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At Still Aware, we believe it is integral to elevate the memories of the thousands of babies stillborn each and every year; to give them the honour they deserve, to let them live on, in and through us. Whether you are parent to a baby born without breath, an aunt, an uncle, a sibling, a relative or friend... please give these babies your voice and preserve their memory through this platform of remembrance.
I found out I was pregnant with our first child after returning from a beautiful holiday in Europe in 2022. I surprised my husband with the news on our 3-year wedding anniversary. My 'gift' to him was the positive pregnancy test wrapped up in a little box. We were over the moon. What followed for the next seven and a half months was a really healthy pregnancy and absolute blissful happiness, while we waited for our baby to arrive. At my 31-week scan, everything looked perfect and my doctor commented on my baby's 'strong heartbeat'. 10 days later, I returned home from work and sat down on the sofa only to realise that I hadn't felt my baby kick that day. It just didn't feel right, so I called my hospital and they asked me to come in right away. When I got there, two midwives used a doppler to try and locate my baby's heartbeat but said they were having trouble doing so and called my Obstetrician to come in and do an ultrasound. <strong>The ultrasound confirmed that my baby's heart had stopped. It was the most earth-shattering moment of our lives.</strong> My husband and I held each other and wept. We were sent home that evening and returned to the hospital in the morning to be induced. On Friday 3rd March 2023 at 11:14am, I delivered my beautiful baby boy Jude. He was the most beautiful, perfect little angel I'd ever seen in my life. We got to spend 24 precious hours with him, before saying goodbye and returning home with empty arms and broken hearts. Prior to this happening, I had never even considered the possibility that I could ever lose my child. I don't think I'd ever heard the word 'stillborn' before. What haunts me is the fact that, in the week leading up to this, I had noticed that Jude's movements had decreased, but I hadn't known the importance of this. I hadn't known that the slightest change in movement could indicate that something is wrong. Had I known, I would have presented to the hospital sooner and perhaps my baby boy would still be here today. I feel let down by my healthcare provider, who had a responsibility and duty of care to educate me on this. I will never understand why he didn't. <strong>To my baby boy Jude, I miss you with every fibre of my being and it's so sad that I have to live in this world without you.</strong> <i>Remembering Jude Wheller, born 03/03/2023. Story written by Natasha and Ian Wheller.</i>
After my husband Darren and I got married, we found out that it was going to be a little harder for us to conceive than we originally thought. We went down the fertility assistance path and through IVF got pregnant on our first transfer with our little boy, who we named Avery Vittorio Macolino. <strong>The months that I was pregnant were pure bliss.</strong> We were so excited and spent months planning his arrival, decorating his room and having everything ready for him. He was the first grandchild and nephew in our family and he was so very much wanted. At 13 weeks pregnant we found out Avery had an umbilical cord abnormality, called marginal cord insertion. I felt terrified and a shiver ran down my spine when I read the ultrasound report that said ‘risk of fetal abnormality and stillbirth.’ We were reassured by our doctor that this was ‘no big deal’ and that everything would be fine. I was told that I did not need extra monitoring despite this umbilical cord abnormality. Avery never stopped moving in utero, he moved so much that it was so uncomfortable for me and he would kick me so hard in the ribs. <strong>The day before our little boy was born was just like any other</strong>. I was 35 weeks pregnant and finished washing his clothes, put his car seat in the car, and went off to my maternity photoshoot. However, <strong>it suddenly occurred to me that he hadn’t moved much that day</strong>. I didn’t think much of it. I thought ‘maybe he has run out of room, or maybe he’s having a sleep.’ I went to sleep that night so happy. I had no idea the very next day I would wake up to the worst day of my life. The next morning I woke up and he was not moving at all. I went to the hospital for a reassurance check. The nurse put the doppler on my belly and his heartbeat did not come up like it always had. She called another nurse into the room, and then my doctor. I then knew that something was very wrong and was bracing myself to receive the worst news of my life. <strong>My doctor told us to come down to his office. I knew then Avery was dead. He did an ultrasound on me and I was told those awful words, ‘there’s no heartbeat, your baby has died.’</strong> <strong>My husband collapsed into me. I couldn’t think or breathe. I wanted to die too.</strong> Nurses came into the room and started taking blood from my arms. I was still in complete disbelief and shock that this was really happening. I was put to sleep and had a caesarean section. I went into hypovolemic shock. I was completely grey, freezing and shaking uncontrollably. When I woke up, <strong>I begged my husband to tell me that this day didn’t really happen, and that it was all a dream.</strong> He just kept saying it was real and we were both crying uncontrollably. I was given my little boy. I was shaking so much that I couldn’t even hold him properly. <strong>All I remember is how perfect he looked.</strong> He looked like he was just sleeping. I wanted so desperately for him to just open his eyes and take a breath, but he didn’t. I was then moved into the maternity ward where Avery laid next to me in a cold cot. I listened to babies crying in the rooms around me. I just stared at the ceiling all night wondering what had gone so wrong. We were able to spend two precious days with Avery, taking in all of his gorgeous features. His curly blonde hair and cute button nose. <strong>Leaving him was the hardest thing we have ever had to do.</strong> Having to walk out of the hospital with an empty belly, leaving my son behind, and knowing I will never see him again was the most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever done. <strong>I never ever thought I’d need to plan a funeral for my child.</strong> We chose to have a full autopsy and testing on Avery and my placenta. Avery’s cause of death was determined as a combination of the marginal cord insertion and a condition called chronic villitis, which restricts nutrient flow through the placenta by causing inflammation. It was not detected and in the third trimester, my placenta could no longer sustain Avery. I had no idea I was in a high-risk pregnancy and still struggle with the ‘what if’s.’ <strong>Losing Avery has made me more grateful for everything I have.</strong> I realise that life is fragile and can be taken away in a second. I don’t take anyone for granted. It is not guaranteed that they will be here tomorrow. Losing Avery has been the greatest pain and grief I’ve ever experienced. He has left a legacy though. An unbreakable marriage, a closeness with many family and friends and a fearlessness you get from knowing life can’t throw much worse at you. Now all I can do is try to look forward and hope that one day I can have a living child. They will never replace Avery, but I hope they can carry some of his spirit into the world. –––– <i>Written by Megan & Darren, parents of Avery Vittorio Macolino</i>
Daniel was our first very much wanted baby. It was a very easy pregnancy and everything was going to plan until 10 days before my due date and I realised I had not felt the baby move all day. We went to the hospital and were told those words that no parents ever want to hear: “I am so sorry but there is no heartbeat”. I was inducted the next day but Daniel was not born for 36 hours. I hope and prayed that the doctor was wrong and my baby would be alive when he came out, but unfortunately, they were right – <strong>he was silent, and still, but perfect in every other way.</strong> We were able to hold him and stay with him for 2 days and our families were able to meet him. Then we had to say goodbye and leave our beautiful baby boy behind at the hospital while we went home to our empty home. It was so hard to go home and walk back into the nursery that Rod had only just finished getting ready 5 days before we delivered Daniel. Then we had a funeral for him with our family and friends supporting us. And that was the last time we got to see our baby boy. I will never forget his perfect face. I miss him every day. We now have 3 daughters but I will never have my son. Our beautiful baby boy forever Daniel. <i>Story written by Janelle and Rodney Manning, Parents to Daniel Manning (5/5/2014)</i>
Born on the 26th January 2021 at only 36 weeks and 2 days gestation, our daughter, our creation, our little sunflower – Frankie Marjorie Knox entered this world in silence. Here is our story... On January 19, 2021 I was 35 weeks 2 days gestation when I noticed Frankie was not making many movements as she would normally. Nothing I did would make her respond. I waited until I got home from work that afternoon so I could use the home doppler to see if I could hear her move around and most importantly her heartbeat – midwives do not recommend using a home doppler as “we do not know what we are listening for” however after hearing Frankie’s heartbeat for the last 36 weeks I was confident I knew what was and was not her heartbeat. <strong>Michael and I sat down together and picked up on Frankie’s heartbeat which gave us both reassurance that our little girl was ok. We carried on the rest of our afternoon as usual and agreed to go to the hospital to get checked out “just in case”.</strong> We got to the hospital and had a CTG for the full 30 minutes, Frankie was doing fine, and the midwives were all pleased with the monitoring and variables shown throughout the 30 minutes. I was hoping for an ultrasound just so I could see our baby girl, but we were not able to get a bed side ultrasound as there were “more urgent” matters at the time and if I wanted one, I would have had to stay the night. Michael and I decided to leave as the tests were all fine and in normal range. We were unsure when I would be able to get the bedside ultrasound the next day and I did not want to put work out over to what I thought was “nothing”. The doctor on duty gave me a referral for a wellbeing scan and growth scan to be done – <strong>my last scan was at 30 weeks, everything perfectly fine and Frankie measuring as per her gestation.</strong> The next day I called around for a scan to be done but was not able to get in as it was not “urgent”. I finally got an appointment on Monday 25th January. I once again could not feel Frankie’s movements on the Wednesday and Thursday, but thought nothing of it as I was only there Tuesday night and had an upcoming midwife appointment on the Friday. Friday 22 January came around and I had my midwife appointment booked in at 8.30am. <strong>Everything was once again normal</strong>, heartbeat perfect, measurements were perfect. The only thing was the midwife swore that Frankie was on my right side, but the heartbeat was being picked up on the left, she did not think anything of it as she was still picking up on a heartbeat. I showed the midwife my referral for a wellbeing and growth scan and asked if I could get one while I was there, unfortunately I was unable to get a bedside ultrasound again as they were short doctors and fully booked. The midwife offered another CTG, but I decided not to as everything was fine during my appointment and I left it as I had an appointment booked on Monday anyway and everything seemed to be fine. <strong>Saturday 23 January came, and I knew something was not right, I still could not feel Frankie moving around. I knew her movements I knew her patterns, but this happened all week and when I was checked she seemed to be fine.</strong> I called the hospital that morning for advice, I posted on Facebook for a student midwife to contact me so I could ask their opinion, I called the hospital AGAIN later that afternoon – all advising to go in for checking. <strong>Why didn’t I just go in?</strong> I was home alone in the morning until around 2pm as Michael was out and uncontactable. I wait until he got home to let him know my concerns to which he was certain Frankie was fine and I was overreacting. We both were in the mind frame of “we will go to the hospital again and waste time for everything to be ok like it was the last two times!” Michael and I umm-ed and ahh-ed all day about whether I should go into hospital or not, against all odds I was so indecisive. I got the home doppler out once again and struggled to find any sort of noise, I panicked, and Michael reassured me everything would be ok and we both agreed to go to the hospital first thing Sunday morning. Within the next few minutes, I was about to walk out the door to go to the hospital, but something changed my mind – <strong>I was sending myself crazy and decided I needed to relax and not stress, and we agreed we would go to hospital first thing the next morning</strong>. <strong>Sunday 24 January we were at the hospital by 8am, Sunday the 24th of January was the morning we found out you were no longer with us.</strong> The midwife on duty was struggling to find a heartbeat on the doppler so called in the doctor on duty to check, she too could not find a heartbeat on the doppler so a bedside ultrasound was done and then is when the doctor said to us “<strong>look I am concerned, we can not seem to find a heartbeat</strong>”. She called in another doctor to also see the ultrasound, a few moments passed and the doctor once again turned to us and confirmed she could not find a heartbeat and that our baby was no longer with us – our girl was gone. <strong>The emotion that took over our bodies was excruciating.</strong> It was something unimaginable. My heart was torn – one side filled with heartache and the other side died with you. Although we couldn’t hear your heartbeat, it is of some comfort that the last sound you heard was the beating of mine. <strong>In my womb, you thrived in every way.</strong> You always had a strong heartbeat. You were active and responsive, and you seemed to relate to the outside world, incredibly well. Suddenly all of that changed without any warning… you were gone and there was nothing I could do to protect you. <strong>You were gone and there was nothing I could do to protect you.</strong> Michael and I made our calls to our family and we were transferred to a birthing room where we sat there and cried in silence while holding each other. I blame myself every day – I took Frankie for granted, I ignored her signs to me, and I should have gone in every single day I could not feel her. I chose Michael and I over our daughter, I chose work over our daughter. We stayed the night in hospital that night to gather our thoughts and go through everything that was about to happen. Letting the fact that I still had to go through labour and prepare for as if I were having a baby sink in. <strong>One memory I will never forget is that night when I showered, and I felt a “thump” in my stomach. I thought for a second it was Frankie kicking, but reality set in and although it was Frankie, it was her lifeless body that had moved around inside of me. It was a truly disgusting feeling and I just screamed out to Michael to get her out of me.</strong> Monday 25th January came, we waited around for another ultrasound to be done for the final <strong>confirmation that Frankie was no longer with us.</strong> During the ultrasound there was a sound of hope that we could hear but the pulsating was not her heartbeat and it was once again confirmed that Frankie was not with us. We went back to our room and gathered our things to go home. We were going home with our child still in me and spending the time at home packing Frankie’s bags and packing my bags for the next few days ahead. Tuesday 26th January we were at the hospital at 10am. Shortly after a doctor came in and inserted a tablet into my cervix to soften for me to give birth naturally. 6 hours passed and another tablet was inserted at 4pm. Nothing was happening and then suddenly around 9pm I was getting period cramps and had to get out of bed with the urge to poo. On my way to the toilet my water broke. <strong>I was not ready for this.</strong> Michael called the midwife in who confirmed it was happening. I laid back in bed and the pain started. Gas was doing nothing; contractions were only 2 minutes apart. Endone was given and soon after morphine which did not kick in. There was no time for any pain control, in an hour, <strong>Frankie was here born at 10.06pm in silence.</strong> Michael got to hold her first, I was not ready to hold my lifeless daughter, <strong>I was too scared, I did not want to know.</strong> The only way I would look at her was through photos that Michael took. Finally, I got the courage to look at her for the first time and when I did, I broke down. <strong>So perfect, so tiny and innocent.</strong> The midwife took Frankie away to do all her measurements and checks. Morphine finally kicked in and I woke up the next morning to Frankie next to me dressed and rugged up just like a newborn would have been and that is when we began our 3 days with our daughter, cramming a lifetime together before saying our goodbyes.
Dearest precious Mars, You have generated so much love. It is a healing story. Can I share your story? Yes, I see that rainbow. Thank you, Mars. On June 29th (your due date) you were born, Mars Louis Fuller, our perfect, beautiful grandson and you brought with you so much love. So much love that it was palpable in the room. And the healing began. <strong>Two days before your birth, when we were all getting excited for your arrival, wondering whether you were to be a girl or a boy, we were told the news that no parent-to-be or grandparent ever wants to hear: Your little heartbeat had stopped.</strong> Oh Mars! The grief. <strong>The unspeakable sadness.</strong> Unfathomable. Unimaginable. But little Mars, you need to know that the mum and dad you chose, <strong>Kristen and Louis, are the most caring, courageous parents and their love is so strong.</strong> I don’t have enough words to tell you how grateful we are for their calm, positive energy and for their generosity in allowing us to share your journey. <strong>It is helping us all to heal.</strong> <strong>For the precious days you were here Mars, we all fell in love with you.</strong> You were held gently and cuddled by family. Most of all by your mum and dad. You would have heard us crying and laughing and your dad singing and playing his guitar to you. <strong>And the hospital staff were so caring, supportive and helpful.</strong> The room resonated with love and positive energy and peacefulness. Could you also feel the love that came pouring in from family and friends, and friends of friends near and far? <strong>So much love.</strong> <strong>I remain immensely saddened that you will not have the benefit of growing up with the most amazing parents you could have chosen.</strong> And they will not have the joy of experiencing the wonderful person I know you would grow to be. <strong>Your story is now our story, partly one of grief and loss, but also Mars, it is a story of immense love and strength, of caring and sharing, of family and friends supporting each other.</strong> Being able to share in their most profound personal sorrow, your parents gave us a deep connection to you Mars. And with the name they chose we have more than a roadmap, we have a celestial pathway to navigate our grief! Thank you Mars for yours is a story of healing. <strong>You are engulfed in so much love and you will remain in our hearts forever.</strong> <i>Written by Andrea Fuller, Grandmother to Mars Louis Fuller.</i>
Today (29/11/21) my grandson would be 5 months old, smiling, giggling, cheekily taking everything in, if he was with us. The sadness sits heavily in my heart. I try to take comfort thinking of his gentle soul is somewhere in the universe watching over us. June 29, 2021, our youngest son and his beautiful wife were due to have their first baby. <strong>They had waited 10 years to start a family and we were all very excited.</strong> The pregnancy had been uncomplicated and everything was going well. <strong>The checkup at 38 weeks indicated all in good health and the baby and placenta in a good position.</strong> <strong>Two days before the baby's due date, my son and daughter-in-law went to the hospital with concerns about the loss of movement. Several hours later my son rang me with the absolutely devastating news that they had lost the baby's heartbeat.</strong> I don't have the words to describe the shock and grief that engulfed us all. It was like a tsunami hitting. I just wanted to shield my son and daughter-in-law from all the pain and grief that I knew would be endless. <strong>Surely there was a mistake!</strong> <strong>As a grandmother and mother I have had enough life experience to know pregnancies and births are not always straightforward, but a stillbirth for some reason, I had not ever considered. Perhaps it is just too tragic to contemplate.</strong> My son and daughter-in-law went home and spent the next 48 hours preparing for the birth of their beautiful silent baby. Their strength, courage, generosity of spirit and strong love is an inspiration to us all and helped us all to cope. <strong><u>Here is a letter</u> I wrote to our dear little grandson soon after his birth which gives the story of his few days with us.</strong> Two months after Mars was born we shared a beautiful family Mars' celebration. A wonderful picnic near a National Park with all of Mars' cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents and of course his most precious Mum and Dad. <strong>We walked and talked, cried and laughed and the children (all his cousins) drew pictures and played games.</strong> We played music, including a most beautiful song that Mars' Dad had written for him while they had been in the hospital. Toward the end of the day, <strong>we wrote messages to Mars on balloons and released them into the sky.</strong> It was very emotional for all of us. It was our way of honouring Mars – a beautiful day full of love, joy, sadness and hope. <strong>And although the sadness remains, so does the love and we know he will always be with us.</strong> <i>Story written by Andrea Fuller, Grandmother to Mars Louis Fuller.</i>
I knew the morning that I got ready to taxi to the hospital that he was already gone. My dog lay with his head in my lap and I feel like we both knew. I was 35 weeks pregnant to the day when I heard the words “I’m sorry there is no heartbeat” and our world shattered as did our hearts. Our baby boy Quinn was our first (and only) pregnancy after an 8-year journey with numerous IVF treatments, operations and medications. The pregnancy was rough– but I was so grateful to finally be pregnant I tried not to complain. I had hyperemesis right up to his birth (death), and an operation in the first trimester for an incompetent cervix which had been caused by LETZ treatments in my early 20s. We had a 2 vessel cord and baby was small the whole way through the pregnancy.
I sit here writing this, wishing I could return to that life when everything was simple, easy and happy. I remember the day I found out I was pregnant like it was yesterday. J was doing a workout, I had a gut feeling of something, but never expected to be telling him that our family was extending on that evening. I still smile now remembering him taking a couple of minutes to realise what I was telling him, I smile a little more when I picture his face just light up. From that moment, our lives changed forever. Each day was filled with a thought or feeling of what was to come and small ideas flooding my mind for planning the new arrival of our baby. We soon told our families and friends, unable to keep the excitement contained, of course everyone was overjoyed. Initially, I had always thought I would want to keep the sex of the baby a surprise, but as it got closer to the potential time of being able to find out, we couldn't wait and found out we were having a precious baby girl. In the following months, my pregnancy was generally uneventful, what they would call a "normal" pregnancy. Every checkup and scan was routine and each health professional telling us everything was perfect. <strong>Then the birth... Waiting in no-man's land.</strong> It was a normal Friday, my last shift at work and I was getting very excited, yet it felt quite surreal knowing I was just 10 days away from our due date. I had been physically and mentally ready for Ayla to arrive for the last week so was counting down the days to the unknown date I was going to get to hold my beautiful baby girl. We picked up Ayla's brother from school, he had passed his writing test, we were so proud and went to clip and climb to celebrate. That evening I had done some meditation and pregnancy yoga stretches, not knowing this was the last time I would feel Ayla move- a BIG kick, thinking she was trying to do some yoga with me, or now thinking she was saying goodbye. The next morning I woke up, anxious from a horrible dream. Our baby was a doll with a black plastic spinal cord and it had snapped. I am not normally spiritual or superstitious however this had really scared me. I realised I hadn't felt Ayla move since waking, it must have only been half an hour. I ate some marshmallows, drank some coke and had a big glass of cold water, lay on my left side just waiting... I felt nothing. As much as I thought I was still worrying about nothing, I took myself off to emergency. J stayed cutting O's hair and took him to soccer. Leaving the house with a kiss and telling J I would be back soon. The emergency was quiet. A lovely nurse took me into a room, lay me down and put the doppler to my belly, the room was silent, I was just waiting for the beeping which never came. The nurse comforting me and explaining it was probably just her inexperience or baby Ayla had her hands over her chest. Still being naive, I believed her. She took me upstairs, ironically to the birthing suite, with sounds of newborn babies and many women about to birth life. I was greeted by a midwife and told the doctor was on her way to scan my baby girl. <strong>These were the longest minutes of my life.</strong> It had probably only been about 20s of that probe to my belly and as soon as the doctor looked at me I knew. Those dreaded words "I'm so sorry, there is no heartbeat". I felt flooded with emotion, tears rolling down my face, I was in shock, I kept asking "why?". How could this happen at 38 + 5 weeks, only moments from our due date? Ringing J was the hardest thing I've had to do. Not wanting the words to leave my mouth, not wanting to hear reality, I could just hear the trembles in his voice as he told me he'd be there as soon as possible. The next moment I remember I was wrapped in his arms with both of us uncontrollably crying into each other, kissing and hugging Ayla in my tummy, just like we were doing one day before but with her kicking back. An ultrasound was needed to be done to confirm Ayla's death and to check whether there was an obvious indication as to why, I was squeezing J's hand so tight, both of us opening and closing our eyes not wanting to believe this cute little black and white picture was of our beautiful baby girl with no heartbeat. As with the majority of ultrasounds post-death, the answer as to why was inconclusive. I remember reading, in the initial few weeks after Ayla was born, a women's stillbirth story and she described the feeling of the time when finding out the life you have been growing for nine months is now no longer as "waiting in no-man's land". How accurate this was to my experience, lying on that hospital bed attempting to absorb the news I had just been given and the next few hours leading up to the induction. At this point, the only thing my mind was focused on was, what had happened and how could our own daughter, who I naively thought was invincible inside of me, be taken from us. Only then to be shaken into reality and realise I had to give birth to Ayla, something I blocked from my mind as I kept thinking "this isn't how it's meant to be". J was brilliant, he was so calm and made me feel so protected, he just wanted us both to be safe. After a numbing drive home to pick up our things, the induction was started just five hours after I had been to emergency. We waited six hours and the contractions started just after midnight. None of this felt natural and all the planning I had done to make labour as relaxing and smooth as possible, had turned to anxiety and fear for how emotionally difficult this felt, alongside excitement and love for the beautiful daughter we were about to meet. On Sunday 2nd May, six hours later, Ayla's head was crowning and with one final push, she was placed on my chest. <strong>I cannot describe the emotion that came over me. I had never experienced the instant love I had, and still have for her, how protective I felt over her and of course the deepest sadness of Ayla not being alive and breathing in this world with us.</strong> I remember Ayla's skin covered in white cream, vernix they call it, particularly over her eyelids. I wish I could have seen her eyes, wondering what colour they would have been. She had amazing long eyelashes which she definitely got from her dad, also a cute little button nose and small little ears. We gave her the biggest cuddles, stroking her head and kissing her super soft cheeks, I never wanted this moment to end. Unfortunately, stillbirth was much more common than I ever wanted to know. Six babies are stillborn every day in Australia, which meant the hospital was sadly very experienced in offering parents like ourselves the best opportunities to care, grieve and acknowledge the bond we have with our angel babies. It has been shown that for some mums and dads, being given the opportunity to name, bath, dress, create hands and footprints and having the option of taking their babies home can help with the grieving process and the bereavement journey. We were definitely very grateful for this. <strong>The beginnings of the grieving process</strong> We held Ayla gently in the water, she lay there in J's arms so peacefully as I carefully wiped her. She had always loved water, kicking away when I went swimming. We obviously had not planned for any of this to be like it was so we had not brought any clothes with us. The wonderful volunteers of charities like Rednose, SANDS and Stillbirth Australia donate clothes to the hospital, so we picked out a very cute white elephant onesie and a beautiful hand-knitted pink, blue, purple cardigan with a little pink beanie– she looked beautiful. We spent more hours kissing, cuddling and rocking Ayla's perfect little body. That evening, it was time to say goodbye for now... This was such a traumatic and unnatural feeling, you never imagine leaving your baby at the hospital and coming home with empty arms. It took all our strength to leave Ayla lying so snug and sleeping so peacefully in her cold cot, giving all our trust to the midwives to take care of our precious sleeping baby. Another numbing drive home, this time without Ayla inside of me. I had imagined this day for so long– I had picked out the perfect outfit, I pictured Ayla being swamped in her car seat, making many cute baby noises. That night, we were both physically and emotionally exhausted. Falling to sleep fairly quickly however waking up early and realising it wasn't a dream. I had wished it was all a nightmare that I would wake up from, only that never happened. Over the next two days, there were a lot of tears– it was exhausting. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life and the only person who could understand was J. He was the only person who could make me feel safe and keep me afloat. <img src="/images/stories-of-remembrance/8-ayla-joy-2.webp" alt="image"> <i>In memory of Ayla Joy, born 2/5/2021 to Amy & James. </i>
When I was 20 weeks and 1-day pregnant we went to find out the sex of our second child. Instead of hearing "it’s a boy or a girl", the ultrasound tech tells us “I’m sorry I’m not finding a heartbeat". My husband and I stood there and quietly I told her "check again". She had me lay flat on my back- she says "I’m so sorry". I was lost for words I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t speak, my husband basically had to carry me out. I could barely move I was so in shock, and couldn’t believe this was happening to us. I just felt the baby kicking last night, "there’s no way" I told my husband, and I demanded he take us to the ER for a second opinion. While I sat there in the ER waiting room the reality hit me. I burst into tears when I noticed I hadn't felt the baby move all day. They took me to get an ultrasound, then put me in a room while I waited for a doctor. It felt like the longest wait of my life! When she finally came and told me what we had already been told earlier, it felt like my whole world fell on my head. I cried and cried. I was shaking and asking, “God why us? Why our baby?" I even begged God to take my life instead. We were given two choices: go back home for a little bit and then be admitted to come back, or they can induce labour that night. I chose to be induced that night, because knowing I had to push out our lifeless baby, I just wanted to get it over with- I didn’t want to sleep another day knowing he’s lifeless inside of me. I just couldn’t. February 12th at 5:30 pm I gave birth to our baby boy. I cried as they placed him on my chest- he didn’t move, he didn’t cry. The nurses and midwife left and gave my husband and I time with him, giving us a cuddle cot so he could stay with us longer. We had two days with him in the hospital. We named him, we kissed him, and I will never forget his scent. We took him home with us while we waited on the funeral home to come and get him from us, and my husband and I cried ourselves to sleep that night. We prayed and prayed, and searched for answers...nobody knew. They told us Trisomy 13, a genetic disorder. Knowing it was nothing anyone could have done, and our son having a rare genetic disorder, we came to terms that he’s better off and pain-free in heaven with God. Our angel Santana Mario Humphreys, we will never forget you. I feel our story is important to be told as we had no idea what Trisomy 13 was until it happened to us. Nobody really talks about it, but we know our son is in heaven and we will see him again one day. He has a big brother, a mother, a father, and family members who loved him already so much. This pain of losing our son will never leave. I guess we have to get used to it. Today we are taking it one day at a time. One day at a time. <img src="/images/stories-of-remembrance/9-santana-humphreys-2.webp" alt="image"> <i>Written by Patrick Humphreys & Khaliah Humphreys in Memory of Santana Humphreys, stillborn on Friday 12/2/2021.</i>
The last time I was happy you were growing inside of me. We were debating whether you’d be a boy or a girl, your Daddy knew he was destined to be a girl Dad. I was putting the finishing touches on your nursery, packing my hospital bag and spending quality time with your big sisters. I was relaxing and catching up with friends before the adventure of 3 little ones began. I felt like I was glowing and so ready to meet you. Suddenly all of that changed without any warning… you were gone and there was nothing I could do to protect you. Only one week before you died I thought you were coming very soon. On the morning of your death, your big sister Ellie spoke to you and said ”you can come anytime now, we’re ready to meet you.” We were ready but not for what was to come. The day you died both your sisters woke with tummy aches but you were happily kicking away before the sun rose in the sky. I was busy looking after them when I noticed you were quieter than normal. The girls and I danced around the house trying to get you to join in. They poked you to see if they could get you to wiggle. You were quiet. You were still. I began to panic and messaged your Daddy. My sentence began with “I think I am being paranoid but…” You see two weeks before I thought I was being paranoid, your movements changed and I went to the hospital. They reassured me that you were okay and I had faith because you were moving around like crazy. I was sent for a scan 3 days before you died and you were happy in there. There was nothing to worry about and you’d be here soon. Little did I know that when I walked into the hospital on Thursday 4th of June 2020 my life was about to be changed forever. My heart would be shattered with words that I never thought I’d hear. “I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat.” I cannot even explain the shock, the wailing cries that came from deep within, the tears that poured from my eyes like rivers and the trembling of my whole body. I screamed no in my head over and over again. I couldn’t get any words out. If I could just close my eyes this wouldn’t be happening. If they got a new machine you’d start kicking me again. If I prayed hard enough, God would step in and bring you back to me. None of this happened. You were gone and you weren’t coming back. There was a lot of talking around me but all I heard was noise and the silent sounds of your heart. Decisions were made but I sat there numb, empty and heartbroken. We went home that night, I couldn’t bear the thought of your sisters waking in the morning without me and without saying goodbye to you. The first person we told about your death was Nana. Her response was exactly how I was feeling “but she was just in the hospital last week” as the tears flowed down her face. It makes me wonder if you could have been saved. If you wanted to come but the doctors said it was too soon and you were safer on the inside. You weren’t safer on the inside because now my arms are empty. Grandma was the next person I phoned with the news. She was eagerly awaiting the phone call about your arrival. I felt like as I shared my reality I was ripping her heart out of her chest and stomping on it. Your death was not just devastating for me but for everyone who played a part in your journey thus far. Our family lost a daughter, a sister, a grand-daughter, a niece, a cousin, a great grand-daughter and a treasured friend. Who knew that a few moments could change the lives of so many people around us. I reached out to a few close friends to share this unexpected and tragic news. This is the time I became silent. I gave into my overwhelming pain and laid crippled on the floor at the thought of not having you inside me growing nor Earthside in my arms surrounded by admiration, love and joy. The next morning your Daddy told your big sisters the heartbreaking news in such a gentle and soothing way. Oh, how I wish you could be here right now to feel the love and tenderness in his hugs. I long to see you in his arms, laying on his chest and cuddled into his neck. One thing is certain you have the best Daddy in the world and his love for you is endless. Over the next couple of days as my body was preparing for your silent arrival I took every opportunity to stroke my tummy, talk to you, cuddle you in the night, glance at my loved baby bump in the mirror and share stories of our journey with you together. The tears flowed endlessly until the moment you arrived. In this time leading up to your arrival, I felt a multitude of big emotions and constantly wished I would wake from this nightmare. On Sunday 7th of June 2020, I walked into the hospital in the morning knowing that when I left you wouldn’t be in my arms. That this empty and sinking feeling was here to stay. That I was going to become a mother to an angel and be changed in so many ways. I didn’t want to feel any pain as the emotional toll was unbearable but as the contractions came I embraced each one of them in a way I never thought I could. I desired to meet you, to soak in every one of your features and imprint you into my mind never to be forgotten. I was eager to hold you, kiss you and tell you how much we loved you, how wanted you were and how we would miss you every day for the rest of our lives. I was fearful that once I held you I would never be able to let you go. That I’d run out of the hospital clutching onto to my last hope that you were alive in my arms. When I held you for the first time you were perfect and I couldn’t help but say “she looks just like Zoey”. These words will stick with me each day as I watch your big sister grow without even knowing you. As I held you I thought of the moments we would miss and how this was my only chance to create an everlasting memory of you in my mind. My time with you was too short but no length of time would have been long enough as I hoped for a lifetime with you. My heart ached for more but I will always cherish the time I held you in my arms and the time you spent growing within me. I will never regret seeing you, holding you, kissing you and embracing you as you lay silent and still. Tears streamed down my face as we said our first hellos and our final goodbyes within hours of bringing you Earthside. We left the hospital in the early hours of the morning where we saw other hopeful and expecting parents begin the possible journey of welcoming their new bubs, we heard the beautiful sounds of newborns being brought into this world safely yet we left with this feeling of emptiness, hopelessness and heartache that we could have never thought possible. Leaving you behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You are our baby and we couldn’t save you from this cruel reality of life and death. You were not supposed to die before me. I had envisioned your future and the space you would fill in our growing family. Coming home without you was excruciating as every moment without you has been for the last seven months. Every baby arrival announcement since your death stings me with so much pain and envy. That should have been you. That should have been our joyous news. The day we lost you will be etched in my mind forever. The day you were born will forever shatter my heart. My love for you knows no bounds. It is strong and powerful as is my grief. You were lost yet you are missed and loved more than any words could express. You are our angel baby Georgie now, always and forever. <i>Written by Amy Malan & Brendan Malan in Memory of Georgie Louise Malan, born on Sun 7/6/2020.</i> <img src="/images/stories-of-remembrance/10-georgie-malan-2.webp" alt="image">
Pregnancy turned out to be a breeze for me every appointment was perfect. Every scan and every test were always on point. Throughout my pregnancy, I was very aware of the changes my body was going through, and I was very in tune with my baby’s movements and everything going on around me. It wasn’t until the morning of Monday the 13th of July where I didn’t feel any movement and I thought maybe as the baby is getting bigger and moving into different positions, she wouldn’t be moving as much. It wasn’t until that night after I had eaten dinner that I still hadn't felt any movement. This was when I started to panic and consulted my partner Charley. We then proceeded to contact my midwife who suggested we go to the hospital straight away to be assessed. <strong>Once we got to the hospital, they took us in straight away to try and find the baby’s heartbeat. You can only imagine the stress and pain of uncertainty during this time. A midwife settled us in a room and put the heart rate monitor on in search of a heartbeat, and as time went on we couldn’t hear anything?</strong> She then went on to call the obstetrician to do a bedside ultrasound. We had to wait at least 15 minutes for him to arrive it was probably the longest and hardest 15 minutes of our lives. The obstetrician then proceeded to do a bedside ultrasound where he found no heartbeat. We were in complete shock. We couldn’t comprehend what had happened- how could this happen? Why is this happening? Is this a mistake? We didn’t understand. After some time we made the decision to go home, and we had to come back the next day for a final ultrasound to confirm what the obstetrician had suspected. As the next day approached we packed our bags and headed to the hospital, ready for what the next 24 hours were going to throw at us. We had a confirmation ultrasound which found no abnormalities but confirmed there was definitely no heartbeat. We then had to make the decision on how we would deal with the next step which was delivering the baby. I opted for a natural birth, as I owed it to myself and my baby. I was induced later that afternoon and gave birth with my partner by my side the following morning 15th July at 8:47am to our beautiful baby girl Kora by my amazing midwife Clare Burke. We were lucky enough to spend as much time as we needed with her, taking in every special moment we had. The staff at Moruya hospital were amazing and so accommodating, and they made the worst situation into the best and were able to attend to every possible need we had. After the delivery, we were then informed that there was a true knot in the umbilical cord which was a result of Kora being born still. A true knot causes the cord to compress which restricts blood and oxygen causing the baby to pass due to hypoxia. I guess no one prepares you for pregnancy or what is to follow. All I know is that you need to stay strong and channel your inner strength, and just know everything from this point on is all for your beautiful angel. <i>Written by Jenna Lantouris & Charley Alderman in Memory of Kora Alderman, stillborn on Wed 15/7/2020.</i> <img src="/images/stories-of-remembrance/11-kora-alderman-2.webp" alt="image">
I just wanted to share my story so other angel moms won’t feel alone. I was 18 when I found out I was pregnant with my first baby last year November in 2019. My due date was this August 4th 2020. Everything was good and my daughter was healthy. My daughter's nursery was ready and she kicked me every day to make me so excited to meet her. At 37 weeks the doctors told me “no heartbeat”. At that moment everything was a blur. I was too afraid to look at my daughter dead and lifeless. I decided to have drapes over me as I pushed. I was able to get footprints but that’s all I have of my sweet girl I never got to meet. All I wanted was to hear my baby cry when I pushed but all I heard was my fiancé’s cries. It’s been over a month since I lost her, however, I feel strong and not weak. When everyone else’s babies were being born around me I felt down, but I picked back up because I was going to live for my daughter as every angel mom should. My baby's name was Laela Elouera Ruano. ---------- <i>Written by Juliana, August 2020</i>
