A Grandparents Grief by Therese

I remember well my mother’s reaction to when I miscarried my baby many years ago and thought it was rather strange and was very hurt by it. It was something we never discussed and now a Grandmother myself, I wish we had done when she was alive. My mother’s reaction to me at that time seemed to be one of anger as she yelled a lot at me when I complained of the physical pain I was going through – the miscarriage took some time unfortunately. At the time I just couldn’t cope with the two children I had – not because I didn’t want to or because I stopped loving them, I couldn’t as my body would not let me move to far from my bed. I in turn became angry with her as I couldn’t understand why she was being what I perceived as “cruel”. She was trying to look after my children for me as best she could as they were very young at the time. Eventually I guess I forgave her on some level … but perhaps not.

It wasn’t until I became a Grandma myself that I started to have some insight as to why she acted the way she did. I went through a similar process when I lost two grandchildren to miscarriage at a time when I didn’t know my child’s partner was pregnant and I was not allowed to talk about it with them. I realised at that moment that my mother had been grieving. It had taken me many years to understand the reactions to grief in myself let alone in other people and this had come about through my training and other losses in my life and observing the reaction of others whilst grieving.

The love a Grandparent has for her grandchild is profound and different to the love that she has for her own children. I see it as an extension of something that I have achieved and being repeated into another generation where my only job was really to just love these grandchildren. So to lose a grandchild before even getting to know that grandchild was indeed hurtful and sad. I know I don’t need to feel guilty about my feelings but wonder if my Mother ever dealt with her feelings of grief – I suspect not as it was not the “done” thing in those days for either of us really and that in itself was so sad – compounding what was an already sad situation.

If you are a Grandparent going through the loss of a grandchild, please share with your child if they will listen to you or contact the beautiful people at SANDS and speak to someone there.

Therese Murphy - 2016

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About Therese 

Therese has worked in the field of counselling and community development for over 20 years. She has worked predominantly in the health and welfare field. She has worked in the primary school sector counselling children through a range of loss and grief and traumatic experiences.

Therese has also delivered a number of conference papers on the theme of children’s loss and grief and articles on stress management too. She also worked as a Sessional teacher in the TAFE system and the Private Sector in the Community Services area, including Mental Health Welfare for over 20 years. She is also an experienced Supervisor.

Therese has as a small business conducting Reiki, Inner Child Therapy, Meditation and similar therapies. She is also works as a Group Facilitator and teaches stress management and relaxation techniques within the local community as well as running workshops in the areas of trauma and loss and grief and related areas.

Therese is a published poet and has three children and four delightful grandsons. She enjoys nothing more than a good cup of coffee and the occasional glass of wine or bubbly. She is passionate about climate change and the environment, wanting a clean world for her grandchildren to grow up in and one where any type of violence is not tolerated.

Supporting Your Partner During a Subsequent Pregnancy by Peter

So you’re ready to ‘jump back on the wagon’ after experiencing a miscarriage or infant death. You’ve talked about it, seen the doctor, cried, laughed, planned (or not planned) and you think you might be ready to fall pregnant again.

It’s natural for guys to want to support their partner during pregnancy. A subsequent pregnancy after miscarriage, stillbirth or newborn is fraught with anxiety. How can you support your partner (and yourself) during a subsequent pregnancy? Check out these ideas

1.    Keep your batteries recharged

It might sound strange; ‘you’ are often the last person you think about after you’ve experienced a miscarriage or death of your baby. You’re busy looking after your partner, your children, going back to work and ‘doing life’ that you can forget about yourself. Subsequent pregnancies can be really, really scary. Really scary, and you may think and feel things that hit you for a six. Looking after yourself is possibly one of the most important things you can do to support your partner during a subsequent pregnancy. Sounds strange, doesn’t it! Think about it though – if you are burned out, spent and come apart, your ability to support your partner and family will be greatly diminished. Finding healthy things – even small things – to recharge your batteries will pay huge dividends now and in the future. Keep up the exercise, take time to read, watch the football – anything that will help keep you balanced.

2.    Celebrate every milestone

Often, miscarriage or infant death will be sudden. There won’t be any warning, and then you’re faced with coming home from the hospital without your baby. Every subsequent pregnancy after that will be difficult and emotional. A great strategy to support your partner is to celebrate each milestone. Pregnancy is a nine-month marathon (and for many couples, much longer if falling pregnant takes longer). It’s not selfish to celebrate milestones of the pregnancy!

3.    Be honest

After miscarriage and infant death, it can feel like your whole world changes. It has changed, and you don’t need reminding that everything is different. Your family plans have changed, and you will need to find a new normal. Here’s the thing though – your plans have changed, but you’re still on the same team as your partner. A strong team supports each other and is honest with each other. Have you seen sporting captains be honest with their team? They can be very honest! Find positive ways to be honest with your partner on what you are thinking and feeling about your subsequent pregnancy. She’s half of your team; she needs to know what you’re thinking, feeling and experiencing. Support her with your honesty. The team works best when ideas are shared, thoughts are talked about and everyone is listened to.

4.    It’s ok to freak out

Yes, you heard correctly. It’s totally ok to freak out. To wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat, wondering if ‘it’ will happen again. It’s ok to be worried, scared, and freaked out. No amount of people saying ‘this one is different’ will help. It just won’t. Put this into perspective. You and your partner have experienced a miscarriage or infant death. Maybe it’s not the first time, either. You’ve had at least one experience of your hopes and dreams dashed. It’s normal for you to be very, very anxious. It will be normal for your partner to be anxious, scared and worried too. Add that to the usual rollercoaster of pregnancy hormones and you’ve got an automatic freak-out generator. Be kind to each other, and gracious in those freak out times. You can’t predict the future, but you can be kind, compassionate and understanding to each other.

Have you gone through a subsequent pregnancy after a miscarriage or infant death? What did you do well? What do you think you could have done better in supporting your partner? Share your ideas in the comments, below.

Peter

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Peter Vidins is a Sands Parent Supporter. Outside of his involvement with Sands, he works 9 - 5 in the city. In my spare time he does a stack of freelance writing, tries to spend as much time with his family and enjoys spending time in the garden. He is Dad to Daniel, my first born who passed away, and Zoe (7) and Eli (5).

Click here to see Peter talk to Emma Alberici and Paul Kennedy about Sands and the Men's Helpline on ABC Breakfast TV.

Patrick and Clem...by Susannah

Our daughter Clementine was born two weeks before her due date.

I had realised that she had stopped moving and we went into the hospital. Our very experienced midwife, Robyn, couldn't find her heartbeat. A doctor came and checked. She told us that Clementine had died.

The doctor explained that I would need to have an ultrasound - to provide final confirmation.

A man came with a wheelchair to take me to radiology but I told him I could walk. He insisted. It was a Sunday and the normally busy area was deserted.

Robyn came with us. She said the sonographer was young, he'd had to do this final confirmation for a number of women in recent months and he had asked for someone to come with me.

I recognised the sonographer and I could tell that he recognised me. Clementine’s growth had been behind schedule and I had had many ultrasounds over the course of my pregnancy.

It was when the sonographer said "I'm very sorry for your loss" that the reality hit me. I screamed.

The ultrasound. Something that was once something exciting and fun to look forward to in pregnancy had morphed to be traumatic and a trigger for my grief for Clementine.

The thought of being pregnant again and having another ultrasound was terrifying.

As months passed and home pregnancy tests revealed that I was not pregnant, I felt a mix of relief and sadness. Relief that I was not pregnant and having to face all that terrified me. And sadness as I faced the possibility that we may not have another baby.

When I did fall pregnant, one of the first people we told was Robyn.

My worst fear was returning to the hospital for an ultrasound. For me, the thought of returning to the physical location that I most associated with the loss of our daughter was horrifying.

I didn't even need to tell Robyn - she knew. And she suggested I have all of my ultrasounds at a specialist clinic that I had never attended before. And she helped organise this to happen.

It made a significant difference. I didn't have to walk into the radiology department to relive, again and again, the moment I was told that our baby had died. My fear was still there and I braced myself before each ultrasound to be told that this baby had no heartbeat. But he did have a heartbeat, he was alive and growing.

Conventional wisdom says "face your fear!" but, for me, it felt more important to minimise the stress associated with each ultrasound and changing the physical location helped me to do that. It also helped reinforce for me that this was a different pregnancy, a different experience and that it would, most likely, have a very different outcome.

I was fortunate to have the support of an online loss group who provided encouragement and understanding as I faced each ultrasound.

When I was about 32 weeks pregnant, Robyn mentioned packing my bag so that it would be ready when it was time to come to the hospital. It really shook me and I started to cry as we talked about it. The last time I had packed a hospital bag was when I had felt that Clementine had stopped moving. We came to the hospital to be told that she had died. Brains can make interesting leaps of logic and mine had connected packing the bag with the death of our baby. While I could take a step back and recognise my faulty logic, I never did pack that bag.

Clementine had died when I was 38 weeks pregnant. The doctors indicated that they would want to assess my mental health as I approached 38 weeks to determine if they might need to induce labour.

As it turned out, this wasn't necessary.

Our baby boy, Patrick, decided for himself that he would be born when I was 36 weeks pregnant.

Patrick's birth triggered memories of Clementine's and I was grateful that, once again, Robyn was able to be there to guide me through the birth of another beautiful baby.

Robyn understood the points at which I was struggling; she listened and talked them through with me. I swore - a lot. Even my tradie husband was shocked at the expletives I managed to string together.

When Patrick was born, a paediatrician was hovering to check him over. As the doctor approached, I screamed at her not to take my baby. Fortunately, Patrick was well and he could stay with us.

We had spent time with Clementine at the hospital but, after her autopsy was completed, we released her to Julie, a very caring woman from Tobin Brothers. We walked out with Julie and watched as she strapped the soft fabric carrier into her car and then drove out of the hospital car park.

Leaving the hospital with Patrick, strapping him into the car seat that had sat unused in our car for two years, was overwhelming.

When Patrick was six weeks old, we celebrated Clementine's second birthday. It was a time of intense sleep deprivation and grief. It was sometimes difficult for me to articulate what I was experiencing and feeling but I was fortunate that, when I did, I had the support of my husband, family and friends. I had an outstanding maternal child health nurse and I also made use of the PANDA (postnatal depression) helpline. I didn't know if I had PND but the grief and sleep deprivation were making life difficult and the PANDA counsellors helped me.

Patrick is now nine months old. His gentle nature and smiling face have brought us so much happiness. Sometimes, when he is asleep, he looks so much like Clementine that he takes my breath away.

I am so grateful for my children; they bring me so much joy. I miss Clementine and still cannot believe that she died and that I will never see her grow. I continue to grieve for Clementine and the triggers for this grief still take me by surprise.

The joy Patrick has brought does not "cancel out" my grief for Clementine.

I wish I could tie this story up with a pretty bow and lovely conclusion. I can't. Patrick is a baby, a person in his own right, he is not our "happy ending". If we are lucky, we will keep on going - laughing, crying, screaming, smiling, talking, celebrating, and remembering.

I rejoice in my two children who are here with me. I will always miss my Clementine. 

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.

Being Pregnant After........ by Jess

The decision to become pregnant again was instantaneous for us. We both wanted more children and a sibling for our son to grow up with. The decision was easy, the reality was not.

After my daughter was born sleeping at 39 weeks from a septic infection, I suffered a serious illness that took months to recover from, so we weren’t able to start trying again until many months later. As a long time sufferer of anxiety and bouts of depression, my hormones were often already out of whack. 13 months after we lost our little Emma, and with a little help from some amazing Doctors and Nurses, our prayers were answered.

It had been a horrific 12 months and we had in fact lost hope. Every day I was convincing myself more and more that our son was to be our only child at home and more and more I was ok with that.

I never thought I would see those two pink lines again. I was instantly elated! I squealed, I cried tears of joy, my son (2.5 at the time) thought I had gone mad. I wrapped the test in layers and layers of newspaper and ribbon to give to my husband Shane after work that night. He thought that I was playing a trick on him somehow, we just couldn’t believe it.

The first 12 weeks travelled by quickly. I had a small bleed at 8 weeks which was instantly terrifying but I received excellent care and it was quickly discovered to be nothing.

I felt my first flutter at 16 weeks at 3am. I was so thrilled that I couldn’t get back to sleep. From then on my anxiety/worry and sometimes paranoia really escalated. At 18-20 weeks I was having trouble feeling the movements. A scan told us that I had a low lying anterior placenta and that was possibly acting as a barrier, making movements harder to feel. At 23 weeks, after a fraught weekend I called the maternity unit and went in for a scan. They were brilliant and everything was perfectly fine. No one made me feel like a crazy paranoid person, they all understood completely why I would be concerned. Since then my placenta has moved up out of the way and now at 25 weeks I feel my baby moving and shaking like a little champ!

I’m really glad I went to the hospital that day but making that phone call and taking that drive brought everything back. It was the same sequence of events that occurred 18 months before and I was floored by my terror.

Sharing our news with friends and family was really special. Everyone was so over the moon for us but we started to notice a change in the air. People became less censored or sensitive in their comments and conversations when around us. On sharing our news we were asked questions like ‘do you hope it’s a girl so you can have one of each?’ ‘Will this be it or will you try for a 3^rd?’ To some (not all) people it feels as if Emma was never even born, that she doesn’t still hold a place in our family. We’ve learned not to take these kinds of comments to heart and definitely learned that we are the only ones who truly get it….but it hurts. It hurts a lot.

I imagine that the next 15 weeks (give or take) are going to be spent as a mixture of nerves, excitement, worry, happiness and sometimes terror but it’s what we expect. More than anything I can’t wait to meet our 3^rd beautiful baby, I look forward to hearing his/her first cry, changing that first nappy, I even look forward to the MANY late night/early morning feeds and being so tired I can barely function as a person.

I still feel somewhat angry about losing Emma, maybe even slightly resentful but today I’m looking into the future and I have HOPE xx

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.

Precious Angels by Kristina

When I look back at the old me, the me who laughed and smiled constantly and saw the world as an adventure to explore, the me before the storm hit, I remember thinking then that the world is a beautiful place and I'm lucky to be living in it so happy and carefree.
I call it a storm because that is exactly what hit us over an 11 month period. If I wrote my life story no one would ever believe it. Sadly, it is true.

In the world before the storm I always liked to think there were angels around us.  I thought wouldn't it be beautiful to think we have people watching over us and protecting us.  It was just a passing thought here and there. 

Now I search everyday for a sign that Charlie and Neve are here somehow.
Are they that creaky sound in the middle of the night?  When a butterfly flutters near, is it them?

When two rainbows appeared in our wedding photos, I so desperately wanted to believe it was them with us. I so needed to believe they just didn't stop breathing and that was all there was.

I ache constantly for a sign. It will be 10yrs since we last held Charlie in September and 9yrs in August since we held Neve.

I buy photos of butterflies drawn in the sand with their names, candles, birthday cards, Christmas decorations. I still feel I need to validate their lives.

When the storm hit, it hit fast and sudden. The carefree smiley me was gone, never to return. The person that replaced her was someone who pretends that she's ok, that I'm coping. I'm so emotional at everything.

I see the world as sad and unfair. I see an advert for huggies and my eyes tear up.
A friend says she pregnant and I'm a mess. I don't want anyone to feel the way I did and do.

Every pregnancy I had following Charlie was filled with dread and fear. Every cramp or twinge, I was convinced I was going in to labour.

Sadly Neve's pregnancy got to 41 weeks and in labour she stopped breathing. No, it could never happen again, everyone told me.

The world became a darker place, I became more obsessed with the need to believe they were still here in some way.

I spent many days in bed when my husband went back to work, crying and desperately searching for anything to say they were here.

Asking them or rather yelling at the ceiling, please just a sign. Something, anything.
As I gave birth to our second daughter, I remember asking my doctor as I gave birth: is she breathing, please is she?

He didn't need to answer, the sound of her tiny cry filled the room.
I thought she's alive, i should be so happy but I was filled with guilt for trying again and fear that she too would be taken. These feelings have never left. They have less impact now but the fear of losing her and our second son Zack is at times overwhelming.

My friends tell me now that they never got to hold Maya, that as a baby she was permanently in my arms. Looking back, she was. She had to be, I wasn't losing her.
When Maya was 9 months old she used to laugh and point at the stairs. Was she playing with her siblings?

No, babies just laugh right?

She would do this almost every day, just sit and laugh like someone was playing with her. At 18 months she told me a lady sits on her bed at night. She was a nice lady. Was that my mum?

At times over the years when I'm crying and missing them, I feel a warm tingle near my cheek or at night I feel like my hand is being held.

I don't know if it’s them or my need to believe, but for me it brings me comfort.
Has the world changed?  Honestly, I think I have changed more.  Although I don't laugh as much and I'm paranoid about my children and more than likely (compared to my friends) over protective of them.

The one positive change is that I love harder and stronger. I want my children to grow up knowing how much we fought for them and how much we love them. That to us, Charlie and Neve chose them and gave them to us.

My belief in angels is strong because to me they are the sunlight warming my face and they paint us the most beautiful rainbows after the storm. 

I need to believe in something, anything, just for me to keep walking this journey through the storm, otherwise I know I would stop trying to put one foot in front of the other. My heart would stop as the thought is too painful not to believe.

Kristina

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Kristina Riley

Kristina is a children's nurse and a counsellor.

She has four beautiful children.

Charlie and Neve are her two angels who are the  inspiration for raising more awareness about stillbirths and pregnancy loss.

Her two miracles Maya and Zack are the reason she keeps moving forward on this journey of grief.

Her husband Curt is also her inspiration to raise awareness for fathers and their grief.

There needs to be more awareness for us all.

The Start by Lauren

'I hope I find the strength to live life with zest like I use to and to not be afraid. I don’t know what this life now means for me but I’m willing to start the journey to find out.'

Lovingly lifted from Pinterest

Not really sure where I’m at, stuck somewhere between ok and completely falling apart. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that it stops me in my tracks. I feel like my chest is caving in and I long for this nightmare to be over. I often feel like it’s just a dream and I will wake up and she will be in my tummy and we only have a couple more weeks to get through before she is here in my arms. Then I remember, I remember the look in Jonathan’s eyes, the face of the nurses and the words from my doctor and the nightmare starts again. I go through in my head all those moment and the heartbreaking week that followed. How is it possible I’m still standing, if I could have somehow disappeared, I think I would have. Instead I/we have had to face every day, with no choice but to live it and feel it. It’s not happy, it’s not enjoyable, it’s just empty. There is this huge chunk of my being and my heart missing, this space in my life and arms where my daughter should be. The lump in my throat hurts every time I think of her or I have to tell my story. I didn’t want this; I wanted my fairytale in which my perfect little family was happy and healthy. My amazing husband and gorgeous baby girl were going to be my focus and number one priority.

But what now? Who am I and what does it all mean? I want to believe and have to believe that this all happened for a reason because my faith in life, love and God can’t let this be ‘just one of those things.’ It must be a greater purpose that I just can’t see right now because otherwise it’s just cruel and unfair. I understand I have a privileged life and I may take it for granted sometimes but don’t worry, I now get the memo that I’m not immune from bad shit happening to me. I will try and be a good person and help others. I pray that my little girl looks over her dad, me and our families to keep us safe. I hope I find the strength to live life with zest like I use to and to not be afraid. I don’t know what this life now means for me but I’m willing to start the journey to find out.

Lauren x

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Lauren Samuels

Lauren Samuels is a Melbourne based blogger. Through her own personal journey of losing her full term daughter to stillbirth it has been a huge test of character to keep moving and feel alive again. Blogging and sharing her personal experience has helped to make sense of the curve balls life has thrown and now she is all about enjoying the small things each and every day. Lauren is a wife to Jonathan, Mother to her angel Laylah and pregnant with bubba 2. You can follow her journey at www.enjoythesmallthings.com.au or on instagram @enjoythe.smallthings

An Evolving Love by Larissa

'She may have died, but my love for her did not'

Love. It was the first thing I felt as I caught Ariella and lifted her out of the water onto my chest. At that very moment, I didn’t care that she was stillborn – all I felt was love. A love so overwhelming that it actually felt like a physical wave hitting me. After the most tumultuous two days of my life, she was finally in my arms. A daughter. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And all I could think about was how much I loved her.

Soon enough, that overwhelming love manifesting itself in overwhelming grief. How could it not? Our beautiful girl would not grow up in our arms. It was quite a while before the grief began to seem less overwhelming and become bearable.

I still love Ariella just as much as I did three years ago at her birth but that love has evolved. It’s different, parenting a child in Heaven. I didn’t know how I could do it or what it would look like. But I’m learning. Instead of loving her toddle, first words or new skills, I love her impact on the world. I love her for the friends she has brought into my live and for the hearts her story has touched. I love how she changes the world each time someone donates in her memory or reaches out to a bereaved friend because of what her story taught them. My little girl is impacting the world despite not being here! How amazing, and what a privilege to be her mama.

What does my love for Ariella look like three years on from the initial rush of overwhelming love and then grief? It’s evolved into a more settled love. Of course, it expresses itself differently at various times of the year (for example, grief is the dominant expression on her Heaven Day) but it usually feels settled, just like my love for my living children. In the words of one of my favourite songs: “lost you before I found you, gone before you came. But I love you just the same.” She may have died but my love for her did not. Ariella Jade – always and forever my loved baby.

Larissa

Larissa wrote her blog about the love she has for precious Ariella for Sands Australia.  This blog also appears on The Motherish website

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 Larissa's posts at:

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