Six Years Is A Long Time by Dani

It has been six years since precious Jasper died.  In this blog, Dani shares with us her memories of what has occurred since Jasper died and her memories of the time surrounding his death.

Photo taken and copyrighted to Dani Hall

Every once in awhile, I remember how long it’s been. Days like today (18th November) – his 6^th birthday, particularly mark the passing of time. Time really passes. It is not something we imagine. But the passing of time is both objective time and subjective time. But there is also personal time, which is measured in your relationship to memory.

When I stop to think about it – really think – so much has happened since his passing. We lost our house, went through fertility clinics to try and discover my infertility problems, we had a rainbow, we raised money for a camera kit for Heartfelt, I’ve lost 3 nephews – one to SIDS and two to prematurity, I’ve been blessed with 4 nieces, helped my mother-in-law find happiness with another partner and watched her get married, gotten a job as a sleep scientist, graduated university with a Bachelor of Justice and currently enrolled to complete a Master of Social Work, volunteered online with SANDS, enrolled my rainbow in prep, took a family road trip, watched Gangad pass, had two sisters get married, my rainbow had surgery and broke his leg, watched many friends get married and have babies and I’ve gotten 3 tattoos. And that’s just what I can think of, off the top of my head.

But then there’s the other side of time. Where it seems like it hasn’t passed at all. Where I think about his birth – rushing for an emergency caesarean and his admittance to the NICU. The strong yearning to see my baby – to hear him cry. The fond memory that we thought he was a girl right up until the moment he was born. The name we had picked out for him – Taryn – until he was born and we had to think of his name on the spot. The sheer relief that flooded through me when he was born, knowing he would be taken care of. The feeling of my heart plummeting when they told me to make the choice to continue care or remove him from life support. The knowledge that I had seen him only a few hours earlier and he was alive – kicking, responding to my touch – and knowing I’d never see that again. And in there hazily, the memory of my dad holding his oldest grandson, saying goodbye, telling him how proud he was of him. Getting wheeled back to my room after kissing him goodbye, knowing I’d never see him again. The sheer pain in my heart – hurting to move – hurting to breathe. The guilt for removing support. Preparing a cremation and funeral. Something no parent should have to do.

The overwhelming support and the text from my dad I will never forget “Dani, you should be very proud for creating a life and trying to give him the best chance possible – not many people can do that”. The foggy memories of loved ones visiting – and trying – really trying to connect but not being able to. The loss of friends.

The memories are right there, as though it all happened yesterday, but it’s been 6 years. 6 years ago we still thought he was a girl. 6 years ago we knew our baby would be born early we just didn't know when. 6 years ago I was still in ignorant bliss that our baby would survive. Little did we know in 24 hours our baby boy (surprise not a girl) would be born at 25+6 weeks and another 10 hours after that we would have to take him off life support and watch him go to heaven in my arms.

Time has taken away a lot of my innocence, given me a lot of grief, taken my son further and further away from me. But it has also given me many happy moments, blessed me with another son, made me who I am today.

“No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.” 

– Hakuri Murakami

Dani

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

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Danielle Hall

Wife to Corey and Mumma to two boys: Jasper Rhys in heaven and Harrison Phillip Robert in her arms. Jasper passed away after PPROM at 23 weeks and birth at 26 weeks, surviving for 10 hours in the NICU unit. Currently completing a Master of Social Work with the goal to aid in the safety and protection of all children, because all children deserve to feel safe and loved.

Couldn't Live Without Three.....by Tiffany

Tiff has written very honestly about the physical experience of the miscarriage which followed the death of her son from SIDS.  However, she herself says she is still too numb to be able to explore her emotions in a similar way. We hope that she will be able to do so in the future.

Three  days after Mother’s Day in 2014, I lost my 7 week old baby boy Wade to SIDS. Days and weeks went past and my husband and I were finding it hard to adjust to having two kids again and we were talking about having another:  not to replace our little man but to help us with our grief.

In September 2014 we found out we were pregnant again, but this time our fear was not losing our baby to SIDS -  never did we think of the unthinkable.

When I was 7 weeks pregnant I unfortunately went through trauma. I was checked and the baby and I were doing great.

At 12 weeks that all changed. I started bleeding very heavily. I went to the doctor and had an ultrasound done. They found I had a subchorionic hematoma (which is bleeding in the wall of the uterus) caused by the trauma. They told me it would either grow or shrink and it was a waiting game. My daughters witnessed everything during this pregnancy and I wished I could take it all away.

By 16 weeks my bleeding had died down to just spotting and we were so excited that everything was going well at this point.  But then it turned again.

By 17 weeks I ended up in hospital with gastro and even worse bleeding, to the point where I was literally standing in pools of blood.  I had frequent ultrasounds and the clot was growing. It was now at the point that there was more clot than baby. I was in and out of hospital all week when I suddenly went into labour at 18 weeks on the 10/01/15, only 9 days after my 21st birthday.

The birth was horrific, the worst birth I’d ever had. At 3cm dilated I was already pushing and my baby was holding on until my cervix shut on him. My husband was sitting by me through the whole thing and I told him to pick a name as we knew it was a boy. We named him Jax. They told us straight out that because I was 18 weeks,  no matter happened what he wouldn’t make it. He took his last breath in my husband’s arms. I was expecting a normal looking baby but to start with I was extremely overwhelmed and it made me realise it was bad news. I was hoping it was all a dream.

After the birth they told me I lost about half my blood volume and given that I’m anaemic it was more serious. They told me I needed a blood transfusion, and I turned out that I needed 3 bags. During my first bag I recall my monitors going off and a lot of people in my room when I finally came to they told me my blood pressure dropped dramatically. But I recall nothing as I passed out for a few moments.

That night I spent in the ICU. Constantly being monitored for blood loss and having my extra bags of blood. The next afternoon all I wanted was to go home with my husband and girls. The hospital was too much for me. They hospital refused to let me leave and I kicked up a storm. I couldn’t stand being there. I couldn’t stand the doctors saying I was good and I knew that I wasn’t and it was my heart that wasn’t good.

I feel all this happened just because I was so used to having 3 kids and the routine I was in I wanted to bring another baby into our world so badly. My eldest constantly asks for a new baby brother and to this day I still can’t give her that wish.

Tiff

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Tiffany Aghan

Wife to Luke and mummy to Tamara and Summer, in her arms, and Wade, Jax and Tristan, in heaven. I have recently completed certificates in law and in psychology and in the process of completing certificate in medicine. I am having time off at the moment to spend more time with my girls. But I am hoping one day I will continue where I want to go.

What are the Odds? by Emma

Jess writes for Sands again about her precious Emma.

"I didn’t notice when her movements slowed, I didn’t notice when they stopped completely."

Adam sitting next to Emma's special tree

100,000 to 1. The likelihood of a baby in utero catching and succumbing to the kind of infection my daughter caught. At 9am that Tuesday morning her heartbeat was strong, her movements were frequent. At 11:30am it felt as if she was breakdancing in my belly, was that the last time I felt her move? By the next morning there was nothing, just stillness. 

I had spent the day relaxing, after straining my back my Mother-in-law was taking care of my then 19 month old little boy for the day.

I didn’t notice when her movements slowed, I didn’t notice when they stopped completely. I didn’t know that within hours she had become completely septic from an infection that came from my body but was in no way my fault, or preventable. 100,000 to 1 my doctor told me. The number is astronomical, inconceivable! For so long I thought, how can I be that unlucky?

But somebody has to be that one:  Why not me? What makes me an exception to the number? My strength? My resilience? My ability to ‘look on the bright side?’ So far I’ve not seen a bright side and some days my strength is nowhere to be found but I am trying to make my daughter’s life mean something. I will forever have a profound bond with my son who has gets me through the ‘fog’ on a daily basis. My husband and I have such a deep understanding and respect for each other, nothing can tear us apart.

Emma has given me the courage and confidence to start studying which has prompted me to start moving on, to begin thinking about what I want to be when I ‘grow up.’ I want to make a difference in kid’s lives, I want to make every day their best day ever!

I want to be Adam and Emma’s Mum and I want them to always be connected. I want to give them siblings and I want to teach them about our beautiful angel in Heaven, always smiling down on us.                                                                                              

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.

Jeremy's Story - Alisha

Alisha shared the poem she wrote for Jeremy which was published on August 31st.  She now shares with us precious Jeremy's story.

'At my husband’s insistence we had a very small funeral with only immediate family.  It was the smallest coffin I’ve ever seen, but it was decorated with gorgeous flowers and the blue elephant that reminded me of him and it was just perfect.'

After three years of infertility and countless treatments, my husband and I were finally successful in conceiving thanks to a round of IVF.  I was so ecstatic to finally be pregnant; I never dreamt it wouldn’t result in my family dream coming true.  I had already bought everything I needed, decorated the perfect nursery, and had the big scary 20 week scan and everything was more or less how it should be.  There was a strange comment about low amnio fluid, so my obstetrician suggested we come and see him the following week, just to put my mind at ease.  Neither he nor us had any idea that the next time he saw us he would be telling us he couldn’t find a heartbeat and then organising for me to be induced the following day.

My husband wouldn’t really acknowledge that we had a child, to him this was just another setback in our journey to become parents, so we just needed to get the medical part out of the way and get on with our lives.  As a result he wasn’t really there for me at the hospital, preferring to sit in a chair on the other side of the room rather than hold my hand as I gave birth to our son.  He refused to look at him, and I’m not sure if it was the drugs, his attitude, the exhaustion, the shock, or his pressure to leave the hospital, but as a result I didn’t really hold my son.  I didn’t spend any real time with him, didn’t take photos or anything to remember him.  Instead I left him with the nurses and headed home so my husband could go to the gym, and at the time that seemed like acceptable behaviour.

I think after such a long journey to conceive my son and only being 21 weeks, it was as if I didn’t feel entitled to grieve - these things happen and you just need to focus on what comes next.  I had already been through so much grieving for the children I couldn’t conceive over the last three years; this was just another part of this journey.  I felt like a fraud saying my son was stillborn!  To me stillborn children only happened to the poor women who had to carry their babies full term and then they died.  Even though I had just gone through labour and delivered my son naturally it was so hard for me to think of myself as being in the same category as them – what they go through must be the most devastating thing in the world.

I am so grateful to the wonderful family and friends who came to visit me the next day and who messaged and sent so many beautiful flowers.  All of the support and how upset they all were helped me realise the severity of what I had actually just been through, and to help me see that I was a Mother and I had lost my child – it wasn’t just another medical procedure.  Once that sunk in I felt sick with guilt that I hadn’t spent more time with him, we hadn’t even named him.  My husband wasn’t interested in naming him and refused to let me use any of the names on our list.  I had always liked the name “Jeremy” and when I looked up the meaning it was “God will raise him and God will set him free”.  I’m not a religious person, but this just fitted perfectly.  After that moment I started to get selfish and do what I needed to do to honour my son and how much he meant to me. 

Work was amazingly supportive and gave me as much time off as I needed so I spent my first few days reading other’s stories - the first story I found was actually a DJ from a local radio station that I had listened to most mornings since I was young and it gave me so much comfort and hope to know I wasn’t alone.  This can be such an isolating time, especially when you don’t have partner support, and while I knew of people who had suffered miscarriages, I didn’t know of anyone who had ever had a stillborn - I got so much comfort from strangers generous enough to share their stories.  I then focused on planning the perfect funeral and found great healing in writing.  The wonderful funeral director had angel babies of her own and was heavily involved in SANDS and she gave me some amazing books that really helped.  She could also see that my husband was not in the same place as I was and managed us very well so she could offer me so much support and guidance.  Through her I organised for myself, my parents and my Mother in Law to be able to spend some time with Jeremy.  I know this meant a lot to all of them.  Jeremy was the first Grandchild for both sets of parents, and they really appreciated being able to see him, hold him and say goodbye.

At my husband’s insistence we had a very small funeral with only immediate family.  It was the smallest coffin I’ve ever seen, but it was decorated with gorgeous flowers and the blue elephant that reminded me of him and it was just perfect.  I read the a poem I had written for him, others spoke and I created the perfect soundtrack.  A good friend sent a bag of gorgeous baby blue helium balloons to my house that morning which we released after the ceremony.  At my insistence we followed the funeral with a large wake to celebrate Jeremy and what he meant to me. I was so touched that over 70 people came to the wake to celebrate Jeremy, his significance and how much he meant to all of us. 

At the time I passed off my husband’s behaviour as just his way of grieving, but the death of Jeremy was the last straw for him and he wasn’t prepared to go through any more to get our family.  As a result he left me a week later. 

On August 31 it will be 3 years since Jeremy was born sleeping.  I like to think his passing was the greatest gift a child could ever give a parent.  I can now see my marriage would not have survived regardless and Jeremy has given me a clean break and a second chance at happiness.  I still have good and bad days, and think of Jeremy at some point during most days - I just hope he is proud of the life I am living thanks to his sacrifice.

Alisha

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Alisha Burns

Alisha is a 35 year old kiwi marketer living in Melbourne and mother of one angel, Jeremy, who was stillborn at 21 weeks in 2012.  Alisha loves exploring the world, impressing people with her ability to walk in 6 inch stilettos, anything Disney, experimenting in the kitchen, pretending she can sing at karaoke. One day she would love a French Bulldog to complete her menagerie if she isn't lucky enough to have children of her own.

Heartbreak and Sadness - Monyth

Monyth talks about how no one had prepared her partner and herself about the feelings of heartbreak and sadness following an early pregnancy loss

It all started from our very first scan at 8 weeks. I still remember the radiographer’s face didn’t look that good. Then she said she will call the doctor to have a look. Then they decided to send me home and to make an appointment with my GP. After that, we needed to do another scan two weeks later. The second radiologist explained it to  us in a  bit more detail. Both radiologists asked me if I ever had bleeding and I said no. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe from the risk of losing our baby, since we can’t find our baby’s heartbeat.

That night I still remember how worried I was. I couldn’t sleep almost all night. I searched for an answer from the internet. I found the answer that I’m looking for:  it is called blighted ovum. This is a condition when the sac is growing but the baby is not developing. That’s why we couldn’t find our baby’s heartbeat earlier.

The next day, we saw our GP and he explained to us with the diagram and said that I have a blighted ovum. My nightmare became reality now. I tried to put on my brave face, we went home and cried. The most devastating news we ever heard.

The following day, we saw a specialist from the Early Assessment Pregnancy Unit. She did another scan for us before making decision. I thought I still had another little hope, if we could see our baby, but no luck as well with the last scan. That’s our last hope gone forever.

Then the specialist discussed  our options. I chose surgery -  D & C. The night before our surgery I started bleeding. That made me realise how naturally my body is working.

The next day my husband and I waited in the waiting room with so many other people. We were waiting anxiously. I know I will lose our baby after this surgery. Finally the nurse called me up at 4PM.

I woke up at 6:00 PM in the strange place, the nurse start talking to me and asked if I am ok. Of course I am not ok.  I feel so empty and sad.

Then they started to wheel my bed to the recovery room and she asked me if I wanted her to call my husband. I said yes. My husband came straight away as he had been waiting anxiously for the last two hours and thinking there was something wrong with me. We had a chat and he brought me a teddy bear and choc chips muffins to cheer me up. Then they sent me home.

A few days later I went back to work again. I have  time to think in the morning, while I drove to work. I was thinking on my way to work, and by the time I got into the carpark, I burst into tears -  so many questions in my head but I don’t have the answers.  Why did this happen to us? Is there any way I could have prevented this  happening? Is ther any way I could have protect our baby more? If this has never happened what would our baby have been like? So many questions are running through my head.

So many people said to us to move on. I just want to scream at them,  and I said to them to leave me alone. Only two people really understood my feelings, my husband and my sister. With my so many tears over the months, I tried to be strong.

One Sunday morning, I saw a photo of my friend with his wife and they had their beautiful baby shower. It just broke my heart. I cried almost all day, until my mother in law called me. She just listened to my sob for almost half an hour. Her words of caring and understanding comfort me and ease my pain in my heart.

After I hung up the phone, I contact this lovely lady from Sands Tasmania by email. Her name is Lyndy, she replied to my email almost straight away. I started write my email and felt so close to her straight away. She said to me to give myself all the time I need to grieve and never lose hope for the future.

I was contacting “Little BIG LOVE” author, Danielle Loy. Danielle is so lovely, she sent me a copy of her book, because she knows I really need to read her book. So many stories from different women, stories about their pregnancy losses and hopes for the future. Their stories open my heart and help me to realise not to give up on my future. Thank you Danielle for sharing your stories and writing the book for us.

Another day, another heartbreaking experience:  my work colleagues discussing about their future baby and future niece or nephew… I am always thinking why they do that? So many people are so insensitive.

I had a discussion with one of my colleagues. She also had experience with miscarriage, so she is understanding about my feelings.  All my feelings are so raw since I had the miscarriage not so long ago.  She also gave me encouragement to be strong and hope for the future.

I keep saying to myself almost every single day, “Be Strong Mon, you can do it” …. You will get through this.

I want to share a little story about Hope… we chose our special name for our baby : “Baby Hope”.  It means hope for our future baby and hope for our future, for our little family that hopefully will grow with our kids someday. I am always thinking that baby Hope also watches us from heaven now.  Realise that we always love you. 

Mon

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Monyth Wayth

My Name is Mon Wayth. I am based in Hobart with my husband Ash. We moved to Hobart about 3 years ago from Melbourne, while we met and got married in a beautiful lavender farm. We have one angel baby name Hope and one little cute dog name Spotty. At the moment I am working through my dreams to open my future dream café in Hobart. I am trying to keep my mind busy, so I am not feeling so sad and empty in my heart, even though sometimes it is so hard to keep to do so. Baby Hope is still going to be part of our extraordinary life and make us grow stronger as a couple and as long as we have each other, we will be fine.

Stages by Jess L

The following was a piece Jess wrote many many months ago. Reading it back now is hard because she remembers how she felt when she wrote it, dark, betrayed, hopeless…she still has those days now though they’re further and farther in between. She's posting this because she think it’s important to reflect on your journey, even the bad moments and while now at almost 12 months after their loss they are still no closer to expanding their family,she thinks it’s still important to share this. This piece is in no way a reflection of who she is or how she feels 99% of the time.

I’ve decided to write about my stages of living with grief. I’m not sure if/when I’ll ever post this….I suppose it depends on the outcome.

I never wanted to be anything other than a Mum, literally! Sure, now I have a few ideas as to what I’d like to do when I ‘grow up’ but my whole life, that has been my one goal. I’m so very fortunate to be a stay at home Mum to my now 2 year old boy Adam, but it’s 2015. I turn 30 in 2 months!!!

I had always planned to be DONE by 30. 2 or 3 kids under my belt, looking far into the future beyond kids. But now, 7 months (today) after the loss of our daughter at 39 weeks, I’m stuck! I spoke earlier about stages, I call this stage just what it is, Trying to Conceive.

Since our angel was born we agreed that we wanted to try again. As scared stiff as we are about what could happen, bottom line is we wanted our family! Moreover, a sibling (or 2) for our boy. I’ve been an avid blog/article reader since Emma was born. Some have lifted my spirits, some broken my heart all over again. There seems to be a lot of material out there for pregnancy after loss but what about try to conceive? What about when you feel that getting pregnant again will help you heal, help you deal better with all your friends new babies and the overabundance of pregnant women wherever you look!! And what if you can’t have that? What if what you wanted was taken from you as was the ability to conceive again? I’m not saying this will be the case for us, we have terrific doctors who are helping us at every opportunity. I’m positive it will happen eventually but for now it feels like the clock is tick, tick, ticking away.

When some friends announced their pregnancies shortly after Emma was born I was upset but always thought, ‘I’ll be pregnant again by then anyway, it’ll be ok.’ But one will be born this Friday and another in a couple of weeks….and here’s me, 7 months without my baby in my arms or in my body. Today feels hopeless, like nothing matters and it never will. Stay tuned for stage 2….

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.

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