Hope's story - precious time with Hope

I’m not sure what newborns smell like, but I know most parents say their newborns smell gorgeous and I certainly thought this was true of our baby. I will always treasure that smell. Like a thousand roses, an endless ocean; she smelt so lovely.

“I want Simon to tell me the sex,” I yelled. This was one thing I had in my birth “ideas” and surely we could get one wish granted. “It’s a girl!” he exclaimed, with an excitement in his voice, just like any first time dad. “Oh a girl, you knew she’d be a girl.” I always thought I was having a boy.

I not only did I think I was having a boy, but for the most part I really wanted a boy. Not sure why. But closer to my due date, I began to think how nice it would be to have a girl. A girl who I would grow close to, just as I am with my own mother. I imagined us together in 30 years time. Having cake and coffee and maybe even fussing over her children, my grandchildren. So many dreams unfulfilled for us both.

I held my baby girl and fussed over her with the care of any new Mother. I was so proud. I had longed to see her precious little face for such a long time; I couldn’t believe the moment had finally arrived. I had my baby. She was here. And she had everything except a heartbeat.

“What are you going to call her?” someone said. For some reason, I decided to "save" our girl name but the name Hope came to mind. It was fitting and all we were clinging on to. It was one of those things we were adamant we didn’t want, though. We didn’t want any name starting with H, as they we’d have a baby with the initials HH. Irrational I know, but we just didn’t want a H name.

Whacked out on my drugs, I said: “Hope”. I remember Mum saying “just Hope?” And I said “yes, just Hope”. Then I thought back to the day before, and back to that print hanging on the wall of the dead baby room. Angel. If Hope was to have a middle name, it was to be Angel. “Hope Angel,” I said, “her name will be Hope Angel”. And with that, she was named. Our first born. Full of hope and our angel forever.

Like all proud new Dads, Simon cut the cord and completed that special parenting ritual. It was a small step to take to make sure we weren’t missing out on any of those “normal” things.

While I lovingly held my newborn, my sister announced the news to our family. I’m told she then collapsed on the couch in a flood of tears. It makes me so sad to think about that.

We weren’t sure who would want to come in and meet Hope. They too, were probably worried about what she might look like and maybe scared by the enormity of it all. I guess as parents, you think your own newborn is the most beautiful thing in the world, and we most certainly did. We saw past her death. Small areas of her skin had started to peel and bruise but she was so beautiful. Like the midwives had explained she was just a little pale, except for her gorgeous ruby red lips.

I will always remember the silence of the first moments. Not just a stillbirth, it was a silent birth. We should have been listening to her first cries and sounds at my breast. But only silence. Except for my sobbing. “She was alive yesterday,” I kept saying over and over through my heavy, endless tears.

And kept repeating, “she’s so pretty”. And she was. She really looked like me, too. I felt like I was looking in the mirror, 29 years ago. She had Simon’s chin and though she never got to look at us and gaze in to our eyes, we gently peeled back her delicate little eyelids to reveal her blue eyes, just like Daddy’s. They were perfect. And apart from a heart that did not beat, she was, completely perfect.

Eventually everyone filed in to the room to come and meet our beautiful baby Most held her. Everyone kissed her sweet little forehead. People took photos. Everyone cried.

The midwives and doctors were crying, too. And as common as stillbirths are, I don’t think they see many at 40+ weeks. That sort of thing just isn’t supposed to happen. And I certainly didn’t think it would happen to us. We were now those "other people".

I’d prepared a text to send. It read “It’s a X! Proud new parents Sally and Simon are thrilled to announce the birth of X at X weighing X. We are overjoyed. All three well.” Instead it now read “Our precious daughter Hope Angel born sleeping at 4.35pm. Now watching over us from heaven”. We sent it out far and wide. People needed to know, one way or another. We can only imagine this news shattered the hearts of everyone who received it.

Earlier in the day, we had been given a message that one of our friends had called with the phone number of a photographer. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to organise a photographer come and take photos of our dead baby. I was worried our friend must have received a mixed message and not realised exactly what had happened. We took lots of photos of Hope but I couldn’t imagine a professional would want to do that. But my sister called him and made the arrangements for him to come out at 7.30pm.

So as proud new parents, we got our little girl dressed and ready for her first photo shoot. She had to look her best. More than anything, we wanted to give her a bath.

The family left the room. It gave me a chance to shower and to spend some time alone with Hope. For brief moments I’d almost forget she was gone. Just looking at her lying in her little crib she looked like a sleeping newborn. So perfect and still. Why wouldn’t her chest rise and fall? Why? My brain couldn’t process it.
Considering the four days I’d just spent in early labour, finding out we’d lost Hope then eight hours of labouring hell with a belly full of drugs, I was surprised I could get out of bed, let alone shower. But I did. I got up and showered away the first layer of my grief.

After my shower it was time to record Hope’s statistics. She was a good size just as we thought and as we'd been told throughout the pregnancy. 8 pounds, 51cm and a head circumference of 33cm. I was so proud to have pushed her out of me. Simon couldn’t believe the size of her feet! They were huge. She didn’t get this from me, and not from Simon either, so we’re not sure where they came from. She had Simon’s toes though, with the bigger second toe. That made Simon smile.

I know it will be recorded that Hope was born and died on the same day, Tuesday 19 August but I couldn’t help thinking she died before her birthday. How awful, to die before your birthday. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

Simon bathed her. Just as any new dad would, he fumbled his way through it, but he was so gentle with her, being careful not to let her sweet little face go under the water. Narelle offered to help, but Simon did it on his own. I carried our darling daughter for nine months this was his time to be with her. I took photos instead.
She asked if we had a special outfit for her. Not that it wasn’t special – it was just the same outfit we’d intended to put our baby in had she been born alive. It was an aqua jumpsuit, a yellow singlet and a yellow flannel wrap with little farm animals on it.

Simon put Hope on the change table and Narelle warmed her clothes. Every care was being taken to give us the same experience as parents who give birth to living babies.

Narelle gave Simon a nappy. They then slipped the little yellow singlet over her precious little head, put her in the jumpsuit and buttoned her up. She was as cute as a button, and all warm from her bath. I just longed for her to be alive. To open her eyes and stare back at me and prove us all wrong. “Wake up little baby!” I thought.
Simon let me wrap Hope. As he’d said to his other dad friends over the years, “wrapping a baby looks like wrapping a burrito”. “Wrap her up like a burrito,” he said to me. So with our wrapped up burrito babe in my arms, we then welcomed the family back in to the room with the photographer who had been waiting for us outside.

As he came in I said to him, “are you sure you’re ok to do this,” and he was sure, he was fine to be taking photos of our dead baby. I asked if he had kids, and he said yes, and that his wife also had a stillborn baby, a little girl like us just a couple of years earlier. I thought gee, that’s a coincidence.

They had gone on to have another baby, so that gave us hope. It was nice to be hearing about happy endings even this early on in our long journey of grief that lay ahead.

As most photographers do, he moved furniture around and set up big lights and flashes. I was starting to get overwhelmed by it all, and just wanted it to be over. Hope was also starting to look not as good as she did, as her skin was starting to develop more bruising.

We sat on the couch with our precious angel, and Gavin, the photographer, buzzed around and took dozens of photos of us. The new family. A trio a last. My sister said to brush my hair but I didn’t care. After the trauma of childbirth I knew I looked like shit but my baby and husband were beautiful and that’s all that mattered.

I didn’t smile for the photos though. I was too sad. Even though I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, I just couldn’t muster a smile. I just wanted her alive. I think Hope took all my smiles with her. She took Simon’s youthful good looks and innocence. Days earlier he looked like a boy with the world at his feet. But now he looked like a weathered old man who had seen far too much heartache for his 29 years.
Sometimes I think I’d be happier if Hope had been alive for a day. Maybe an hour, maybe 10 minutes. We’re just so sad she never got see us, hear us or feel us on the outside. I wanted to tell her how loved she was. I wanted to know she heard me. I wanted to see her response.

When Gavin left, we exchanged details so he could send the photos. He refused our payment. I was still very confused. It wasn’t until later that we learned he was a volunteer who takes photo of stillborn and sick babies. What a generous man. And how lucky were we that our friend knew about him. We will always be so grateful for the photos.

The family left. It had been a traumatic day. They needed their rest and they realised we needed time with our new baby. To honour our nine months together and to get ready for the painful goodbyes the next day.