My baby died within the first 28 days of their life. I’m in Queensland, and it is coming up to eight years now since I lost my beautiful Noah.
I think the hardest part is something not many people talk about- what comes after the first year. It’s the years that follow. You hear about parents who lost their babies 10 or 20 years ago, and from the outside you can’t quite comprehend how that grief still sits with someone that far on.
It’s only through living it myself that I’ve come to understand what that really means. Eight years in, I still feel it. And I want to shed light on that, because I don’t think people realise grief doesn’t finish just because time passes.
What Helped Me
There was a night when I was at my absolute lowest, and I called the 24/7 grief and loss phone line. The person on the other end was a bereaved parent too. She understood exactly what I’d been through, without me needing to explain any of it. That call has stayed with me.
I also found real support online, talking with Chris from Red Nose, and connecting with other bereaved parents through peer support and online groups. Being able to reach someone, any time, who has lived this, made all the difference. I’ve used the Red Nose website, their Heart Strings membership program, peer support, and online social media support groups. Every one of them gave me something different, but they all came back to the same thing: not feeling alone.
Bereaved Butterfly
I run an Instagram page called Bereaved Butterfly. Every day, I share the names of babies who have been lost, so their parents know their child mattered. It’s a small thing, but I know what it means to see your baby’s name written down and acknowledged by someone else. That recognition matters more than people realise.
Why I’m Sharing This
I want to help other families. I want to honour my baby’s memory. And I want to shed light on this for people who haven’t been affected by baby loss themselves. I want those who have not experienced this loss to better understand what someone they know might be carrying, and perhaps offer a little more perspective, compassion, and patience.
Something that isn’t talked about much is what happens after the anniversary has passed. The heaviness doesn’t disappear overnight.
People often expect that once the date is over, everything goes back to normal. But grief doesn’t work like that. Sometimes the weeks leading up to the anniversary are filled with anticipation, and when it’s over, you’re left emotionally exhausted from carrying so much for so long.
It’s hard to explain. Your heart has been holding so much, and when the day passes, the sadness doesn’t simply switch off. It lingers. It settles quietly, reminding you of the love you’ll always have and the life you’ll always miss.
Eight years have passed since Noah left this world, but not a single year has passed without remembering him, loving him, and missing him. People often say that time heals. In my experience, time doesn’t take the pain away—it simply teaches you how to carry it. Each passing year is another year of missed milestones, treasured memories, and questions that will never be answered.
Grief is love that has nowhere to go. It doesn’t disappear because the calendar keeps turning. It exists because love exists.
My baby’s life mattered. Noah mattered.
If sharing my story helps even one bereaved parent feel less alone, or helps one person better understand what a bereaved parent carries every day, then it’s worth it.
Red Nose Day aims to raise $2 million this year, to help save little lives and support grieving families.
Make a Donation
