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

Because You’re There For Me Too

In  her first blog for Sands, Annika shares her precious babies and how the Sands online support assisted her in her grief.

"Sands gave me a safe place, an online haven where I could openly grieve 

my little babies and talk about our fears of infertility. "

I have a beautiful son. He is almost five months old now! I can’t believe how fast the time has gone by but I could just stare into his blue eyes all day, every day for the rest of my life. But becoming parents was a long, and emotional journey for us as there were four who came before him.

Four tiny babies who graced this earth for only a brief moment in time. Some, only days, others only weeks. We discovered that the endometriosis I had been dealing with since I was 11 was the cause of our losses and so I underwent surgery at the end of 2013 to remove it. We went through all of this in a city where we had no close friends, and we had no family. 



Annika's Angel tattoo in memory of Baby Pearce

The devastation of losing our biggest baby who stayed with us until only 6 weeks and 1 day was overwhelming and inescapable.  I felt alone, lost, and ripped from motherhood. I tried to find local support groups, anything in my city it help me through the grief but unfortunately I could find nothing available. My loss was too early you see, and therefore I felt that our little baby was insignificant.

Looking back, it is clear that I had mild depression for the better part of 18 months. I couldn't let the pregnancy go and was continuously counting down until the due date, October 25^th 2013. My body was empty, but my mind carried on ticking off the milestones as they came and went. It was exhausting. During that time we saw two more positive pregnancy tests which faded until they too were gone.

I tried to reach out to friends and colleagues but was told countless times that “it wasn't like I lost an actual baby”, that I “needed help” when all I wanted was a hug, that “it was for the best” and that I was just being “impatient”.

I believed them of course. My babies were barely babies. I hadn't lost a “real” baby. I hadn't gone through labour and delivered a still baby. I didn't have a name for them, didn’t know if they were boys or girls. I never saw any of them in any ultrasound. I felt so ashamed for grieving the loss of my babies when I was grieving something that was never really there in the first place. It was very confusing and depressing and I struggled, still struggle with these thoughts.

There were three people who I could talk to about my loss at that point. My husband, my Mum, and someone who unexpectedly has become one of my closest friends. Without her, I’m not sure where I would be in my grief journey, but I am certain I wouldn't be where I am today.

A little over a month earlier she lost her daughter at 39 weeks. She lost her baby girl. She held her daughter in her arms and said hello, then goodbye. But she was the ONE person who told me that mine were real babies too, that they were little lives, not little losses. She was the person who introduced me to Sands.

Sands gave me a safe place, an online haven where I could openly grieve my little babies and talk about our fears of infertility. Speaking with women who had lost babies at all stages of pregnancy and during the neonatal period opened my eyes to a world I never knew existed and it was full of people who just had so much love and support to give, even in their darkest hours. The members of Sands brought me out of a bad place and they gave me hope. But most importantly they gave my babies' little lives recognition. Without any pictures, or proof of ever being pregnant, even for the shortest of time, they still recognized my tiny babies and continue to do so.

The members of Sands are an inspiration. Because of Sands I now have some amazing people in my life who will no doubt always be in my life. And while I can't begin to understand the grief of losing a baby at later stages of pregnancy, even as I watched my closest friend go through exactly that, I am better equipped to give advice and support to them too.

My son is asleep as I write this. There isn't a moment when I am not grateful for the baby we were able to bring home. There are times when I am sad, where I imagine the little people who would be playing in the living room with my son, but I can imagine them and smile through the sadness instead of cry. I am at peace with my losses now and I feel so lucky to be where I am today. Through my son’s pregnancy and with other subsequent pregnancies I know I will continue to have support, and be able to provide support to others. It really doesn't seem enough to say this, but ‘thank you’.

To read more about my journey through miscarriage, TTC, and our rainbow’s pregnancy please visit my blog page at: https://letshaveababybaby.wordpress.com

Annika

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Annika Pearce

My name is Annika and I am a qualified Ambulance Paramedic living in Canberra. I love to be there for others and biology and pre-hospital medicine are a passion I share with my husband, Ben. The light of our lives, Henry, was born at the end of 2014 following a succession of four early miscarriages due to endometriosis. Our biggest Angel, Baby Pearce, who I carried for only 6 weeks at the beginning of 2013 has become the source of my inspiration for blogging and developing a Canberra-based online support group for women who have experienced a pregnancy or neonatal loss. My hope is to create a local support network, where we can share and be there for each other, as Sands created for me. As we begin our journey of conceiving our second rainbow there is still fear, but also hope and excitement.  

You can read Annika's personal blog here

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.

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

What Defines a Mother?

Sands Blogger Tiffany Bell questions the definition of Mother:

What defines a mother? According to the dictionary you need to have given birth to a child to become a mother… Does this mean that every women who has suffered a miscarriage is not a mother? How can this definition be so ‘simple and direct’, when in fact the role of a mother is so intricate and delicate. I believe a women becomes a mother the first time her heart falls in love with the little baby she is carrying. 

Once she’s fallen in love, no one can take away that part of her heart that has been given to another living soul. 

People talk about ‘love at first sight’…a mother doesn’t have to see her baby to fall in love, she just has to feel that little soul nestle into her heart; and once it’s there it can never be taken away. Our babies may not be in our arms, but they’re always in out hearts.

It’s that time of year again where we turn our thoughts to preparations for Mother’s Day. Children making cards for their Mums whilst at school, husbands browsing the card aisles for an applicable card, florists ordering extra bunches of flowers…these are the things that seem normal, the things that are done out of tradition, almost like an unspoken ‘guide book’ that everyone follows to ensure that Mothers are remembered on this one day of the year. But what about the Mothers without their children…there’s no ‘guide book’ as to how they are to prepare for Mother’s Day or how they should be made to feel special on this day.

How do you celebrate Mothers Day when your arms are empty and your heart is aching for the babies you carried but never got to meet? Others around you don’t know if they should talk about it or ignore the subject all together. Going out for lunch seems like a cruel reminder when everywhere you look there are mothers and their children enjoying each others company.

For family and friends wondering how to ‘be or act’ around mothers who have lost their babies, don’t ignore the subject, just treat us like any other mother. Please don’t tell us that ‘one day you’ll be a mother’, because firstly, we already are mothers, and secondly, it makes us feel that the ‘one day’ is the day that will ‘define’ us, when in actual fact it’s a journey.

So this Mothers Day I’m going to celebrate the little lives that I’ve created. 

I gave my babies all the love and care I could give them for as long as I had them, and they’ll always know that I did the best that I could for them at the time. For me, the greatest mothers are those that give their children the best they can, and I did just that… I can, and I will celebrate Mothers Day, because there are two little pieces in my heart that will forever be devoted to the little souls I fell in love with when they entered my heart.

Tiffany Bell

Hi! I’m Tiffany, a 24 year old blogger at Young Farm Wives, and freelance graphic designer from South Australia. I’ve been married to my wonderful husband, Lachie, a farmer, for 5 years. We’ve traveled overseas and explored Australia, now we want to settle down and have a family. Sometimes life throws us unexpected experiences, and for us that has been two miscarriages in the last 12 months. We now continue our journey of becoming parents, knowing that we can only do the best we can and let mother nature work her magic.

 

For Support call: 1300 0 72637

Sands have a suite of brochures available you maybe interested in the following:

Early Pregnancy Loss

For Family and Friends