Our beautiful daughter, Violet, was born on 24th January 2022. She was perfect; she had a mass of wavy dark brown hair and the longest fingers we’ve ever seen on a baby. Even her nails were long, just ready to be cut and carry on growing. Her gorgeous face was the spitting image of her big sister so we know she was destined to turn heads. 

Despite being born at 38+4 weeks, she didn’t make it into this world alive and was tragically taken from us in the days leading up to her birth. We’re sharing her story here to keep her memory alive and to raise money for The Lily Mae Foundation who not only enabled us to make precious memories of Violet but have also helped us navigate our grief, keeping us treading water when we’ve felt ready to drown.

I had an easy, ‘low risk’ pregnancy - just as I had with Emmeline. The only difference was my anterior placenta which was a real pain and meant I felt very little movement, other than sweet flutters and what I describe as rolls. But I got used to this. Having been made redundant during my pregnancy, I took a contract role for the five months I had left and worked really hard to make an impression. Knowing that I was probably working too hard and too much, I brought my maternity leave forwards by a week to allow myself time to be present and enjoy the last few weeks of pregnancy. I had no idea what was to come. The idea of stillbirth just wasn’t in my mind as I’d never even heard of it happening to anyone I know. No one gets to full term, having carried their baby for nine months, and doesn’t bring them home alive. Right? 

I was planning my second home birth, the pool was ready to be blown up and my mum was on call to support Matt and I. But according to the community Midwife’s tape measure Violet was going to be big, which meant they would prefer me to be in hospital to prevent complications, unless I went for a growth which showed she was smaller than we thought. So at 37+2 weeks I went for a routine heartbeat check and scan to get a better picture of how she was growing. She was perfect! Heartbeat strong and predicted weight at 7Ib - we skipped out of hospital, so excited to continue with our home birth and meet our baby in the coming weeks. I even had a little baby shower that evening with friends (something I hadn’t allowed myself to do with Emmeline out of fear of the worst happening).

Our lives changed forever in the following days. I spent a busy few days with Emmeline, taking her to play dates with friends and her various clubs. Just normal life with a potty training two year old. It was one evening during bath time that I said to Matt I hadn’t felt much movement that day. We decided to monitor it over night and head to the hospital the next morning if things were still the same.

Before I continue with what happened next I need to explain where our heads were at. We were loyal hypnobirthing advocates. Emmeline’s birth was textbook and such a beautiful experience, one I owe to hypnobirthing. We expected to do the same for Violet. However one thing we (wrongly) learnt through our hypnobirthing course was a fear of medical intervention. We wanted to stay clear of hospital as much as possible so we didn’t get caught up in being pushed into inductions, which we had heard can escalate wildly. We will never know if waiting until the next day meant Violet lost her life. We don’t believe it did but that choice is one that will haunt us forever.

So the next day my sister arrived to look after Emmeline and we headed to the hospital. There was a lot of faffing about trying to find a heartbeat when we first arrived. Matt remained calm and reassuring, but my heart was in my throat and the tears were bubbling. We were swept into the scanning room where a consultant scanned me very quickly before saying, ‘I’m sorry Laura but there is no heartbeat’. Those words will never leave me. The scene was primal, I was weeping from the very depths of my soul. I didn’t know a human could feel that pain.

The rest of that day is an overwhelming whirl of information being thrown at us. I was immediately having blood taken from me for various tests, whilst at the same time being told I would need to still give birth to my baby in the following days. We were in a state of shock; neither of us could communicate with the consultant other than to slowly nod our heads now and again.

That evening I was given a pill to begin the induction process and two days later I went into hospital to have our baby.

I feel very lucky that both my community midwives joined me at the hospital. The familiar faces calmed me down in the most unfamiliar setting I could have found myself. It was after 30 minutes of reflexology from one of the community midwives, and a lot of meditation, that contractions started and labour began.

I knew from the moment I found out that our baby was not alive that I wanted to birth her naturally and bring her into the world with the same crazy amount of love we gave her sister. I’m very proud of the strength I mustered to birth her in this way, despite it being the very hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. The unnatural silence that filled the room when she was born was deafening, I still hear it played back in my mind all the time. But she was born into the arms of her mummy, daddy and grandma, and I don’t believe any baby has been more loved in this world.

I had immediate skin-to-skin for no other reason than it felt natural and instinctive. We sat like this for an hour or so, I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted to pause the world there and then so we could stay wrapped up in each other forever.

No-one prepares you for your baby not to be alive. There’s no time to write a plan, no time to agree between ourselves how you’ll handle things. All you can do is go with what is right at the time. We were very lucky that our hospital had a cuddle cot - a cot which keeps babies bodies cold, meaning the integrity of their bodies remains intact allowing parents more time with them. Violet stayed like this for three days whilst we went in and out of the hospital, splitting our time been her and Emmeline whilst we had that privilege. We also had a memory box donated by The Lily Mae Foundation. Our wonderful bereavement midwife helped us take photos, hand and foot prints, a clipping of her hair and so much more. All things we wouldn’t have thought to do but now treasure more than anything. They also gave us a bag for Emmeline with books and toys to help her navigate her own grief. Something we continue to dip into regularly.

We decided we wanted to have a post-mortem but that meant we had to say goodbye to her perfect body and allow the hospital to take over. The two weeks that this was happening was torture. The image of what she was going through never left my mind; the guilt was eating me alive. But we had to find answers wherever we could, it wasn’t really a choice.

When Violet’s post-mortem was over we had a final week with her before her funeral. These days remain very special to me. Matt was back at work by this point, albeit not full time and continuing to keep family the priority. So every moment that I didn’t have Emmeline, I spent with Violet. I read to her, sang to her, sat quietly with her. I stared desperately at every part of her face willing my mind to never forget it. Walking away from her for the very last time was, well there are no words to describe the pain.

The five weeks after Violet’s birth were admin-heavy. Registering her stillbirth, liaising with the hospital, organising her funeral, all acts which in some way felt like we were caring for our baby. It kept us busy and focused, despite also bringing us such pain and sorrow. It was the day after the funeral that my grief kicked in with a big, fat, walloping kick. Everyone continued with their lives, but I was now on maternity leave with no baby. Who was I and what was I doing? It felt ridiculous, I felt ridiculous. This is where Lily Mae stepped in and I could not have navigated the past six months so well without them. Amy, a bereaved mother herself and trained bereavement counsellor, sat with me every two weeks and helped me find ways to cope and recover. She normalised my feelings when I felt like an alien in this world where other people’s babies don’t die. Without her I think I would still be in a pit of despair.

1 in 4 pregnancies in this country end in child loss and 1 in 200 end in stillbirth. That is a lot of loss. But do we ever talk about it? No we don’t. There are families going through this life-altering grief everyday. We need to keep charities like Lily Mae going so that parents can make special memories of their loved babies, and access the care they need to survive once their baby has gone. It can happen to anyone, at any time - no one is exempt. Our hope is that every parent gets the same love and care as we did and no-one has to do this alone.