William

This is a hard story to tell.

When my wife Rachel and I found out we were pregnant for the 2nd time we

couldn’t believe it. When we got pregnant the 1st time we couldn’t believe it

either now that I think about it.

We felt beyond blessed to have had one, relatively, uncomplicated pregnancy

and to have had a wonderful healthy bouncing, screaming, shouting, singing

baby boy. But when we got pregnant the 2nd time, we realised how much we

wanted to have another healthy, bouncing, screaming, shouting, singing baby

to complete our family.

The further away in time that I get from everything that happened the less, I

remember about specific dates and times and what week in the pregnancy we

were when everything happened.

I remember the fear in Rachel’s eyes and how shaky her voice was when she

told me she had a bleed.

I remember the first trip to A&E and the wait that felt like an eternity to hear

baby’s heartbeat and the relief when we heard it. The doctors told us that baby

was fine, that these bleeds happen and that we should come back if things got

worse.

I remember things getting worse and going back to A&E countless times and

each time leaving with a tiny sense of hope that in spite of how bad things

looked that everything was going to work out. In retrospect, the doctors and

nurses that we saw each time probably feared the worst for us but didn’t want

to tell us.

I remember when a midwife actually told us to expect the worst. They found

us a room in the maternity ward and explained to us that our worst nightmare

was seemingly inevitable and that we should be prepared, that night, for the

worst to happen.

I remember the next morning, when nothing had happened and baby was still

fine, thinking we were in line for a miracle.

I remember when Rachel told me were having a boy and thinking that they

wouldn’t have told us that if they didn’t think there would be decent chance

that we were going to get to meet him.

I remember everything about the night that we met and lost our baby boy.

William was born at home with us. We saw his heartbeat. An ambulance came

to take him, and a second one came to take Rachel and myself to the hospital.

When we got there, they told us that William had died. The staff in the hospital

and the midwives especially could not have been better to us. They all told us

how William was perfect, and everyone pointed out his giant feet.

The next few days were a blur. We had to tell family and friends what had

happened, we had to arrange a funeral for William, we had to go back to being

parents and trying to live as normal a life as possible for Ben.

It’s been about 19 months since and even now grief will grab me in

unexpected ways. I was watching Despicable Me 3 with Ben the other day. In

the movie, Gru discovers he has a long-lost twin brother named Dru. When

they meet each other for the first time, they embrace each other and cry ‘my

brother’ to each other. At which point my son turned to me and said ‘aw, my

brother’. Suddenly I was back in 2024 and lost in a fog of grief and pain. Thank

you Gru and Dru.

Anyone who has experienced something like what we did knows there’s no

pain like it. I spoke to so many people who told me their stories about loss and

each one of them, in their own way was more heartbreaking than the last. I

realised that each story is unique, everyone’s pain is unique, everyone’s way of

dealing with their grief is unique.

In the time since, we have had a healthy, bouncing, screaming, shouting,

singing baby girl. Nora was born in January this year and is our little rainbow

baby. Without William she wouldn’t be here. Because of William we know just

how precious and special she is and how lucky we are to have her.

Our boy William is with me every day. I have his initials and his star tattooed

on my arm and I think about him all the time.