at my school lunch, talking to my friends. I guess I must have recently started to process the life and loss of my brother because I remember talking to my group about our brothers and sisters. I proudly spoke up, “I have three brothers and a sister. But one of my brothers died when he was a baby.”  Immediately a hush fell over the group, and it was the first time I understood that this was a subject likely to make people uncomfortable. My hasty continuation did nothing to help the situation, as I blurted out, “But it’s okay. I’m glad he died. If he didn’t die, I wouldn’t be here.” You can believe the guilt of what I’d just said ate at me, but since it immediately shut down the pitying looks, it became my go-to response whenever the subject came up.

As I got older, I’d try and ask questions of my mother about Jacob. His memory had never left us, and the whole family spoke of him often. I imagine any parent who has experienced that loss just wants to make sure no one ever forgets their child. But for some reason, the guilt started to eat at me.

My mother would always say, “God has a plan. There is a reason for everything.” For a while when I was very young, I swore that I wanted to grow up and become a nun. Even at 3 or 4 years old, I felt like I needed to pay a debt to God, though I don’t know if that was because of Jake or just because that’s the kind of person I was.

We lived in the same house my brother had died in until I was five. I have some strange memories of that place, and to this day you can’t convince me they aren’t real. I swear that I used to float down the stairs. It happened again and again. I’d be standing at the top of our stairway, looking down, and I’d suddenly just… float. I’d land safely at the bottom and go on my way. It didn’t seem weird at the time, but eventually I realized that that was a bit odd, so I told my mom. She brushed me off. “You were dreaming.” I swore I wasn’t. It was real.  Years later, I brought it up again, and she again brushed it off. “You used to jump down the stairs into a pile of laundry. It wasn’t from the top. It was from a few steps up.”  But that wasn’t it, either. I remembered jumping in the laundry. It was a totally separate memory from the floating. I eventually brought it up with my dad, who is generally more of a skeptic. He just stared off for a minute and said, “I believe you. I think it was your brother, Jake, carrying you down the stairs.”

Jacob’s memory was not mine. He died before I was born, and I didn’t know him. But my whole life was spent in his shadow. I pushed myself in everything I did because I thought that he might be looking down on me, resentful. What kind of life would he have led if he’d been given the chance? He’d assuredly have done more and been better than I. I lost hours of sleep each night thinking about it, comparing my life to the one he didn’t get to live. I prayed to God again and again to let us trade places. Bring him back and take me instead.

My teen years were spent in severe depression with episodes of self harm that I hid from my family. I became obsessed with the occult, thinking I could find a way to commune with my brother.

We used to visit his grave once or twice a year, but eventually I couldn’t make myself get out of the car anymore. I would just sit in there and cry.

One year, when I was in my mid-20s, I went out on the town on what would have been his birthday. I sat in a bar, tipping back drinks and talking to my older brother about what he remembered from the time when Jacob died. His main memories were of my mother screaming and of everyone being sad. He was three at the time.

I went home and drunkenly confronted my folks. I raged against God and demanded to know if it was my fault. Did they blame me? I could see their shock and upset, but I railed at them. They calmed me down eventually. “Of course we don’t blame you. You weren’t even born yet.”  My dad took me to my room, leaving me with some crackers and a bucket to be sick in, as I was clearly well past my limit. The next day, in my hungover state, he simply asked if I was feeling better. I nodded, ashamed of how I’d acted. Dredging up the past for no reason.

I was a rainbow baby. I was supposed to bring sunshine back into their lives. But when I look back on the last almost 34 years that I’ve been here, I wonder. Was it a fair trade?


Friday 19th of January 2024

I found out today that im a rainbow baby. I feel as if im living someone elses life. I was also meant to be a miscarrige and my parents were giving up trying to having a second child. Im afraid that this awful feeling of guilt will always be with me. I shouldnt be here and my brother is supposed to have a different sibling. It hurts to think that Im a replacement of that child.


Monday 7th of August 2023

This is very good for me to read as I am expecting our rainbow baby after the loss of our daughter last year. I'd never heard this perspective before and it needs to be heard. We always planned on having more children - long before we ever knew we would lose our second. I am in a very good place and I hope this next baby can know about his/her big sister (because we will continue to remember her) without feeling what you have felt. This baby isn't being born because my other one died. This baby is being born because I have always wanted this baby. I hope that makes a difference.


Wednesday 3rd of May 2023

I was very glad to read your article . I am 60 years old and tonite was the very first time I heard the term “rainbow baby “ and I realized I am one. My mother who was a recent immigrant to the US gave birth to my brother Paul - he only lived for a short while after birth - somehow he was born with some sort of defect in his digestive system . My father was unemployed at the time - so the baby was buried somewhere ( I am not sure where and this haunts me) I was born less than a year and a half later. My brother’s existence was kept secret - I found out as an older child by finding a picture of a baby buried in my mother’s under wear drawer with his name on it. My parents were conservative Europeans , refugees from war and communism and keep things locked up. My mother was very intense and anxious about both my younger sister and me and all of my life ( they have passed) I have felt that it was my responsibility to take care of them. All my life I have felt a deep deep hole in my heart ‘ missing and longing for the brother I never knew. I still cannot get over that we do not know where he is buried - I am attempting to find him so I can lay him to rest next to my parents buried in Hungary. One more uncanny thing that I related to in your story. I too have a distinct memory of being a toddler and “ floating “ down from the top of a radiator or that something helped me float down to prevent me from coming to harm . All my life the recall of that feeling has helped me believe in the presence of angels but not until I read your story and your father’s response did I realize that it may have been my brother’s presence. I send love to you and all of the other rainbow babys on this thread and out there - the carrying of unexpressed grief is great but I do believe we have come in to this lifetime with some connection to a greater love❤️

Katie Reed

Thursday 4th of May 2023

Oh, Julie, thank you for sharing your story. It moved me. I can imagine how it haunts you that you don't know where your brother is laid to rest. If you have your parents names and a general area to search, you may be able to find the death certificate and possibly look up burial records. I am genuinely sending you peace and love and hope that you'll one day get your wish. <3

Rainbow adult

Wednesday 30th of March 2022

Gurl I feel you. 36 year old rainbow baby here and once you said the line “if they didn’t die I wouldn’t be here” I’ve run that into the dang ground.


Wednesday 19th of January 2022

I am my family's rainbow baby. I am the 2nd born after my sister Tiffany who died at birth as a full term baby. My mom has only managed to go to her grave once, with my help, and I will never ask her to go again. I think she may have gone on her own since then, but it was such a painful trip for her.. I am only glad that I was there to hold her as she cried. I think my sister would have wanted that. I am 38 now. It has also followed me for most of my entire life. I didn't find out about her until I was about 7 years old. I'll never forget the day. We were meeting my uncle from Iceland that we had never met before at my grandmother's house and he thought that I was a girl named Tiffany. I innocently asked my mom who Tiffany was. I was even more confused because Tiffany was the name that my father sometimes called me and I would always state that I am Christie, not Tiffany. He was a drinker, and it was something he did often. It was not until this unknown man asked me if I was Tiffanythat I knew that I had to find out more. She told the man that I was Christie. On the way home from my grandmother's that night, she told me about the baby that she had carried before me. She told me that Tiffany was ready to be born and something happened. She was told that she had to carry Tiffany inside of her for another month until she went into labor naturally, and then she had to birth her dead Tiffany. I was heartbroken. I cried all night, and for days and weeks. Idk if I will ever get over her death. She is a part of me that I never got to know or experience. I love her, of course, but I can't help but to wonder how everything would have been different if she were here. My younger sister told me recently that I am the rainbow baby. I never really thought about it like that, but now, I can't think of it in any other way. I think about Tiffany daily. She is the sister.. the big sister that I never got to have. I think it broke my parents to lose her, and my younger sister and I were left with the shell of them that she left behind. Thankyou for your story. I never knew that other people felt like I do about this. It's never been easy. And I don't think I've ever spoken about it before.