This series of personal stories from parents who have suffered pregnancy or baby loss holds space for talking about loss and grief and remembering our babies gone too soon.
In sharing their stories about their pregnancy journeys, feelings and insights, these parents are beginning to exorcise the double demons of silence and ignorance that afflict so many conversations in the space of pregnancy and baby loss.
Parents share their journeys and the lessons they have learned about grief, parenthood, friendship and living after the death of their baby. They tell us how they have changed, who they have become, and what truly matters now.
Angel baby girl Adrienne with her parents
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was elated. It was something that I had dreamt of since I was little - I was finally becoming a mother. When we found out we were having a daughter, my excitement grew even more, as I had dreamed of all the mother daughter moments that my future held - my little girl watching me get ready in the morning, me brushing her hair, wondering if it would be curly like mine… then those bigger moments, my husband walking her down the aisle one day, watching her graduate high school, meeting her first partner, I could go on forever.
[Becoming a mother] was something that I had dreamt of since I was little. I was assured that our baby was growing beautifully, perfect even.
My pregnancy was closely monitored, as I have a congenital liver disease that is managed on an ongoing basis. This brought about its own set of challenges, but the benefit was that I had lots of scans, lots of doctor’s appointments and the most amazing medical care I could have asked for. During each appointment, everything was checked thoroughly, and I was assured that our baby was growing beautifully, perfect even.
Around midnight on the 18th of April 2022, at 37 weeks plus one day pregnant, my husband and I were laying in bed watching my tummy move from our baby's kicks, chatting about how she would be with us soon. We went to sleep as normal, and I woke up around 2am with some back pain. I got up, walked around for a while and had a drink, then went back to bed. As I was falling back asleep, I felt what would be the last kick from our daughter. When I woke later that morning, she was moving no more.
As I was falling back to sleep I felt what would be the last kick from our daughter. When I woke later that morning, she was moving no more. I remember the wooshing, empty sound as I had a final ultrasound to confirm our baby had died, where previously I had heard the beating of her heart.
I remember everything about that day. I remember the moment I was told that our baby's heart was no longer beating. I remember the screams of my husband, I remember telling my family and close friends and hearing their voices break over the phone, knowing I had just broken their hearts. I remember the wooshing, empty sound as I had a final ultrasound to confirm our baby had died, where previously I had heard the beating of her heart.
I elected to be completely sedated for her cesarean delivery, knowing that the sound of a silent theatre was more than my heart could take. When I woke I met the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, silent and sleeping, holding all of my hopes and dreams in 3.2 kgs of perfection. Our little girl, Adrienne Crocker.
Two days we spent in hospital with our precious girl, trying to fit all the moments we thought we had a lifetime for into those two, small days. Some of my most treasured memories were made in that hospital room, watching our family and friends hold our baby, seeing their love for her etched onto their heartbroken faces. Feeling the weight of her tiny body resting on my chest as I breathed in her sweet baby smell, taking pictures of her perfect face, singing and reading to her.
Some of my most treasured memories were made in that hospital room, watching our family and friends hold our baby, seeing their love for her etched onto their heartbroken faces.
The hardest and worst thing I’ve ever had to do was leave that hospital without my child. Watching her being wheeled away from me forever knowing that my heart would always be missing a piece, knowing that she never got the chance to live. We came home that night to a house that felt cold. To a completed nursery all ready for a child that would never see the inside of that room.
The days, weeks and months that followed were a blur of a pain that is indescribable. There were times when I felt like I was dying of a broken heart. My mind tormented me with “what if’s” and “maybes” while I lay curled in my bed for months, just trying to survive.
As the years have moved me forward, the acute pain of those days has passed. But the loss feels more deep-seated now, like it’s woven into the fabric of my soul. I don’t remember who I was before loss - but I know that I am different. When I’m alone, sometimes I close my eyes and allow myself to feel the weight of Adri on my chest again. I can picture it like it was yesterday. In those moments I can really feel her around me, like her presence is in the atmosphere, everywhere, all the time.
My mind tormented me with “what if’s” and “maybes” while I lay curled in my bed for months, just trying to survive. As the years have moved me forward, the acute pain of those days has passed. But the loss feels more deep-seated now, like it’s woven into the fabric of my soul. I don’t remember who I was before loss.
Now I find ways to mother and remember her everyday. I buy little trinkets sometimes for her urn space; I teach our son about his big sister. She’s included in all our Santa photos at Christmas time. I look for her in the butterflies and purple flowers I see around me, I look for her special number, 18. When I look, I see the signs that she is with me always, not how I imagined her to be, but she is still here.
I look back now on our experience and I wouldn’t change anything - even knowing how it all ended. To know Adri and to love her is one of the greatest privileges of my life. I know that the grief and sadness I feel is just my love. All the love and longing I have for my daughter reminds me everyday of how much I love her, and will continue to love her my whole life.
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