The 'Secret' World of a Bereaved Parent by Emalynne

My husband and I lost our first born daughter, Annabelle on 10 August 2012. She was stillborn, something that you just can not believe actually still happens in this day and age. You realise though as you learn of the secret world of bereaved parents that it happens much more often than you care to believe. It was a difficult and dark time when Annabelle passed and continued to be difficult and dark for many days, weeks and months afterwards. 

Coming out of that haze, I realised that life continued for those around me. As I began to go back to “life”, it was hard to work out what to say to people when you saw them again. It was especially hard with those who expected me to have a baby in my arms and they are unaware of what tragically had happened. It’s that difficult circle of people: colleagues and acquaintances that aren’t close enough to be those friends who learnt straight away of our baby’s death, but were well aware that you were pregnant. Going back to “normal life”, meant having to interact with them and explain to them the trauma of our loss. As I found myself repeating the story of the lost of my beloved Annabelle that soothed me but brought such sorrow, I could not bring myself, at times, most times, to do it again tomorrow. 

Although blessed with a subsequent pregnancy, it brought such anxiety as innocent questions from strangers abound about the number of children I had and what number pregnancy this might be. I might give an answer that doesn’t sit quite right, so the next time I gave another. As an overthinker, there is a whole lot of mental gymnastics to work out what to say. I wanted to make sure that I respected and honoured my child while managing the emotional turmoil and anxiety I had inside about what further questions may ensue from the answers that I gave.

In the end, I decided whatever answer I gave, they don’t remember it and I sit with the answer for what feels like forever because it doesn’t matter as much to them as it does to me and it just doesn’t seem to do my child justice. 

But you know what? 

As bereaved parents, we just do what we feel comfortable. There is no right or wrong way to answer such questions as time and life continues following the lost of our children. You navigate life as well as you can and do what you feel right to live and breathe the new normal that is your life without your beloved child. For me, to respect and honour my child, Annabelle is to continue to live my life and what it stands for.

Emalynne

If you require support after reading this blog, please contact Sands on 1300 072 637

Emalynne So

I am a mother to Annabelle, stillborn on 10 August 2012, BabySo, miscarried at 12 weeks on 20 June 2013 and Jema who was born in July 2014. I share my family's story to help honour the memory of Annabelle and BabySo so they can still make a difference to another family's journey on this path despite not having stepped a single foot on this earth.

Things I Wish People Understood - Part One by Suzanna

At 36, I’ve lost a parent, a friend and a child. There is nothing on Earth more harrowing than burying a child, even if you never had the privilege of knowing them. My husband, Ted, and I lost our beautiful baby Ella in January of this year. She was stillborn at 34 weeks. She was, and always will be, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t bring myself to talk about the magic, and joy and horror of our experience. I can’t bring myself to share the details which are personal, and raw and sacred.

What I can do, is tell you about our grief and the things I’ve learnt.

There is abundant kindness in the world

It’s important to savour the great kindness that is apparent in times of despair. Since losing Ella, we have been touched by people’s tenderness and humanity. We have been shown support through flowers, plants, cards, texts, gifts, keepsakes, meals, phone calls, long distance visits and all manner of thoughtful gestures. Often, this kindness has come from the most unexpected places. We are grateful beyond words.

We are tortured by things which ought to bring us joy

Babies are a source of collective joy, especially among women. But for my husband and me, they are a form of torture – an excruciating reminder of our loss. I can’t see a pram or a pregnant woman without wincing. Sadly, babies seem to evoke in me a kind of emotional anaphylaxis – fear, paralysis, constricted breathing.  But babies are not like peanuts; they can’t be easily avoided. There isn’t a supermarket, shopping centre or café on the planet which is baby-free.

Leaving the house is Hell

Any journey beyond the sanctuary of my home involves walking the gauntlet of prams and mothers’ groups. Given that I live in a small community, it also involves visiting places which evoke memories of being pregnant, excited and full of hope. Finally, there is the horror of bumping into a myriad of acquaintances who, upon noticing that I’m no longer pregnant, gleefully ask how motherhood is treating me. 

Greif has no end point

At Easter time, I had a chance encounter with a bereaved mother whose son had been dead for 15 years. She knelt at her child’s grave, literally howling in despair. It shook me to my core. It made me realise this: time does not heal all wounds. We never stop mourning the loss of our children, and there will frequently be ‘triggers’ that reignite or intensify our suffering. Typically, the things which bring joy to others are our greatest sources of pain – Christmases, birthdays, Mother’s Day. This seems particularly cruel. Unfortunately, bereaved parents mourn more than the loss of their children. They mourn every milestone that ought to have been enjoyed.

Children are not replaceable

Let’s be very clear: children are not disposable. They are not replaceable. In the wake of Ella’s death, the most hurtful remark I endured came from a man – with three adult children, no less - who laughed and replied ‘oh well, you can always make another one’. Comments of this nature show a disgusting and disturbing lack of humanity. A baby is no less loved than a toddler or a teenager or an adult child. Next time you think that my child’s life doesn’t matter, consider which of your children you’d willingly trade or discard. A brief life is still a special one.

The conversation gets awkward

Bereaved parents – especially those of us who are still adjusting to our circumstances – often don’t know what answers to offer people. Inquiries as to whether or not we have children are painful to navigate. I can’t bear to tell people that I don’t have any children. Denying Ella’s existence dishonours her and causes me great pain. In saying that, I don’t want to tell strangers that my baby has died. I’d like to declare that I have a child, without any obligation to flesh-out the miserable details. But it’s deceptive and probably unhealthy to mislead people into thinking that you are parenting a living child when you’re not.   

Suzanna

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Suzi Maxwell-Wright

  

My name is Suzi. My husband, Ted, and I are trying to heal after losing our baby Ella Rose Argyle (21 January 2017). Ella was stillborn at 34 weeks, after what appeared to be a healthy pregnancy. As we declared on her headstone, Ella is ‘beautiful, longed for and eternally loved’. She is, and always will be, a part of us. My hope is that this blog will honour her precious life and help other bereaved parents feel less alone as they navigate their grief. 

A Story of a Medical Termination by Zena

To the newly bereaved parent,

Please know that you're not alone. I want to share my story of medical termination.

This was extremely hard to write and share, in a world full of supportive people we have certainly felt alone because it's such a taboo and people are scared to talk about anything to do with the loss of a child. Unfortunately,  we live in a world where, we as humans, are judged for what shoes we wear, what house we live in and whether we like boys or girls so when we had to make a heartbreaking choice,  it became apparent that we would be fearful of what people would think.

The reality is that you are not in our shoes and you never will be. Even if you have to take the same path as us your story will still be different. Although we wish this would never happen to anyone the reality is once you get outside the bubble you live in it's everywhere, people are silently grieving, too afraid to let people know what's going on because they are scared of judgement. I've met some of the strongest mothers and heard their stories, some full term, miscarriages and medical terminations, the way people treat their child as if they don't exist weeks after they went through the toughest struggles is appalling. It took me almost 12 months to grieve my best friend passing away, she was my puppy of 15 years. ’’Getting over” a child passing away will not happen in weeks, months or years because you don't "get over them",  they are a part of you forever. I feel If we share her story and someone you know or perhaps years down the track your children or children children’s have to face something like this you might be able to say that you knew people who went through this and you know that they survived and made it through.

This story is about our daughter Chloe who is no longer in my tummy we should be around 8 months pregnant today but sadly I am not. In a few weeks I would be on maternity leave and instead we are trying to find our "new normal". This story is about 10 weeks of survival, learning how strong your marriage is, courage, loyalty, friendships, love and a $h!t unfair situation. It's not being posted for you to feel sorry for us we have done enough of that for ourselves but more for awareness. #breakthesilence. It's to help us in our grieving process because bumping into people in the street that don't know our story is terrifying.

On the 30th of April 2016 we should have been welcoming a precious bundle of joy into our lives listening to her cry, changing her nappy, watching her smile and grow and instead we will release balloons and blow out candles cake on behalf of her. We we're faced with decision that we would never wish upon anyone, we planned a funeral when others listened to their babies beautiful cry and we set a baby room up for our little girl and this room remains empty. She was sent to be with the angels at only 21 weeks gestation.

Her name is Chloe Fay Mason. She is the daughter of Troy and Zena Mason and although you can't physically see her in our arms she existed. She was 26cm the same length as a big cordial bottle. She had my nose and the rest of her was her daddy. She had long feet and hands, little specs of blonde hair and she was ours. Made with love! And certainly missed already.

On the 10th of December we went for our 20 week scan (5 months) right on Troy's birthday.What a cool present this would be to find out if our baby was to be a girl or a boy right?? We're in the "safe" zone what could possibly go wrong. The ultrasound person couldn't tell us the sex though he did mention that the baby yawned and waved at us, he failed to mention why he was paying particular attention to her spine and brain, he was actually silent the whole way through. Little did we know that this was the start of something much bigger.

We were surprised when we were called into Mater hospital on the 14th December and this is we're we would be told that we we're having a baby girl and than hit with information that our little Chloe was not well. She had Spina Bifida, Hydrocephalus, Chiari Malformation, Arnold Chairi 2.

What this basically meant to us without a doctors degree is she had a lot of spinal fluid on her brain (lemon shaped head), they could see issues with her spine and an open pocket on her back exposing her spinal cord, this pocket normally closes off during the first few weeks of being conceived. We were told if she were to survive (they weren't sure) and even make it to full term she would be straight into the operation theatre at not even a day old to have a permanent stint put into her brain to drain the fluid build up that she would forever have, she would then go into an operation to close the opening on her spine to stop her exposed spinal cords from showing and getting infected. This wouldn't fix the problem though the damage already happened when she was 2-4 weeks gestation. Although some might live with this, their story is not ours and we're all not the same.

We walked into that room wanting to find out the sex of the baby and walked out with a heavy heart and what felt like a house sitting on our shoulders. The doctor told us the outlook on her life would be grim.  She would be brain dead, she wouldn't be able to walk, we would be changing nappies for the rest of her life and she would be in a wheelchair.  The doctor gave us two chooses 1. medical termination or 2. we continue on and "if" she makes it full term we would have support. I used to think the hardest decision I would have with a child was what school they would go to or whether or not to breastfeed. But choosing whether your child should die or stay alive is by far the hardest!

We waited for the doctor to write up all this information in a room full of happily expecting pregnant ladies but we were distraught, our brains were going one million miles an hour and we still had to drive home. When we got home we were silent we had no idea what to do.  Googling what we had heard had never seemed so important and some how Troy and I had to come together in the end to be on the same page. I searched spina bifida pages and I found all the fabulous stories of the children who have parts of Chloe's diagnosis but what I had to realise is everyone's stories are different and no one shares the "terrible" stories. What heartache the parents went through or what the child had to go through. We just hoped the doctors weren't incorrect.

After many consultations with doctors and lots of tears we chose to take the pain now so our Chloe didn't have to. We didn't want to bring a child into the world just to have her exist without living. Would she even know that we existed? What life would she have? The guilt we live with everyday would never be as painful as it would be to watch as she grew without "growing". I've been in retirement homes and I've seen young people in here who can't fend for themselves is this what she would be like? A board of doctors had to approve our decision and when they did I was admitted to the hospital it was so close to Christmas. After waiting and contractions after contractions I went had Chloe via L&D the morning of the 19th December (right in between Troy’s and my  birthday) with limited pain relief - I felt I needed to take some pain for our little girl. And I will tell you now the labour stories people gave me when I was pregnant will never scare me because nothing can quite prepare you for birth of your baby let alone to a little angel. 

When little Chloe was put into our arms we couldn't celebrate because this is what ended her life,  she didn't cry, she didn't move, she was cold and we were numb. We spent a full day with her, dressed her, gave her kisses because she was our beautiful girl and this would be the last time we would ever see her and those moments will have to last a lifetime.

She had the obvious signs of her diagnosis, a lemon shaped malformed skull and the spina bifida sacral lesion on her back. Everything else we were told of would have to wait till the autopsy was done. We can't get any of those moments back but we were lucky enough to get precious photos of her from heartfelt photography so we can never forget her face. She had family and friends visit her as well as flowers and cards from beautiful people across the state. Chloe got cuddles from her aunties and uncles and grandma.

Every day after we woke up and we wished it was all a big nightmare I would look down at my tummy and see a belly that was empty. I only recognised her movements after she was no longer in me. If going through labour wasn't enough, your hormones are so messed up and to make matters worse the breast lk decides it might pay a visit.

Life sucked completely for the first month after she was born. Even though you have just had a baby people fail to realise that you should be taking it easy because there is no physical sign of a child. Conversations are awkward because no one knows what to say and everyone looks at you with sad eyes. The simplest of tasks are a big effort and some days I felt like I was a two year old chucking a tantrum. I couldn't have got through with my amazing husband. 

Chloe was in getting her autopsy done and this would take 3 weeks. On my birthday we were asked if they could keep her brain and spine as they were running behind. We told them to take their time in hope it might shed some more light. We never imagined our pregnancy to end this way, after all no one shares the terrible stories.

Each week was something new first we had to find items to have with her for the cremation, visiting her in her itty bitty coffin with all the special effects that grandmas and aunts had provided (photos of her cousins, letters and drawings) her birth certificate arriving, her ashes, her death certificate, cards in the mail, donations and preparation for her ceremony. When would getting all these triggers end.

It was then time we had to go back to the same hospital we got our Chloe's diagnosis from. We talked to the doctor about everything that had happened. We were advised the likelihood of this happening again would be very unlikely. I asked questions like; the fact that I had a doctor’s appointment prior to trying and they didn't say anything about my bloods, I took my prenatal vitamins prior to convincing isn't this meant to prevent it? We ate well, I lost 20kg, didn't drink, my husband quit smoking - why did this happen… Apparently 70% of NTD can be prevented by your pregnancy supplements the other 30% , they call it "just one of those things". I've had my folate and folic acid tested and I had a higher range in my system which is subject to nine months of tablets and now I've had to add in ten times the amount through a jar of $5 pills which we think mothers should just take regardless!

We had a ceremony for Chloe on Australia Day at the place where we got married. We had a balloon to release, but Chloe decided it would be better to go earlier and it was released in the car. Chloe had around 30 people come (more would have) and we had a lovely celebrant say some beautiful things. We had some tables set up with some of her special effects, her birth certificate, her pictures, teddies, funeral books and memory jars made just for her. We then spread a small amount of ashes in the ocean and blew bubbles. It was perfect and heart-warming that we had so much support from our amazing friends and family.

The situation we have been in has been very $h!T, my husband and I are stronger than ever, we have learnt a lot about true friends and family, the support we have received off of the "Facebook world" has been nothing short of amazing, even when I'm having tantrums. The messages, the calls, the cards, the flowers, the thoughts and the kind words. The support from our work, the assistance from the hospital and the doctors it makes us feel so lucky and appreciative in a time when "luck" isn't in our side.

We personally wouldn't be where we are today without some key people in my life, new and old virtual and real. I've met some people from all around the world on support groups for people in this terrible club. In a time when you feel so alone you start to realise that you are not. To help my healing I donated my wedding dress to angel gowns to make little angel dresses, I edited photos of other angels and put them into special wall features for their parents. I've seen so much pain on these groups and if I could have any super power it would be to give everyone's babies back and let them have them forever! When I hear people in the normal world complaining about something to do with their child it does make me sad. This is because little things like being up late at night to crying, or teething, or fevers is a luxury in my new world these things are things that mothers in this "group" would die to have. Hug your children and loved ones tightly and please enjoy these precious moments. All kinds of tragedies strike when we least expect it and life shouldn't be taken for granted.

My husband went back to work in the new year and I was back at work on the 15th Feb which was 9 weeks after her birth. Australia is amazing for recognising her birth and allowing me access maternity leave, however had she been 19 weeks instead of 20 we wouldn't have been so lucky. Which makes me sad. I've had the privilege of seeing many beautiful angels at all gestations and I can tell you a baby is a baby as soon as it's conceived! The emotional turmoil that is left whether for miscarriage, stillbirth, being in NICU or medical termination is huge but to not be told that they exist prior to 20 weeks is just messed up.

What hurts more is when people use words that make these big events in our lives less significant think about what you say to people before you say it! I used to be a big "positive" person! You would hear me say everything happens for a reason but how can I say that now? Someone in the universe chose to give Chloe a terrible diagnosis, made us go through labour, death, and organising a funeral so I can learn?? I’d rather not have the lesson thanks... What child would you give up to learn a lesson in life?

If your still reading thank you! Chloe's story will only close, when we allow it to and we won't. She will always be our first baby girl.. our child! Just because she isn't here doesn't mean she doesn't exist. She will be remembered until the day we die. We waited ten years to make a perfect life for her.. little did we know that nothing on the outside could have helped what was going on inside. We have no regrets with our decision the only regret we have is not spending time with her in my tummy and worrying about others too much. This year we are being selfish in some instances and not feeling guilty for it. "Fit our oxygen first, before helping others".

We ended a very much wanted pregnancy.

We have changed, parts of us are broken but we're survivors and we've survived so far.

The end.                                                                                 Zena Mason

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Zena is a full time administration officer, wife and mother to 4 furry animals as well as one beautiful angel called Chloe. This journey has been hard but she says that she has met some strong women and made friendships with people from across the world.

She's on a mission to not let Chloe's memory disappear she was a very wanted child for Zena and her husband. Zena is very open about Chloe's story because it’s such a taboo and it's important to raise awareness for all mothers who have lost a child but specifically through medical termination. She says "if we can raise awareness we will then create more supportive friends and family and hopefully one day we won't need to suffer in silence and feel so alone".

Losing Matisse – a Lesson in Spirituality by Ischa

Ischa shares with Sands her experience of losing her first baby boy, Matisse

'Losing Matisse forced me to accept life as it is, and to find peace with that.'

In January 2011 in between having a daughter and son, I lost my first baby boy, Matisse. It was my second pregnancy; he arrived early and did not survive the birth. It was especially heart breaking as I had endured months of illness clinging to the imagination of our future together. Having that taken away without reason left me in a state of shock, despair and utter lost-ness.

After the birth, distraught I asked all the usual questions, how did it happen, what do I do wrong, how could I fix it.  I felt so guilty, that somehow I had caused it or in someway didn’t deserve him. To ease the pain I started to plan. How soon could I start over, try again, and move forward. It felt good. I was in control again and the dream was not lost.  Then something happened.

My grief would not accept this pushing through. It stayed, forced me to sit and experience the pain in all its rawness. It sensed that this time I needed a different kind of meaning. It was in this moment that I began to really understand what being spiritual means. It is the choice to look for greater meaning through every situation, no matter how painful it might be.  A spiritual path is not something we choose to follow. We are always on it.

It is made up of every single experience we have passed through since birth. It is in the moment we consciously decide to evolve through these experiences that our spiritual path is revealed to us. One particular gift of loss and despair is that it is when life makes no sense that we are forced to seek a higher truth. Losing Matisse was a powerful teacher. It helped me to see that happiness is not the most important thing, nor the only path to fulfilment.

We greatly limit the human experience in the West fearing loss, grief, loneliness, guilt, anger, and desperation. We are taught to charge through, take action and move away from anything that feels uncomfortable. This denies the value of such emotions and drives us to control, avoid, resist and escape. And yet these emotions chase us relentlessly no matter how far we run, seemingly sabotaging our lives until we stop and let them in.

I have suffered many set backs in life and crusaded through them fearlessly. This time was different. I did not want Matisse to be a set back, a test of my strength. I wanted to keep him close by for the rest of my journey as an ally in life. What I discovered in my grief was the power of acceptance to bring peace into any type of human experience. Peace removes judgement, expectation and the need to know. Humans are gifted with wide range in their experiences, feelings and thoughts.

No one knows what is good or what is bad. It may feel bad to lose a baby, and to the future we may have had. To judge it as unfair, not right, and to imagine that I did not deserve him undermines his importance to my life.

Losing Matisse forced me to accept life as it is, and to find peace with that. Not to wish or want or expect things to be different. It developed in me new skills to meet disappointment with faith and openness, to not let it control me. He taught me the ultimate spiritual response is to allow my emotions while viewing every experience as a gift, an opportunity for new wisdom. I now know that in it is only on this path in our vulnerability that we truly relate to one another at our essence and that together we can grow and evolve our humanity.

Ischa

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Ischa Roberts

I have many roles as a mother, wife and coach but my commitment is always to live my life in an authentic way. I am passionate about improving the human experience and helping people clarify their priorities and make conscious choices. I support relationships to create deeper experiences of intimacy and work to transform family life. Loss has been a powerful teacher of self-discovery, forgiveness, compassion and trust and I thank Matisse everyday for gifting me with this wisdom.

Dealing with Jealousyby Larissa

Lairssa again shares with us her thoughts on Dealing with Jealousy.

    'Jealousy is just one of a range of emotions that I’ve had to deal with more than 

    I expected after my baby died. It’s been over two years of struggling but I’ve 

    started to see a way through: recognise, accept and let go. It’s not always easy 

    but it is always worth it!'

When your baby dies, you lose so much more than just them. When my first baby, a daughter, was stillborn, I lost trust in my body and in my instincts, I lost the future I had planned and I lost my innocence. Pregnancy no longer holds the same certainty; there is no “when the baby comes home” but “if the baby comes home”. I’ve had two pregnancies since Ariella’s death and while I have been excited, I have also been hesitant. I know there are no guarantees so I simply cannot get as excited about pregnancy as I did the first time.

I feel like I have made peace with this new reality. I do feel saddened that I cannot be as excited about my pregnancies as I once was, but that’s just part of my new reality. I’m ok with that. What I’m not as ok with is the fact that this hesitation, this lack of excitement, also applies to my friends’ pregnancies. I watch them eagerly prepare for their new babies and I wish it was me. The joyful baby showers, happy glow, fully prepared nurseries… all things I once had but don’t know if I’ll have again. And that’s when it creeps in.

Jealousy.
What is it about that feeling that seems worse than others? Since Ariella died I have felt many of the harsher emotions, including anger and guilt. I’ve come to terms with them and know how to deal with them when they arise. But jealousy? I’m not used to that yet. I still feel so uncomfortable when the twinges begin. It’s been two and a half years and I am only just starting to work out how to handle this particular emotion: recognise, allow, let go.

Firstly, I recognise which situations are likely to cause jealousy. If I knew a friend was going to have a baby I prepared myself for the mix of emotions that would arrive along with the baby. I knew I would be happy for my friends and relieved for a safe arrival but I’ve also learned to expect a twinge of jealousy too. Recognising that it is likely to appear takes the sudden sting out of it and therefore makes it easier to handle.

Secondly, I allow myself to feel it. I used to suppress it whenever I could, thinking that it wasn’t something I was allowed to feel. After all, isn’t jealousy a bad thing? But all that did was make the jealousy linger and make me feel worse. It was very freeing when someone wise told me that it’s ok to feel jealousy, in our situation it is a normal response! When someone else has what I desperately wish for - a living baby - it’s only human to feel jealous. Allowing myself to feel whatever emotion pops up (including jealousy) frees me from feeling guilty about my natural reactions; this makes it easier to get to the final stage of handling my jealousy.

The third thing I have learned to do is to let go. It’s so much easier said than done! I’ve done a lot of thinking about jealousy lately and I realised that while I accept it and allow myself to feel it, holding onto the feeling of jealousy only does harm. It impacts on my relationship with friends as it can hold me back from them and it steals my happiness. I’ve found the best way to deal with jealousy is the hardest: let it go. For me that means acknowledging that it’s there: naming it, sitting with it and accepting that is how I feel. And then I choose to set it aside, to look for the positives in the situation. As hard as it can be to see healthy, living babies, I have always loved babies and do see them as a blessing. So when a friend has a baby, I’ve learnt to move through the jealousy and find the positives. 

Jealousy is just one of a range of emotions that I’ve had to deal with more than I expected after my baby died. It’s been over two years of struggling but I’ve started to see a way through: recognise, accept and let go. It’s not always easy but it is always worth it!

Larissa

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Larissa Genat

Larissa is a wife to Marcus and a mother to two beautiful children – Ariella Jade in

Heaven and Levi William in her arms. She loves spaghetti bolognaise and the smell of rain, but neither of them could make her smile when, after a textbook pregnancy, Ariella unexpectedly died at 39 weeks gestation. No reason was ever found for her death. Soon after Ariella’s death Larissa began writing. You can find her posts at

Deeper Still (www.loveisdeeperstill.blogspot.com)  and on Still Standing Magazine (http://stillstandingmag.com/author/larissa).

You Can Never Get Enough “Stuff”

Tennille shares with us how she has created a story for her precious Oscar with keepsakes and symbols.

     'When you lose a baby you can never have enough “stuff”. You often hear 
      parents of children complain about how cluttered the house is, however 
      when your baby is not here with you, creating memories, keepsakes, collecting 
      bits and pieces which symbolise their life, and show the world that your baby 
      was here, is so important.'

Our son was stillborn at 33 weeks and while I had completed the antenatal classes, read the baby books and prepared all the baby paraphernalia at home, I was so unprepared for what was about to happen. I had no idea what to take to the hospital, or even how the next few days would unfold. In my mind I went to hospital, had a baby then came home. Story over. Not in a suicidal sense, but I just couldn’t see my life beyond coming home from hospital without a baby. In reality, spending a total of four days in hospital, giving birth and being with my baby has changed me forever. The “things” I collected over those few days, the items I brought home with me, some small, some everyday items are some of my most treasured possessions. 

I won’t forget how velvet soft the tiny blue outfit was my sister bought Oscar, which he was cremated in. I have a box with the scissors my husband cut the cord with, his little name card from the hospital, the tape measure to record head circumference. I even kept the poppy that came on my dinner tray for Remembrance Day, that plastic red poppy made me cry so hard for the son I couldn’t keep yet I couldn’t throw anything away from those few days. All this “stuff” acknowledged our son was here on earth, albeit briefly.
Everything for Oscar was blue, a blue jumpsuit, hat, bunny rug and a blue elephant, a gift from his Auntie. There was a caring midwife who I sensed wanted to help us create memories of our little family. At some point she brought us a delicately hand knitted shawl, in baby blue of course. The shawl was long enough to wrap around Oscar and we were able to hold him in this shawl while in hospital. With the shawl were some little felt hearts. The hearts and shawl, we found out are made by people who pray for the recipients and are given to have and hold, while cherishing the memory of lost loved ones. While Mark and I are not particularly religious, the gift was beautiful and I wore that shawls for weeks after coming home. It gave me some comfort, wrapping it around me, the same shawl which had cradled my son. This shawl now lies across our bed every evening, a way for us to be close to our son.

We tucked these little blue hearts into Oscar’s hands and it was our way of asking him to hold our heart and we would hold his. When we left hospital we took our little hearts that he had held for us and left one, tucked in with him. Mark and I each have one with us, which we carry every day. 

Creating a story for Oscar as never something I set out to do. His story just seemed to evolve. A child who I carried for 33 weeks, held in my arms for two days has become such a part of me that his story continues to grow and develop, even though he is no longer here with me. Having keepsakes, using symbolism has been so important for me in the grieving and healing process and gives me a way to continue to include our first born son with his other brothers, who are now 2.5 and 6 months. While this did not take our pain away it provided mementos and memories of our son. And memories and mementos are the most precious things we have.

In the weeks and months following Oscar’s birth, I would desperately seek symbols, ‘presents’ or keepsakes for our son. If I walked past a shop selling elephants, I had to buy one. Any special day (Christmas, Easter, birthdays) there had to be a bunch of blue balloons there. I have since created some small felt elephants, about the same size as the hearts. Oscar’s elephant he received in hospital resonated with me because ‘elephants never forget’. To us it is important to remember all our children, those to come and our baby who is here with us in spirit only.

Tenille

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Tennille Welsh

Tennille Welsh is a mother to three beautiful boys. Mark (her husband) and Tennille eperienced the stillbirth of their first son Oscar, at 33 weeks gestation in 2011, cause unknown. Tennille lives on a hobby farm with her family and enjoys horse riding, swimming and playing with her children.

Tennille is a teacher, specialising in Japanese, Indonesian and is also a teacher of the Deaf. Since having Oscar Tennille has also become a civil celebrant. She has officiated at several weddings and is considering turning her hand at funerals. Tennille feels giving families the gift of a personalised, and heartfelt farewell, especially for a child is so important and can have a huge impact on the grieving process. Before having Oscar, stillbirth was something Tennille knew nothing about and raising awareness by openly discussing all three of her children has been a passion for her

Time

Jess writes again for us and here she shares her thoughts around grief and time.

    'We’ll never forget Emma, we’ll never stop talking about her, never 
     stop loving her and we’ll never leave her out of our family head count.'

“Give it some time.” A phrase that’s commonly coined in times of loss. I've heard this a lot, in fact I’ve also used this a lot when comforting bereaved friends. Hearing these words when your heart is so broken can make you feel so hopeless and discouraged. At the time you can’t conceive of a future beyond the pain of that moment. The truth is though, it’s undoubtedly true.

February this year marked 10 years since I lost my dear Mum after a long battle with cancer. It also marked 6 months since we lost our little girl. Both ‘milestones’ of sorts, 10 years on I do feel peaceful about losing my Ma but it took TIME.

In the early days after losing Emma I remember thinking ‘when will things be funny again, when will we find peace?’ I’m a joker, I love to laugh but suddenly to laugh meant to betray my daughter's memory. To smile would mean I ‘didn't care’ that she was gone! Peace I think is still some time away for me but the laughter did return. Now, 8 months later I spend many happy days with my husband and our ridiculously hilarious 2 year old son. I can now allow myself to feel genuinely grateful for what I DO have without chastising myself for momentarily forgetting my pain. Not forgetting, that’s not right, just being ok with it.

A few months ago I was struggling with the presence of our very empty nursery and my very wise friend who sadly lost her little girl nearly 4 years ago said to me “You can never replace them but their presence in your family is a remarkable one, it becomes one even deeper than a full cot. Instead it fills your heart, your spirit and your soul. It becomes the reason to strive for your children and your family. It becomes a gentle way of living, breathing and appreciating every day. It becomes you.”

We’ll never forget Emma, we’ll never stop talking about her, never stop loving her and we’ll never leave her out of our family head count.

I know that she’s happy and at peace in the arms of her Grandma. I picture them together, 2 peas in a pod, smiling, playing, happy!

But these feelings and emotions take time, it’s something that we can’t control but we cannot allow to control us.

Time will pass, wounds will heal and my heart will mend…or so I hear.

Jess 

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637 

Jessica Lawless

Jessica lives in Victoria. She is the wife to Shane and a Mum to 2 beautiful kids - Adam, nearly 2 and Emma, born sleeping August 2014.
I like to practice yoga, cook, read and spend all my time being a SAHM with Adam. My family and friends are my whole world, there is barley a distinction between the two.
I hope by being so open and honest about my experiences I can help raise awareness and provide support for others.