The column from MLive President John Hiner that usually runs in this space is being turned over this week to Bob Johnson, who covers diversity issues for MLive. Though he covers issues that impact diverse communities, his message has extra resonance during Black History Month.
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In early August, I received a phone call every parent dreads. I was at a conference in Chicago when my son’s voice, shaken and rattled, delivered the news.
His baby girl — my granddaughter Samoni — had passed away at just five weeks old.
The pain in his voice broke me. I felt helpless, hundreds of miles away, as my son, his wife, and their four other children were dealing with this unimaginable grief.
They couldn’t deal with returning to their home for weeks and ultimately decided to move out entirely.
Samoni’s passing shook her family to its core. In the months since, I’ve wrestled with questions no grandparent or parent should: Could we have done something differently? Could this loss have been prevented?
As I recently began writing about infant mortality rates among Black babies in Michigan, I found myself dealing with those questions even more.
The numbers are shocking: Black infants in our state are nearly three times more likely to die before their first birthday than white infants. It’s a statistic I had read before, but it now feels personal.
Related: Michigan counties with the best and worst infant survival rates. In my research, I’ve learned about resources I hadn’t known existed — doulas, lactation consultants, and evidence-based practices for caring for newborns. I’ve also discovered there are new rules and guidelines for infant care that didn’t exist when I was raising children.
Practices once considered common sense, like putting a baby to sleep on its stomach, are now strongly discouraged. My generation did not emphasize the concept of a “safe sleep environment”—placing a baby on its back in a crib without blankets, pillows, or stuffed animals.
The truth is, cultural differences and generational practices shape how we care for our babies. For many of us, parenting advice came from our elders. My mom and grandmother raised babies in their own way, based on what was available to them and what they believed worked best.
They wrapped us tightly in blankets, gave us homemade remedies, and put us to sleep wherever we seemed comfortable, tossed us in the air and caught us for play. They did what they knew, and they did so with love.
But science and medicine have evolved since then. We now know more about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), about breastfeeding, and about how social determinants of health — like access to healthcare, stable housing and culturally competent providers — impact outcomes for our children.
The problem is, this information isn’t reaching everyone. Systemic barriers make it harder for Black families, particularly those in underserved communities to access lifesaving resources.
Doulas and lactation consultants can cost a lot of money and many parents can’t afford them.
Related: Doula Warriors: Fighting to save lives and support mothers in Saginaw
Prenatal education programs may not feel culturally relevant or welcoming to everyone. And for families struggling to make ends meet, the idea of a safe, minimalist sleep space can feel impossible when they can’t afford a baby crib, car seat or bassinet.
Losing Samoni has made me painfully aware of these inequities. It’s not enough to grieve or ask what could have been. We have to demand better for our children. Education and accessibility to these resources shouldn’t be a privilege — but a right.
This is about our babies, our legacies, and our futures. It’s about ensuring parents — regardless of race, income, or ZIP code — have the knowledge, support, and tools they need to give their children the best possible start in life.
I share this story not only to honor Samoni’s memory but to shine a light on the changes we need. We must advocate for better prenatal and postnatal care, for community-based programs and policies that address these disparities' root causes of these disparities.
Generational wisdom is a beautiful thing. But so is the ability to learn, to grow and to adapt. We owe it to our children and grandchildren to embrace both — to honor the lessons of the past while creating a safer, healthier future for future generations. # # # | 