The helplessness of a Grandmother:

In this weeks blog, Lee, shares with us her precious granddaughter, Lexie, how she coped with her emotions when Lexie died as well as support her daughter.

My daughter, Alicia, was glowing as she told me she was pregnant with her first child.

The pregnancy had its complications, as in Alicia being diabetic. But she was very healthy and, being a nurse herself, the diabetes was completely under control.

Doctors advised that she would be induced at 38 weeks. On week 37 she had a scan and our beautiful little Lexie was bouncing about, fit and well. Four days later, an ECG was planned to check everything prior to inducing.

I was surprised when the doctor rang me and asked could I go up and sit with Alicia as her partner was away and wouldn't be back for a while. I was met by her work colleagues - nurses- who with tears in their eyes, prepared me for those unforgettable words- No heartbeat. A scan confirmed the worst.

It all seemed like some horrible dream. My daughter was experiencing every parent’s worst nightmare, and I was helpless. I held her as her world fell apart, not being able to process anything properly. Her partner then arrived and I couldn't help him either.

The following morning she was transferred to a bigger hospital where she was induced.

After a long 14 hr, difficult delivery, our granddaughter was born.

As I held Lexie, I questioned everything- why, what if?? If I could have taken her place, I would have in a second. Alicia was coping okay with the help of painkillers, her partner showed immense courage and support even though he was a broken man.

During the 3 days at the hospital, the staff were very understanding. We had Lexie christened, her hands and feet castings done, and she was left with her parents for as long as they wanted. Weeks later the autopsy report found no known cause of death, but it did occur either the night of the last scan or the following day. The doctor in charge said that if they had delivered her one week earlier, all would be OK. I don’t believe telling the parents such things helps- just makes them angry and hurt more.

So then the confronting reality of the baby seat still ready in the car, home to a freshly painted nursery and bags of baby clothes. On top of this, arrangements for a funeral, something else we were totally unprepared for. Questions- what they wanted, etc, too many decisions when no-one is thinking straight. It was a very busy time, on call 24/7 for my daughter who was struggling to make sense of anything. My own grief was put aside, I knew I had to be the strong one. Two months later I broke- my little girl was gone and never coming back. I think as a grandmother, the initial focus is of course on my own daughter and helping her cope. Realization of losing a grandchild comes later-

I go to the cemetery now and again, talk to Lexie, have built her a garden with pink and white flowers with 2 angels in it.

Day by day we get stronger and move forward with our lives. Lexie is always with me, in my thoughts. Things remind me, seeing little dresses in shops, Christmas presents I had already bought her. One of the most interesting facts is that most people avoid the topic, my daughter has had friends avoid her in the street. I understand that they often don’t know what to say but it really helps to talk about it.

Lexie’s death has rekindled my own experience with losing a child. Next month, 30 years ago, I miscarried at 12 weeks. At the time it was basically ignored- no-one spoke about it, life just continued. I was admitted to hospital to "remove the products of conception". It was a very cold atmosphere, and I remember one kind nurse came around afterwards and closed the curtains around me, telling me to cry until I couldn't cry anymore.

I felt like my heart had been ripped out.

If there’s anything I can offer - it would be to talk. Friends need to know they help more by acknowledgement and understanding, talking, asking questions and being a part of the whole thing.

Things do get better. Acceptance for things we cannot change. Hope for a brighter future.

You don’t ever forget, you keep the memory and eventually move on.
  

Written by grandmother, Lee.

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

 

Dealing with Loss in a Celebrity Baby-Crazed Culture

In this week's blog, Rashida, shares with us her first pregnancy and the similarities of her pregnancy with celebrities.


In today’s celeb obsessed culture having a baby is like picking up one of the hottest accessories, so we are inundated with every detail and nuance from their cravings to what high-priced crib they purchased.

I learned I was pregnant at the same time as arguably two of thee most popular people on planet earth, Princess Kate the Duchess of Cambridge and Kim Kardashian the Queen on reality TV. Both of them reportedly had the same due date - July 11, 2013. Mine due date was July 15, 2013. While both pregnancies were pretty high profile, Kim Kardashian’s was more on my radar because I watch her reality show. Keeping Up with the Kardashians is a guilty pleasure of mine.

So, I was on baby watch along with the rest of the world.

It was her first pregnancy and this was my first too!

She found out she was having a girl and I was too!

She showed off her stylish maternity style and I tried my best to mimic it on my budget. About half way through her pregnancy the show documented an emergency doctor’s appointment after she had experienced some severe pain on an airplane. Her doctor eventually diagnosed her with what he thought was a stomach infection or appendicitis. After some tests, she was sent home with an all clear.

About halfway through my pregnancy I made an emergency trip to the hospital after experiencing some severe pain in my back and my right side. Initially, they thought based on my symptoms that I had appendicitis and I too thought it would be fine. After running a few tests, my doctor came back and told that it wasn’t.

The doctor explained that the pain I was experiencing was my kidney’s shutting down due to severe early onset preeclampsia and HELLP Syndrome. She said I would have to deliver the next day or I could die, but it was way too soon for my daughter to survive.  She didn’t.

That turn of events made it extremely hard to hear anything else about Kim’s pregnancy. Now the news that was once welcomed, overwhelmed me when I watched TV or passed the tabloids in the super market.

It caused me to completely disconnect from all media. I had to because I quickly found myself becoming envious. In my grief, I complained to God that celebrities already have “everything”. Why was the one thing I wanted taken from me?

Then one day I caught a glimpse of a magazine making fun of Kim’s fat feet, calling her “Miss Piggy.” In that moment my gut told me that she had preeclampsia too. They were the same way my feet looked and I naively shrugged it off as another pregnancy symptom. I said a short prayer, that my outcome would not be hers. My envy quickly turned into sympathy and hope.

My suspicions were confirmed after she gave birth five weeks early to a baby girl, and as happy as I was for her I could not watch the episode when it aired a few weeks later. It still hit too close to home.

I have watched the show again since then and reconnected with social media and when North West appears on TV or I see her in pictures, sometimes I can’t help but think about how my little girl would have been around the same age.

Rashida

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Rashida McKenzie

Rashida McKenzie is the Founder of High-Risk Helpers, a maternity concierge service for expectant mother's experiencing high-risk pregnancies that result in bed rest. She is also the mother of a baby girl named Maya (who was born after 22 weeks of bed rest) and an angel who inspired her to advocate for pregnancy loss awareness. To learn more about Rashida or High-Risk Helpers, visit www.highriskhelpers.com
 

What October Means To Me:

Larissa shares her thoughts about Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness month:

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I remember hearing about it in 2012 and it didn’t really sink in. I was pregnant with my first baby and honestly didn’t think too much about the significance of the month. I hadn’t experienced a loss and neither had any close friends or family, so the month passed without too much thought from me.

October 2013 was a very different story. It was nine months after the stillbirth of my daughter and I was six months pregnant with my second child.. In 2013 my life was consumed with grief and the need to physically and publically remember Ariella was strong. Throughout the month I took photos to participate in Carly Marie’s Capture Your Grief project and found it was so healing and meaningful to be able to share my thoughts about the topics. I was visiting some friends and family interstate for part of the month and that meant I missed the Sands walkathon and candle lighting ceremony, although I wanted to attend both. I didn’t feel too sad about missing them though, as I felt as if my entire life revolved around remembering Ariella.

This year, October was different again. I have a nine month old son who keeps me very busy, so while I still grieve the death of my daughter, my grief looks different now. I decided not to participate in the Capture Your Grief project this year; doing so would have meant focusing quite intently on my grief and sadness, which I didn’t feel like I needed to do. A number of people have told me lately that I’m looking a lot happier and “better” than I have for a long time and I have to agree with them. I do feel happier and I even feel like I’m getting better. I’ll always miss Ariella but that longing for her isn’t as all-consuming as it was last October. However, I feel as though I cannot remember Ariella physically and publically as often as I would sometimes like. So I decided to attend the Sands candle lighting ceremony. I left my son at home with my husband and headed off to focus solely on my little girl for the first time in a while. As I drove to the venue, songs starting coming to mind. Songs that provided so much comfort in the days, weeks and months after Ariella’s death, such as “”I Will Carry You” (Selah), “Glory Baby” (Watermark), and “Still” (Gerrit Hofsink). I hadn’t listened to them since my son was born but just thinking about them made me remember how much truth are in their words. I carried her while her heart beat, she has Heaven before I do, she was gone before she came… the memory of those songs brought tears to my eyes as I was able to focus on my daughter without also needing to care for my son at that moment. As the ceremony started and I lit Ariella’s candle, I was so thankful to have an hour to just think about her, all I had during those 39 weeks with her and all I lost when she died. One day later, on the International Day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness, my Facebook news feed was filled with photos of candles lit in honour of my baby girl. It made this grieving mama smile through her tears to know that other people were publically remembering my precious Ariella.

As I look back at three very different Octobers, I can’t help but wonder at what October 2015 will bring. What stage will I be at in my grief? Will I want spend the month focusing on it, or just a single day? Will it be a mixture of the past two or something else altogether? Who knows! But what I do know is this – I’m so grateful that there is a time set aside to remember and honour all of our precious babies, however we decide to do 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).

Miscarriage, Infertility, and weight loss

A newcomer to Sands blog, Shanelle shares her experience of infertility, weight loss and a miscarriage...

In my trouble to conceive over four years it was put down to infertility due to hypothyroidism and obesity, it was a huge struggle for me, having conceived my son easily years earlier at 80kg but tipping the scales at 128kg, I had been trying to lose weight for years, exercising, trying every diet under the sun and even three cycles of Clomid with no success.

Low and behold we unexpectedly fell pregnant though ten weeks later we miscarried with doctors and nurses reassuring us that there was nothing I could have done and not to blame myself. Even the gynaecologist performing my D&C said not to blame myself, though my size could have contributed to the miscarriage but it was a fact I had try to accept and not beat myself up about it. After all, these things happened right? And I fully had faith in the wonderful nurses and doctors treating me throughout the whole deal.

Until, two weeks later when I had a follow up appointment with a new gynaecologist for review on an ovary cyst. Asking when it was safe to try conceiving again she replied that at 128kgs I be concentrating on losing weight and not even consider trying for another baby at my size, considering all the health implications like high blood pressure and diabetes. I was devastated; I couldn’t help but cry in front of her, to which she suggested counselling. Here was this lady whom I’d never before, without even asking my medical history (if she had, she would have known I had perfect blood pressure and sugar levels, along with a healthy lifestyle despite my size) judging me and making me feel like I didn’t have the right to have a baby based on my weight. The blame game hit with vengeance. 

I went home and attended I had a follow up scan with my GP for my cysts, and after speaking with him, he prescribed me Duromine to aid in weight loss while I fully recovered from my miscarriage, in hopes it would rally my spirits from what the Gynaecologist had said (all of which he disagreed with.)
Meanwhile I had my scan. It had been 6 weeks.  My world well apart all over again at seeing an empty uterus and a lifeless heart rate monitor, that I ended up taking the Gynaecologist advice and sought out a counsellor through the hospital, despite me being a trainee counsellor myself.  We spoke on the phone for an hour before she decided that what I was experiencing was typical grief and didn’t need to enrolled into their program but to call back, if needed. It made me feel alone, so alone that I alienated everyone and focused on exercising and eating right.

Another month passed and I had lost 5kgs, feeling hopeful at my final gynaecologist visit, I met with her assistant who, when asked when I could try conceiving again told me that she saw no harm in trying considering I was maintaining a healthy lifestyle but she had to ask the gynaecologist to be sure. She returned with the message I should lose at least 20 more kilograms before trying again. Devastated, self-loathing, I left.

It has been two months since that last visit and I feel through the experience judged and completely let down by the public health system, though I know they were only doing their jobs. But if nothing else this experience has made me determined.

Determined not to let my self-worth and confidence to be scarred by opinions, no matter how professional. And with the support my partner and my doctor I had added more and more healthy choices and exercise regimes to my Iifestyle while learning to accept myself for who I am, and better myself not for medical statistics but for myself, my family and my future family.

Shanelle Kay

 

If you require support please call Sands - 1300 0 SANDS

Shanelle Kay

Shanelle is a trainee counsellor and photographer based in Brisbane.
She believes the best sound in the world is her son's laughter and how he sings to himself when he wakes from a nap. She is also a proud mummy to an angel baby and through writing and various arts she is sharing her experience and finding herself, all over again. In her own words...

"I am all and I am nothing, but most importantly I am exactly who I need to

be in this moment... and that is sometimes the hardest thing we have to accept,

 openly and honestly.. Ourselves"

Clementine's First Birthday

When birth and death are so closely intertwined, how do you celebrate a birthday?

Our baby girl, Clementine, was stillborn on 29 July 2013, two weeks before her due date.

As a mum, I have many strengths, but birthday party planning is not one of them. Our first child, Eleanor, once attended a friend's birthday party on the weekend of her own birthday and declared her friend's cake the highlight of her birthday weekend (it was a great cake).

However, planning a birthday celebration for Eleanor is a piece of cake (ha!) when compared to surviving the anniversary of Clementine's birth and death. 

In early July, Clem's first anniversary - 29 July - could not have loomed larger. For me, it was like a dark shadow of fear, loss and self-blame that was cast over my days. 

One Saturday afternoon, Ben took Eleanor out to give me some quality time with my To Do list. "A big cry" must have been somewhere on that list because that is what I ended up doing. The uncontrollable, can't-really-speak sobbing is always a sign for me that I might need help. 

I called Sands. 

The parent supporter listened... and listened. And I listened. And she helped me:

         This day is between you and your baby 
         You don't need to do anything for other people
         Do what you need to do 

And I survived a bit more of July. 

But then, about a week before Clem's anniversary, my grief decided to hit me with a bit of anger. 

I say "a bit of anger" but let's be honest, it was a lot. I was enraged. My baby died. What do you do with anger? 

I called Sands again. 

We talked about anger and grief. When people picture a bereaved mother, they probably don't picture anger but, it can be there. Alongside the sobbing and self-blame and emotional eating. We don't often talk about anger. It helped me to talk about it. 

I am a part of a wonderful Pregnancy Loss Australia group on Facebook. After speaking with the Sands parent supporter, I shared my anger surrounding Clementine's anniversary with the group and asked if anyone else felt anger. I shared our plans for Clementine's day - to go to the park opposite the hospital where Clem was born and blow bubbles to her. 

Members of this supportive group offered to blow bubbles to Clem too. They knew I needed others to recognise my baby on this important day. My anger dissolved as their compassion and understanding reached me. 

I decided then to share our plans for Clem's day with all of my friends via Facebook. And I invited them to blow bubbles to Clem too. On Clem's day I just wanted to blow bubbles with Ben and Eleanor but I wanted others to know it was Clem's day - a special day. I needed others to remember Clem on her birthday. 

I was scared to ask others to remember - what if no one replied and everyone felt awkward? But, that didn't happen. People did respond. They wanted a way to support us and I had given it to them. And on Clem's birthday, people sent me beautiful photos of their bubbles for Clem. It made my day. 

And, with a friend's help, I even baked a cake. A Clementine cake, no less. It wasn't perfect, but I thought... If I can bake this cake, if I can ask for help, if I can find ways to be Clem's mum even when I can't see her, then... anything is possible. 

Happy first birthday Clementine. Thank you for all you give me. 

Susannah

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Susannah Aumann

Susannah lives in Melbourne with her husband, Ben, and daughter, Eleanor. Her youngest child, Clementine, was stillborn in July 2013 at 38 weeks gestation. Susannah is passionate about raising awareness to encourage research into stillbirth.

Reflections of a father

The older I get the more I wonder if I will ever have kids of my own.  I wrote a poem a couple of years ago called “To the son I never knew”.  I never wrote it to share; I wrote it for my own mental health.  Since sharing it I've had those who were able to read it thanking me for writing it, and those who were honest enough to admit they couldn't read past the title saying though they could appreciate the courage  it must have taken me to write it, they couldn't read it, and I tell them it's OK.  Everyone journeys life at a different pace.  It took me 12 years to write that piece.  

Having travelled extensively for work and even getting married years later and gaining an instant family in that time I didn't really think about it much until I moved back to where it all began.  The familiar faces seeing those I saw growing up now with families of their own.  It felt somewhat surreal being in such familiar surroundings after so long seeing how everyone’s lives had developed in that time and wondering where mine was headed.  I was at home one day when it struck me, that I was living just down the road from the cemetery.  I didn't go there right away but when I did it was a week before his birthday. I hadn't even remembered how close to Christmas that fateful day was, he wasn't due until well into the New Year.  It's amazing how much and how well we can block things out from our memories to keep going.  I really hadn't had any contact with his mum since then, it was a really messy situation, and thankfully she has since married and has healthy kids.  I wasn't prepared to marry her despite her father’s insistence but I have no doubt in my mind we would have at some point, but to me her being pregnant wasn't enough reason to tie the knot.  Regardless of our relationship status though I would have raised that kid as my own.  I didn't just lose him though, I lost her too, and I think that was the hardest part.  In fact we all nearly lost her, thankfully though she found her way through.  

So after multiple major life changes in a short space of time I found myself reflecting on the last 12 years of my life and how different it would have been if he'd grown up calling me dad.  I've got nieces and nephews, a god daughter and sponsor kids but none of them require a daily commitment.  Though I feel so privileged being able to have the input I'm allowed into their lives.  

I've since written a second piece called “to my unborn son” inspired the song “Always Here For You” by KJ52.  I'm young enough to still have my own offspring though I also don't feel the need to.  I'm happy being able to assist in ways that I might not otherwise be able to if I had kids of my own.  Yet the thought still remains, if he'd made it ….. “so many memories that were only ever dreams.  So many dreams that never got to be memories”.

Neville Hiatt

To view Neville's website click here

'to my unborn son'

right now you are cells multiplying and dividing at a rapid rate

please know it doesn't matter if you are 18 before your first date

before you are born I want you to know

there's a good chance you will really love the snow

if you are anything like me you will feel more, than those around you

so be very careful with those that surround you

but most of all know that you are your own self

your not mine, or your mothers, you are your own self

you will make mistakes and that's okay

though the choices you make live with you till your dying day

you will grow up in a world different to what it is today

but with each day you breathe life, don't waste your time away

you will know heartache and pain, yet you will also taste triumph and gain

when you fall in love you will know the truth in these words

when you see her for the first time you will know

it doesn't matter what your grades are

some of the richest men alive today dropped out of school

yet in all things do your best and follow your heart, it's your strongest tool

when it rains be thankful for the nourishment of the earth

and when it's sunny a tan is not cool, look up your great grandfather he was a young fool

you will have more opportunities than ever before

but never lose connection with those closest to you

I've said it already but I will say it again

you will know sorrow and pain, but these are but the moderator to happiness and joy

everyone leaves this life at some point, so every chance you get explore the joint

but most of all your name is not your identity

it is simply a word to identify you but you will be known by how you choose to live this life.

Copyright 2013 Neville Hiatt

'to the son I never knew'

How do you mourn a son you never knew

how do you count the candles you never blew

how do you know you love a white Christmas when you've never seen the snow

so many memories that were only ever dreams

so many thoughts that will never be shared

I sit surrounded by all these flowers

and say your name aloud but it falls on deaf ears

I never got to hold your hand, or create artworks with you in the sand

I never got to teach you how to kick the ball, or watch you get up after your first fall

I sit in this field of flowers and trace your name etched into the rock 

and wonder how different my life would have been

would I have lived with your mum, would I have been a great dad

so many questions that will never be answered

you'd be 12 today, yet here you lay

12 years I could have spent calming your fears

12 years I've spent drying my tears

so many memories that were only ever dreams

so many dreams that never got to be memories

love dad.

Copyright Neville Hiatt 2013

If you require support after reading this blog please contact Sands on 13 000 72637

Neville Hiatt

Neville Hiatt is a storyteller, a country boy at heart he grew up knowing what the word community meant. His radio career was cut short when he was medically retired before his 30th birthday due to someone not doing an adequate head check.  In the last few years he has developed his love of photography, and poetry and has just released his first collection of short stories.  Left battling depression, anxiety and chronic nerve pain as a result of the accident he has become even more passionate about sharing his life experiences in the hope of aiding others in their journey.  “It doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve done, or what’s been done to you. It only matters what you do with your rainbow today.”

Remembering Stevie...

We are all in Sands because a precious baby has died.    Some of us have found it easy to talk about our experiences and our emotions.  Others have grieved in silence.    Some of us have the comfort of supportive partners, family and friends.  Some of us have felt very alone.  Some of us have felt judged -  our babies died in the early weeks of pregnancy - our babies had abnormalities incompatible with life - we shouldn't have been pregnant in the first place (too young, too old, too poor, unmarried ...)

Everyone in Sands has a  story .  "Stevie's Story" is about grieving a baby lost through termination.  It is a story full of pain and anguish, but also of support and hope. 

Stevie

6 December 1968, Parramatta

Remembering Stevie means different things to me at different times. Let me walk through it as (chrono)logically as I can.

Just after his birth I was confused, distressed, deeply shocked. Shocked to see a perfect, albeit small baby at 20 weeks. I knew immediately I hadn't terminated a blob of cells unrecognizable as human. I had to remember him – remember him as he was – translucent – beautiful – a perfect baby. I had to remember him. He had to be a thorn in my side to remind me of my failure as a mother – a failure as a human being. So I named him Steven, Steven to remind me that what I had done was unforgivable – there was no penance that could atone. Being told Stevie was hospital waste, not acknowledged by his father, not acknowledged by society served to reinforce by belief my life was to be a continuum of pain. That it was. Even as I write this my heart is breaking.

The next day I went back to work. Stevie was locked deep inside my heart. Life went on – somehow and I don’t remember how. We were married a month later and Stevie never mentioned. It was as though he had never been conceived; never been born. Stevie was locked deep in my heart – I remembered him day after day.

The years passed and I no longer conceived. Was it any wonder? I had killed Stevie – I did not deserve another child. In February 1977 I was diagnosed with cancer on the uterus, two days later I was in surgery; 2/3 pf the uterus were removed and I was receiving radiation therapy– I was to be punished by not being able to have children. Stevie was locked in my heart and he reminded me of my iniquity day after day.
In June 1977 when I was in hospital for radiation treatment it was confirmed I was pregnant and was told I needed to terminate the pregnancy immediately; the risk of the baby being deformed, retarded would be too great. Various tests confirmed the child would be severely disabled. Termination would be the only kind thing. Stevie was locked deep in my heart and reminded me what termination was and what it would be. Would I kill another child? Stevie was locked deep in my heart. I told no one of the risk and refused to have the child aborted. In January 1978 my daughter was born; she was healthy – she had no disabilities. The amniocentesis had given a wrong result. Stevie was locked in my heart and I was afraid I would forget him now.

Two and a half years later my second son was born. Stevie knocked on my heart’s door reminding me of all the experiences I had missed with him. My children were what I was living for. Without them I was less than nothing. I could never atone for taking a life.
My rainbow children grew up, flew the coop and with that my purpose for living. There was no point in continuing. I decided on exitus and began to plan and collect the tools I needed … and Stevie was locked deep inside my heart.

And this is where a good friend joined the story. He showed me I needed to liberate Stevie and he started by saying his name. He validated his existence by saying his name. By saying his name he could not be forgotten and he also introduced me to Sands. I can see it clearly now, how – starting with preparing for Stevie’s first memorial and chatting with a Sands supporter at the same time step by step Stevie was carried into my heart – precious and loved – no longer locked up in its deepest depths.
I feared Stevie would eclipse my living children; I learnt by dividing my love between the children it did not become less – it grew.

Lacking any mementos from the time Stevie was born I made memories and to my surprise the Sands community rallied around me when I was down, whenever I needed it. On 9 December last year, dozens of mums in the Sands community had changed their profile picture to honour Stevie and I was overwhelmed by their kindness. Stevie became a part of my family – there to see – embraced in my heart together with my living children. Whenever I think of Steven I also think of my unnamed brothers – brothers I have named in my heart.

In the meantime, I have a number of things to remind me of Stevie, beginning with the copy of the memorial service. There is the Phoenix Ben a young friend drew for me, there’s Harry a lovely peacock given to me for Stevie’s 45th birthday, a Christmas bauble with a peacock feather in it, there is the NameArt and the pencil drawing and a pendant with the names of all my children. With or without these things I shall always remember Stevie. Since I have a pencil sketch of Stevie I no longer see him in that hospital bed gasping for breath. In fact when I think of Stevie I don’t think of him as a baby at all any more – no, he’s grown up. I now visualise him as a man in his mid-forties. I feel I have reached a milestone. I certainly know I'm at peace with that part of my past.

                                                         Lana 

If you require support after reading this blog please contact Sands on 13 000 72637