14/10/2025
*** TRIGGER WARNING: PREGNANCY AND BABY LOSS CONTENT ***
Today's story for Baby Loss Awareness Week is shared by Amelia and Adam
For Henry 💚
We found out we were expecting our second child in December 2024, just a few days before Christmas. We had our first, Felicity, in July 2023, a very straightforward pregnancy – she was born a week late and although quite a dramatic induction and labour, she was born beautifully healthy, and we took her home the same day she was born.
There were mixed emotions when we found out we were pregnant with Henry, he was a bit of a surprise! I was worried, but excited, to have two children so close in age. We held off from big dramatic announcements, which we had done first time round. I had another low-risk pregnancy, I went on maternity leave a couple of days before Felicity’s second birthday and wanted to soak up her last few weeks being an only child. Apart from one extra growth scan, which actually turned out to be fine, we had no other interventions.
About a week before he was born, I had been having Braxton hicks, but on Thursday 21st August, whilst out at a friend’s, I was sitting quietly and timing very subtle contractions. I asked Adam to come and pick me up so I could sit on the birth ball. As they were becoming a bit more noticeable, I decided to get Felicity to sleep in our bed, so I could have a cuddle and see if that ramped up the oxytocin. It was when she had fallen asleep, I realised I hadn’t felt him move since before I went out, I was too busy feeling the tightening. I gave him a poke to see if he moved, but he didn’t. I had a couple of instances of reduced movement when I was pregnant with Felicity, so I knew what to do. I went downstairs and told Adam I was going to call the triage line, then I called my mum to come over and watch Felicity.
We put our hospital bag in the car, and the car seat, just in case! In the car we went over my birth plan and talked about how excited and nervous we both were.
I remember going in to the assessment unit, laying down on the bed and the midwife trying to find his heartbeat. I was trying to think rationally, maybe he was in a difficult position. I knew if they couldn’t find him, I’d be sent for a scan. Another midwife came through, they searched for a long time before sending me for a scan – and then there was only silence. Another doctor had to come in to confirm, and in those minutes waiting for a second doctor, I was laying on the bed with tears falling into my ears. I can barely remember the words that were used, but I will never forget the overwhelming feeling of dread. And so many questions. I think I went numb, to be honest.
We walked round to the bereavement suite, a lovely room, but the worst reason to be there. I was offered an induction, and told I could have whatever pain relief I wanted. By then, my contractions had stopped, and I opted for the induction – a tablet and a pessary – but apart from that (and some gas and air) everything else about my labour was natural. We had music playing, but the room felt so quiet.
I actually had a really positive labour, I was in touch with my body, I had the support of Adam, and a fantastic midwife called Becca. We even had a laugh, in between contractions, but we also had lots of cries. I wanted to stick to my birth plan as much as possible, and that meant having skin to skin with my baby as soon as he was born. The immediate atmosphere in the room changed, I was so determined pushing, the relief of him being out quickly turned to intense grief. Becca asked if I wanted him on me, and I replied ‘yes, I want him’ and before I knew it I was sobbing, wanting my baby. I wanted him so much – wanted him to be alive, to cry, to take a breath. But there was nothing.
Henry was born at 4.47am on 22nd August, his due date.
I held him for hours, I didn’t want to put him down, ever. After my stitches were done, and I had managed a quick clean up, I curled around him on the bed, and as exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I needed this time to soak him up, to familiarise myself with every inch of him. He looked so perfect. Henry was a whole 10lb 3oz – 24 oz heavier than Felicity! Everything about my boy was perfect, and devastatingly healthy-looking.
When he was born, we saw a true knot in his very long umbilical cord, which must have tightened during contractions. Henry was so active, always kicking, wriggling at every scan. He must have tangled himself up early on. It’s rare to have a cord knot detected prenatally, or even to occur at all – the whole situation is so unfair.
That morning, Emma and Charissa from the bereavement team introduced themselves. They, and the whole team have been such incredible support. As Becca finished her night shift, Sasha took over our care during the day. Both Sasha and Charissa helped us create such precious keepsakes. They brought in a memory box from ‘4 Louis’ which contained an SD card for photos, clay mould and hand/footprints kits, a pair of teddies (so one could stay with Henry, and one could come home with us), and so many other things.
I decided to come home that evening, I wanted to be home for Felicity, I just needed to hold her. I wasn’t sure if I would see Henry again, but I’m so glad that the next week I decided to go and visit him again. I brought a few things from home that I wanted him to have, and took more photos, had more cuddles and read to him. I could have held him forever, and leaving him there, knowing that I would never hold my baby again – it took all the strength I had in me.
I was overwhelmed that over 50 people came to his funeral. Adam and I both managed to read our speeches. After the service, everyone left the room, and we were left to say a private goodbye. I let it all out and fell to the floor. I had felt low before, but the physical emptiness, and inability to breathe was overwhelming. It was such an intense, painful love. I still feel this every day but somehow find a way to put one foot in front of the other.
After collecting Henry’s ashes, I remind myself that he is more than just his body, which is changed now. He is my son, and he has a place in our family. He had a personality, and a smile I never got to see. A laugh I never got to hear. And I love him so intensely, I always will.
For anyone else going through this, I would say make as many keepsakes as you can. We have two memory boxes full for Henry – outfits, cards, photos, tape measures, blankets, scan photos. I’ve also pressed flowers from bouquets people bought for us. Looking through his memory box makes me sad, but also brings me peace, it makes me feel closer to him. If you’re supporting someone through this, ask if they want to talk about their baby, and let them. Give them space to cry, be a quiet presence, and don’t rush their emotions.
It is a rubbish fact to learn that you’re not alone, there are other families going through this utterly impossible situation. We are part of the worst club in the world, but what keeps us going is the love we have for our babies.
We will never forget you, Henry.
💜
