Hope's story - the day we let her go

Before we knew it morning had arrived. It was the time to hold Hope again. We had some precious moments with her. Holding her, fussing over her, kissing her sweet face. Kissing each other. Crying. I ran my finger over all the bumps and grooves in her face, desperately trying to take it all in.

Hope was now very cold. No longer warm from being inside me and from her bath. But her cool cheeks, lips and forehead were pleasant to kiss. I think whenever anything cool touches my lips it will remind me of kissing my beautiful firstborn baby girl.

The nurse told us Hope would now need to go down to “where it was cold” and we didn’t have the energy to fight it this time. We knew we’d see her again. This was just for now. They asked if we wanted to bath and dress her again, but we didn’t want to. She didn’t need it and she was so peaceful. We didn’t want to disturb her.

I think the nurses were concerned by the lack of pink and girly things, but we were happy with how she looked. She just looked like a sleeping newborn, warm and cozy. I'm not much in to pink anyway. I liked the idea of her going to her final resting place just as Daddy had dressed her.

We ventured downstairs for a coffee. I'm not sure why, but the nurses though it might be "nice" for us. Out of habit, I ordered decaf. I clung tightly to the pink quilt Narelle had given us and to Hope's foot and hand prints. The booklet had a poem about stillborn babies which I started to read. Heavy tears started to roll. Now it was my turn to cry.

We went back to our room, where our families had gathered again and talk turned to funerals. I couldn’t face it and collapsed on the bed. My brother made the first call to the funeral home and from that moment on he and Mum took care of the rest.

Simon’s Mum asked if we could have Hope blessed before we left. Not being religious, this wasn’t something I was keen on, but given the circumstances I was happy to oblige. The chapel at the hospital was booked and we had time to call other family members to come in. We arrived at the chapel, and there was little Hope. In a navy baby carry basket, draped in frilly pink quilts and blankets, more gifts from the hospital. The nurses got their way and she finally looked pink.
Mum also bought her a pink dog teddy that looked like our dog Miles. This toy was to stay with her as well. If she couldn’t meet our Miles on the outside world, she was to keep that little teddy that looked like him.

The service was short and sweet. The pastoral care worker had done a lovely job putting it together with little notice. She dipped a cotton ball in to some water, and she gently dabbed it on our baby girl’s forehead. With this she was blessed and we had taken the first steps to honouring her short and sweet little life.

She lit a candle then let us light a candle emblazoned with Hope’s name, in her honour.

We moved in to sit closer to our baby girl. My mothering instincts kicked in again, and I gently wiped the excess water off my baby’s face. I fixed her hat and fussed over her pretty blankets. I leant in and kissed her. I stroked her pretty little face.

Our amazing midwives also came to the blessing. Some of them weren’t even rostered on, but they came in anyway. We were touched. They were all still crying, too.

The ceremony was over, and it was time to say goodbye to our little baby. The family filed past us and gave their hugs and kisses to us and said goodbye to our Hope.

Soon, everyone left and we were alone again. Just the three of us. The proud new parents and their beautiful brand new daughter. Conceived and carried with love. We were given some time alone with our baby but we knew we had to leave. Had I stayed any longer with Hope, I may never have left. I would have bundled her up and run off in to the sunset with her, never to return.

We cried, we hugged, we kissed and we kissed our baby. We told her how much we loved her and how much we missed her. We dragged ourselves up to leave. The pastoral care worker was there at the door with us, and assured us she would sit and watch over Hope until arrangements were made for someone to take her back to “the cold place”.

I couldn’t look back, it was too painful. We had just looked at Hope for the final time. We had said our final goodbyes. No parent should ever, ever have to do this. After nine months together, it was now over.

We struggled back to the ward, not where they keep the happy new mummies and their new babies. We shared lifts with smiling, happy pregnant people. I was broken. So, so broken.

Barbara, the midwife with us on the day Hope died, true to her word, came back to visit. She said congratulations to us. Seems weird but it was nice. We deserved to be congratulated, we had become parents; I had given birth.

I had some final observations done then we were ready to leave. I wanted to head straight down to the car park with Simon and get the hell out of there, but some ridiculous hospital protocol said I had to exit the hospital through the front doors, and Simon would have to come and meet me out the front with the car. I stood alone in the cold and waited. I have never felt so alone in all of my life.

We were never supposed to leave the hospital without our baby.