Thomas Portlock by Mark

This is dedicated to the Dads who understand this feeling.

This year would have been your twenty first birthday! Where have all those years gone? Hardly a day goes by without me thinking of you.

I remember the day you were born and the first time I held you, never realising that in five and a half weeks you would be gone forever but never forgotten.

You were born premature so your first weeks were spent in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and we spent many days visiting you and eagerly waiting for the day you would come home. That day finally came and we took you home and you joined the rest of your immediate family in our home. You had only been home a few days when you became sick and you had to be rushed back to hospital. As I was working the afternoon shift I had to ring the hospital to see how you were going and they told me you were in a separate room and were doing fine so I went to bed. The next thing I remember is getting a phone call from the hospital to get there as fast as possible.

When the doctors came into your room and came up to us, they said you have a decision to make. It was the hardest one in my life! You were dying and there was nothing they could do. They said they could turn off the ventilator and you could die on the bed or I could hold you and you could die in my arms.

So I held you in my arms and felt the life drain out of your little body, not believing this was happening. It felt like a bad dream that I couldn't wake up from so when the doctors came over and pronounced you dead I just sat there feeling nothing. The doctor came up to me and said I needed to make another decision, they wanted to do an autopsy. When I asked why they said they don't know why you died and they wanted to find out why so I said yes.

The next few weeks went by and everyone was asking how your mother was going. I kept saying she was ok but everyone seemed to forget that I was hurting just as much but had to stay strong for the family. The autopsy results finally came in and the results showed that you had died from pneumonia that had been brought on by Whooping Cough.

As I had been coughing for several weeks I thought I had it and had given it to you. I spoke to the doctor and voiced my concerns so I had a blood test done and for the next weeks I felt so guilty that I might have killed you. I couldn't talk to anyone about this because back then men didn't talk about their feelings and there were very few support groups for men.

The results finally came in and all I had was a bad cough. Still, the feeling of anger inside me wouldn't go away as I felt so helpless that I couldn't help you as I was the male and I could fix anything. I had to remain strong as the funeral had to be arranged and a viewing as most of the family hadn't met you yet. My life felt like it was running on autopilot.

I still had to work as the bills didn't stop. Your mother still needed support from people and I still had to carry on, thinking to myself what about me. The day of your funeral finally came and I couldn't think any more as there was one more thing I had to do. With the help of friends and family we carried your little coffin into the Chapel. We walked past people and I didn't even notice them as my mind was so heavy.

This is our story.

I sped to the hospital saying to myself stuff the speed limit and got to the hospital. In next to no time after parking in the doctor’s car park we rushed to your room. When we got there the doctors said we should ring our immediate family and get them here as well. When they got there you weren't doing so well and had been placed on a ventilator. All that I was feeling at that time was frustration because I couldn't do anything to help you.                  Mark


This is dedicated to the Dads who understand this feeling.

If you require support after reading this blog, please contact Sands on 13000 72637

Hearts That Were Broken, Hearts That Have Healed - Edwina

It’s almost eleven years since my son Teddy came, then left three days later. He was my much-longed-for third child, but from early on in my pregnancy with him, I knew something wasn’t right. One day on my morning walk I got a message loud and clear – “Don’t get too attached, this one won’t be with you long”. I was still in my first trimester, so I thought I was going to miscarry. I tried to shake the feeling, put it out of my mind as an unreasonable fear, but it persisted even as I carried him all the way to full term. A few days before he was born I had a nightmare, the last words I heard before waking were, “And the baby’s dead too.”

        As his birth approached though, I was filled with a deep sense of calm. I spent many hours in meditation, something I’d been able to do easily ever since his conception. When he finally arrived, born in water into my own arms, he was slow to come around, but my experienced midwife and I worked together and soon he was breathing and a healthy glowing pink. I was ecstatic, my beautiful boy was here at last. All my bad dreams and messages were just fears.

        But then that night in my bed at home I started to worry. Unlike my other babies who’d been voracious feeders, he was struggling to stay awake at my breast and not getting much milk. My midwife visited and checked him out and helped me to get him to feed. But another night passed without him feeding properly. I lay him on my knees facing me and asked him what was going on. I told him to make a decision – that I was here and would love him forever no matter what, but to please just eat.

        My midwife visited again and together we got him to have the best feed he’d yet been able to manage and lay him beside me on the bed. Not long after she left, I noticed that Teddy was lying very still beside me. That his lips looked blue. I picked him up and ran through the house calling for help, for God, for anyone, to please, please help me. My sister who was staying rang the midwife and got her to return, then called the ambulance as I began to resuscitate him. Together my midwife and I pumped his tiny heart and breathed for him until the ambulance arrived and took over. Cutting through his jumpsuit and attaching electrodes, shooting him full of adrenaline. Nothing worked. He’d made his decision. They say that every moment is perfect. The moment of your child’s death feels very, very far from that.

        Teddy was my third child and the third member of my family I’d lost in traumatic circumstances. My father had died after a long ugly battle with cancer when he was only 42. My younger brother killed himself to end the suffering of his mental illness when he was 20. Then came Teddy, my little three-day baby who died of a congenital heart defect. I thought I’d finished my dance with death and grieving. Teddy made me face all of it again.

        And I’ve learnt more in the years since he’s come and gone than I ever hope to learn again. Luckily, I had been practising yoga for many years when he died, so every day I got onto my mat and cried out my pain. I learned that it was better to cry a little bit every day than wait until I couldn’t hold it in anymore and explode in unrelenting sobs. I learned that by sending out love and comfort to all the other women in the world, both now and back through time who knew the same loss, that I too was somehow mysteriously comforted. I learned that if I wrote in my journal about my grief, about Teddy, about how angry I was, how awful it felt, how afraid I was of facing other people and their fat healthy babies, of the hate and rage and hopelessness, or if I drew out my pain using pens and paint, drew hearts that were broken and hearts that had mended, that if I let myself feel my grief and cry some more, I was helping myself to heal.


        I learned that in Bali, if a baby dies before it’s six months old, it’s buried in a special cemetery and revered as a god. That helped. When I think of Teddy now, I see him as a great white angel standing with me and with all the mothers who have lost their babies. He is standing with me now. Just as your babies are standing with you.

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Edwina Shaw

Edwina Shaw is a Queensland writer. Her first book Thrill Seekers, based on her brother’s adolescent battle with schizophrenia, was shortlisted for the 2012 NSW Premier’s Award for New Writing.  In the Dark of Night, her recently released children’s chapter book, is part of a nationwide library promotion – Summer Reading Club 2016/17. She has been widely published in Australian and international journals, including Best Australian Stories 2014. She writes regularly for UPLIFT Connect and published an article on The Gifts of Grief there http://upliftconnect.com/the-gifts-of-grief/
Edwina teaches yoga and writing at universities in Brisbane, and innovative workshops combining both. She also teaches specialised workshops combing yoga, writing and other creative arts to help ease the pain of loss.
She can be booked through SpeakersInk
http://www.speakers-ink.com.au/speakers/edwina-shaw
You can also find her at her website http://www.edwinashaw.com
On Twitter https://twitter.com/EdwinaShaw1

And Facebook https://www.facebook.com/EdwinaShawauthor

Remembering Precious Jethro James short life - Dominique

Whenever I get an opportunity to write about my angel, Jethro James Morcombe, it is not something I shy away from, but yet I embrace this time to breathe even more life into my son’s short lived life.

I shake my head in disbelief that soon we will celebrate what would have been his 7^th birthday, my goodness me!

My sweet child was bought into this world on the 14^th January 2010. This was also my father’s birthday and we were so delighted that we were going to give Poppy the best birthday present ever. However, quite the opposite happened, as on this very day, my world changed and was to never be the same again.

I had a beautiful pregnancy with Jethro. No morning sickness, no health issues, just a lovely pregnancy.

We were induced early upon request and all was fine to do so. Then commenced what was to be a 25hr labor and then it was time to push. I pushed and pushed but needed help. So in came the vacuum suction and few times without success and then the forceps. On the third attempt of the forceps Jethro became stuck. The look of horror came over the obstetrician’s face and next minute I’m rushed into to have an emergency caesarian. At this point I had no idea what was going on, I was just doing as I was told. My husband on the other hand, as he later told me, knew something wasn’t right.

Jethro was pulled out fairly quickly…but something was wrong. There was no cry, however there was lots of people in the room by this time. Doctors and nurses rushed to his aid, then a few minutes later the obstetrician came over to tell me that he was very sick and that he had lost a lot of oxygen during delivery: we later found out that this would cause his death. At this point, I just figured he would be fine and that he would recover. All the same my body went into shock and I could not stop myself from shaking. I was incredibly scared. He was later take to the Children’s Hospital. The next day I was bandaged up, catheter in and off I went to visit my son. As I walked into the ward, there was Jethro, the only child attached to all these machines and I just broke down and wept. I was heartbroken to say the least.

The day was just a blur and that pains me, as that day was 1 of only 2 days Jethro was alive and I felt like I’d missed out on an opportunity to hold my boy a little longer, to stroke his face, touch his skin, play with his little fingers and toes and talk to him and tell him how much I love him, but I had no idea that he was about to be taken as soon as he was.

That night my husband told me that the doctors had asked us to make a decision. Because Jethro was so sick we had the option to take him off life support and let him pass away peacefully. The next day we sat and spoke with the doctor and they had explained to us that he would never recover and that there was nothing more that they could do from him. He would be brain damaged forever and by letting him stay on life support meant that he could actually survive, but basically be a vegetable. There was no way we would do that to our son, it would have felt selfish. No one should ever have to live like this so of course we agreed to do the most humane thing possible and take him off life support. This was the hardest decision of our lives, but knew that it was the right one. After the family said their goodbyes, the doctors took Jethro of all the machines. He was then brought to us in a room at the hospital. And there he was, our gorgeous boy, no machines, just him. I kissed him and talked to him and held him. We understood that he would be gone in a few hours, but our strong little man stayed on for 9 hours. And then..I heard his last breath! A moment I will never forget. I saw my son be brought into this world and then I saw him go.

I believe that Jethro was brought to us for a reason and taken for a reason. He has enriched my life so much and has helped me open my eyes in a big way. He’s thought about every hour of every day and I love and miss my son so much.  

Dominique 

If you require support after reading this blog please contact  

Sands on 13 000 72637

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".

2015 Reflections from Sands Australia CEO

As the year draws to a close and I mark my first year in post as CEO of Sands Australia, I’ve recently spent some time reflecting on the past 12 months. Marked with celebrations, laughter, a few tears and heartfelt goodbyes, the last 12 months have been an inspiring, yet sobering experience. 

I’ve really been moved by our Volunteer Parent Supporters who give up hours and hours of their own time so that Sands can continue to offer around the clock support. I am so grateful for their commitment and efforts. Yet, to know that 106,000 families experienced the death of a baby through miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, stillbirth, medical termination or newborn death in the space of just 12 months has been distressing and overwhelming at times.

This is my first blog as CEO of Sands Australia, and I am writing it to coincide with the release of our strategy. Due to be launched in early January, our first strategic plan; Sands 2015 – 2020: Providing hope and understanding for bereaved parents across Australia, will challenge Sands as an organisation so that we can reach out to more people and, once and for all, address the taboo that surrounds the death of a baby in Australia today.

As you know, Sands Australia is a national not for profit organisation. Our focus is to provide information, support and education to parents, their families and healthcare professionals following the death of a baby; whether through miscarriage, stillbirth or newborn death. We are different from other counselling organisations as our volunteers offer a real sense of understanding and hope; they too have been through the devastation of losing a baby.

This year was the busiest yet for Sands Australia; some highlights include:

ü  The National Support Line supported a record 2,100 bereaved parents – a 24% increase compared to last year.  

ü  We received and responded to over 400 support emails.

ü  We held over 150 local support meetings across Australia.

ü  A record 1,500 Healthcare Professionals attended 45 information sessions in local hospitals. 

ü  A record 12,763 people are now supporters on social media – up by 351%.

ü  Our blog continues to grow in popularity with over 11,000 views in the last six months.

ü  We distributed a record 30,000 brochures to healthcare professionals and families.

ü  We received generous donations from a record 148 new donors.

Sands volunteers are the heart of our organisation.  They have so generously given over 70,000 hours of time to Sands and bereaved parents over the year. In economic terms that equates to $1.4m, a phenomenal achievement for the size of our organisation. I cannot thank our wonderful volunteers enough. They make it possible for us to be available, 24/7, every day of the year, so that no bereaved parent or family needs to suffer alone.

So what lies ahead for Sands Australia in 2016?

The year ahead promises to be just as exciting. We will be launching our first ever strategy in January, it will be our road map for the next five years.

We want to reach out to more bereaved parents across Australia. We will be recruiting more volunteers and expanding our services to meet this demand. We will also develop a presence in NSW, NT and ACT where we currently have no local services.

We are also passionate about ensuring that all bereaved parents experience the best possible care and support, following the death of a baby. We will work with the sector to develop services and training for healthcare professionals. Unfortunately it is still taboo to talk about miscarriage or stillbirth and we need to change this, so we will be working much harder at raising public awareness and understanding of pregnancy and baby loss in Australia.

We will also embark on a very important journey within Sands to look at how we are currently structured and how we could improve this going forward. Our goal is to ensure that no bereaved parent is left isolated in Australia and if we are to achieve this, we need to ensure our organisation is ready for the large task ahead. 

I would like to take this opportunity to say a heartfelt thank you to our generous supporters, fundraisers and donors who help us make it possible to provide support, understand and hope to bereaved parents and families across the country.

Finally, I’d like to wish you a peaceful Christmas and New Year and remind you that we are available around the clock this festive period and every other day.

Andre
Sands Australia CEO

In Loving Memory of Thomas Bowden - Lyndy

In her first blog post, read about how Lyndy marked a special, but heartbreaking milestone – her precious son, Thomas’s 18th birthday.

This year marked a very special time in my life, I turned 50 and my precious son Thomas turned 18. I will tell you a little of my story. Thomas Bowden was born on the 20th August 1997. Unfortunately Thomas was diagnosed with HRHS, a condition where the right ventricle of the heart is underdeveloped and Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA) at 26 weeks gestation.

The specialists all believed that Thomas would survive, but would require surgery. Thomas was born by C-section in our small hometown of Hobart Tasmania. He looked a picture of health, 9lb 15 oz of pure joy.

However, not long after he was born things started to go wrong. Thomas was placed on a ventilator and flown 600km away by air ambulance to the Royal Children's Hospital in Melbourne for treatment. On day 3, Thomas underwent a 10 hour surgery, the first of what was to be many surgeries. For 24 hours following Thomas heart surgery things went so well, he was placed on at least 20 different machines doing so many different things to keep him alive.

Day 4 brought with it a special celebration. When I arrived at Thomas's bed that morning there was a special card saying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUMMY LOVE THOMAS", what a beautiful gift. The day went along smoothly until around dinner time when suddenly machines started to beep everywhere. Doctors were called but in my mind I still believed everything would be okay. More machines beeped and alarms went off. Code Blue is called and people come from everywhere to try and save Thomas's life. I paced, I cried, in my mind I screamed, how could I stand here and watch this happen to my child, my baby. This will always be something I later regret, I left the room. I was placed in a small room for what seemed like an eternity but in reality probably was not. I remember the Doctor entering the room but still to this day I cannot remember him telling me Thomas had died.

For all I remember is that sound, the sound that came deep from within me, the sound of my heart breaking, the sound that only a parent who has a child die can truly understand.

When I returned from Melbourne a friend told me about Sands. I needed to be able to talk with people who understood my pain and what my journey would now be like without Thomas in my life. Over the past nearly 18 years Sands has been by my side, supporting me and acknowledging that grief is a lifetime journey. Sands gave me hope and understanding.

Over the years, I have thought about long and hard about what I could do to mark this very special but heartbreaking birthday. I could have organised a party, or had a special dinner but I needed to do something that had meaning, something that could make a difference, something that allowed others to celebrate Thomas’s life.

I came across a site called Everyday Hero. The title of the page resinated with me, for Thomas is my hero, I am the person I am today because of Thomas’s existence, however brief it was.

I decided that I would seek donations for Sands in memory of Thomas’s 18^th Birthday. Setting up Everyday Hero was so easy, I needed that, I didn’t want anything complicated for me or for the people that were going to donate. I was not sure how it would go but set a target of $500, sent the link to all my friends and family and was truly overwhelmed with the generosity by my loved ones, and even people that I didn’t know. Together we raised $798 for Sands. To me this page meant so much, to be able to give back to Sands in memory of my beautiful son. There are no words to describe how this felt, but I will say I felt privileged that Thomas meant so much to so many people. 

A poem for Thomas:

In the quiet of the night I remember like it was yesterday..... and as the tears fall softly down my cheek I think of how you felt in my arms and how you smelt like the sweetest spring day..... the bond between parent and child is so powerful...I wish beyond wishes that things were different but as a wise person once said...." When you accept what has happened, you aren't acknowledging that it is okay but rather, that you know you must find a way to keep growing and living - even if you don't feel like it...Don't let grief be your constant companion...Realize that your grief is born out of unconditional love for your child and rejoice in that love which will never end... Embracing life again is not a sign that you have stopped missing your baby, but an example of a love that is eternal" 

♥ I love you and miss you Thomas Anthony Bowden ♥

20/08/97 ~ 24/08/97

Thank you for taking the time to read about my Thomas. If you would like to create a tribute page for your baby like I did, click on the link below and sign up. 

https://www.everydayhero.com.au/event/Inmemorysands

Lyndy        

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Farewell to precious Manaia.

Fiona is a new comer to the Sands blog. She shares with us her precious Manaia on the day he died.

It was the 5th of November and as the clock ticked closer to 5.30pm I knew it was nearing the time to say goodbye to Manaia. 

We had just finished weighing and measuring him, trying not to notice his purple arms and legs as he lay there silently on the scales. His face was unscathed, perfect and flawless, we kept telling ourselves 'he just looks like he's sleeping, he'll wake up'. 

His final measurements were 3295 grams and 50 centimetres long at the age of 128 days old. 

We quickly redressed him in his clothes and I put on his final name tags, the tags I never ever wanted to put on our son. 

Baby of Fiona, ID number: 7784039. 

He looked perfect, the most beautiful I had ever seen him. I had never noticed how gorgeous he was until it was too late. 

But then again I was never able to see his face free of all the tubes, cords and wires. In all of his 128 days on earth I had only ever seen his face this clear on one other occasion and that was the day he was born.  It was only fitting that the second occasion would be when he had passed away. 

Not a breath he would take nor a sound he'd make again, this was well and truly it. Manaia did graduate from NICU but instead of going home like most of the other bubs in NICU he graduated straight to heaven. 

I asked the nurse if I was able to carry him down stairs and so I did. 

Walking out of our private room and into a corridor, everyone must've known by the look on our faces, my red swollen eyes and our body language that this was the end of the road for us. 

We left the unit with Manaia in my arms and out into the open corridors we went, walking past a window with the sun shining oh so brightly, it was at that moment that I realised Manaia had never seen the sun because his bed was on the opposite side of the windows. He would never ever see how big, bright and beautiful it could be, nor would he ever feel the warmth of it. 

We got into an elevator with Charlie (my partner), Jan (the counsellor) and the sweetest nurse Amy and down into unfamiliar territory of level 1 we went. 

I remember feeling the weight of Manaia, he felt so much heavier than he was yet in reality he was far from it, he was tiny even for a preemie. This was the hardest walk I would ever have to take in my life and at the same time it was one I didn't want to end. We got off the elevator and walked around a corner and there it was, the morgue. I saw the entrance and realised I'd have to let Manaia go, I had no other choice. 

In less than 24 hours from finding out Manaia was sick, he was gone. And as quickly as Manaias life had ended a new, much more scarier life had begun, life as a bereaved mother.                                                                Fiona

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Fiona Mataafa

My name is Fiona and I am a 23 year old first time mother who lost my only child, my 4 month old son Manaia, after 128 days in NICU. I reside in Victoria with my partner Charlie. I hope by sharing my experiences as a bereaved parent that I'm able to, in some way, bring peace and comfort to others going through the heartbreak of child loss.