Friday, 26 April 2013

Lindsey: White Signs of Grief - We Need Your Sign

After the death of my daughter to stillbirth at 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant with her, I was immersed in grief and shock, but most of all, I felt alone.  I thought "Your children are not supposed to die before you; they are not supposed to die before they are even born."  I initially thought no one could understand my pain, but then the sympathy cards came in and people started to reveal their own deep pain and silent losses to me.  Losses that were kept secret.  Losses I felt like I should have known about.  Miscarriages, late term pregnancy loss, stillbirth, SIDs, cancer, playground accidents, drunk driving, and more.

I wanted to know why it seemed that everyone keep their grief a secret, why didn't I know about these childless mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, and family members?  I decided I needed to see their faces, to connect, to hear their advice, their words of truth about the pain and the anguish, just as much as I wanted to hear their thoughts about hope and love they still feel for their deceased child. That is why I started White Signs of Grief. It's a place to honor your child who has left this earth too soon while sharing your words of wisdom about the grief journey after child loss in effort to give permission to others to grieve openly and honestly while still living.

It's a tough journey we are on as mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, and friends who know the pain of living with a forever whole in our hearts left by children we will not get the chance to see grow.  It is important for us as grieving family members to know there are others who have traveled the path before us and have made it out the other side.  Maybe they are different now, but they are still holding on, still living, and still honoring their children who have passed too soon by helping others with their wise words.  Giving permission for us to grieve, maybe for the rest of our lives.

So If you are a grieving mom, dad, grandparent, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister, brother, friend, or other family member to a child that has died too soon, we invite you to share your 'white sign of grief' with others at or e-mail your photo to  You can also like us on Facebook.  We look forward to seeing your face and your words of hope and truth about your grief journey after child loss in an effort to heal our own grief and help heal others through our words and faces.

I look forward to seeing your sign.

May peace find your heart,

Lindsey Henke

Monday, 15 April 2013

Nicola: Life After Loss

Is there life after the loss of a child?

I breathe, I am a mother to my children, I am a wife, I work, I can function on daily basis so there is life... but it's not the same life.

We lost our beautiful little boy when he was 2 years old. Our first son, Ethan: our world, our reason for being. He was born early at 33 weeks and due to NEC he became extremely poorly. He suffered numerous medical complications and, as a result, many life-saving operations before he was 10 weeks old. He was left with Quadreplegic Cerebal Palsy and other medical conditions. We embraced life with our son. Living a happy family life with a fair few visits to hospital. Ethan always bounced back, he was such a fighter. In May 2010 he contracted Parafluinfluenza type 3. The specialist told us even healthy children can't fight this this. Although in my mind I knew this was the end, my motherly instinct was stronger and I knew we had to give him every chance. And we did... until I could see that he was so weak and had fought so hard that he was exhausted.

I made the decision to let him go. To let him die. Me... his own mother... At the time I was disgusted with myself... angry. A mother protects her children, she doesn't let them die. I always vowed I would do what was best for Ethan. Now I can see that it was the best decision for him. The other option would have been to ventilate him and I knew he wouldn't survive that. The specialist said he wouldn't survive that. That would take away all our choices for him. He would die in hospital instead of at the hospice where he had friends, who were like family.

Ethan passed away peacefully in our arms in the hospice, where we stayed with him until the day of his funeral: protected, nurtured and loved. We were lucky, we were so lucky. The minutes, hours, days that followed are so blurry. Do we all count in that time frame at the beginning? I am now at years and they have passed so quickly. I am further away from my last kiss, my last cuddle, that last smile. His clothes have lost their smell of him. Realising that was a very hard day.

Is there life after loss? I guess the answer is yes. Yes there is. However, it's a different life. A life that will always be bittersweet: where every happy moment will be filled with that sadness that Ethan isn't here with us. Although no longer is every day filled with that heart-wrenching feeling; the feeling that my throat will close over and that my heart and head will burst; that feeling of never ending sadness, I still grieve every day. I just grieve differently than at the start. I have always grieved openly, cried when I am sad, spoken his name, included him in everything we do. From lighting candles to making pictures on the sand. I write his name in cards and have baubles for him at christmas. He will always be our son, he isn't with us but is now all around us.

In the past few years since Ethan's death, I have went on. It was hard at first, it was so hard. I cried every day and night. I went back to work whereas before I was his main carer. I focused on going to university and gained a BSc. I now work as a nurse in children's palliative care. Maybe I can offer parents something extra. Maybe... I can listen better and help them create memories. Maybe if I can help just one family our terrible loss won't be in vain. Maybe I can change all the negative about the experiences families have. In my heart, I really wished Ethan would be the last child ever to die.

There is a different life after the loss of a child. There are dark days still but I embrace them. They are dark because I loved my little boy so much. I loved him and no matter how unfair it is, no stamping of feet will bring him back: no amount of screaming, sleeping, shouting, swearing, bargaining and begging. I know, I have tried all of these until my throat hurt and my eyes felt like sandpaper.

So what now? Now I will live my life without my son. I will continue to include him in everything, even including him in our wedding with a special candle and a poem.

These are our children, our precious children. We are allowed to grieve openly and honestly. We shouldn't be afraid to grieve or be told how to grieve. It will always hurt... I just hope that someday you to will be able to think of your child and smile in your heart. You hurt because you love them so much. We now walk a different life... but we walk it together with our precious children in our hearts.

Saturday, 13 April 2013

Lindsey: Transformed by Grief

©Priya Saihgal

I have evolved.
My grief has transformed me.
Like a caterpillar I have become a butterfly.

I anticipated this transformation.
But transformation into the joys of motherhood,
Not by the death of my child.

Nora’s birthday was her death day,
And my rebirth.

I live my life for my daughter now.
Not in the way I had planned in attending to her every need,
Resulting in sleepless nights and dirty diapers.
But by embracing the beauty of the little things.

The complexity of the snowflake.
The power of the written word.
The fragility of the butterfly wings.
The comfort of a cup of tea and warm blanket.
The kiss of the sunlight against my face.

By embracing the beauty of the little things,
I have broadened the horizon of my understanding of this world
And thus have been transformed.

I realize that my daughter will never be able to experience this world’s splendor
And I have pledged to take it in for her.
To live the life she will not be privileged to.

My eyes see more clearly now
The magnificence of the earth.
It’s as if my eyes are hers
Taking in the world for the first time,
As only a new soul can do.

My grief at times still clouds my vision,
But then something inside reminds me to appreciate this life.
Maybe it’s Nora showing me the world through her baby eyes,
Through her pure soul.

So I will accept my transformation.
I will embrace the new light that shines from within
And burns with a passion to live life to the fullest.

Like the caterpillar who turns into a butterfly,
I will embrace my new form
In order to spread my wings and fly.

~Still Breathing…Lindsey

To read more of Lindsey's story visit -

To see more of Lindsey's friend Priya Saihgal’s photography please visit

Thursday, 11 April 2013

Joanna: The Robin

I think when something dreadful happens,
You go a little mad.
Your brain shuts off and stops to function-
Better mad than sad.

You see things and you genuinely
Believe them to be true.
Like the Robin in the garden,
Who I felt was really you.

Your little soul had passed away,
Somewhere it had to go.
The Robin's ruby red breast,
So bright against the snow.

Maybe it was the colour red,
So vibrant next to white.
The reminder of the blood
And the previous sleepless night.

Maybe it was the grief,
And the sadness and despair.
My mind looking for anything
Which my heart it might repair.

But maybe just the madness,
And a fight for something real.
A place for your lost soul to live,
Some hope for me to feel.

I watched the Robin fly away
As tears welled in my eyes.
And there I decided your soul went,
To soar up in the skies.

So when I see a Robin now,
I sit and stare a while
I think of you flying high above
And that thought makes me smile.

Joanna wrote this poem following a miscarriage and has kindly allowed us publish it on Loss Through the Looking Glass. Joanna writes about her motherhood journey on her blog My Little Rays of Sunshine. You can read more about her experience of miscarriage on her post 'Our Baby's Angel'.

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

Lianne: How I Came to Hold You (Eilidh)

Following Ben's post about the forthcoming publication of 'How I Came to Hold You', we asked people in the loss community if they would be interested in sharing their stories of how they 'came to hold' their own rainbow babies. This is the second of these stories...


We could not believe it when we fell pregnant not long after our wedding. It was all I had ever wanted: to get married and have a family. We told our parents immediately and they were over the moon as it was going to be the first grandchild on both sides. We then shared our news with our friends after our 12 week scan which was on Hogmanay 2010. What a great way to start a new year! We believed that after 12 weeks everything would be ok, as many people do. How things have changed… I find it very difficult when people announce they are pregnant after their scan. I just want to scream ‘it doesn’t mean your baby will arrive healthy. I now know that it is not always the case, as we sadly discovered.

Our beautiful daughter Lara was born asleep on 9th June 2011 at 1.30 weighing 4lbs 7oz. Our world had come crashing down on 6th June as I started to worry about lack of movement. This had concerned me previously and I had been sent for a scan at 25 weeks and was reassured that all was well and I wasn’t feeling many movements due to my placenta being at the front. I called my midwife and was told to contact the hospital for a trace of the baby’s heartbeat. On the way to the hospital I said to my husband what if when we do this drive back home something has happened to our baby. My husband didn’t believe for one minute that we were about to hear the worst thing we would ever hear in our life.

At the hospital they connected me up to the monitor and they were struggling to hear a heartbeat: what we were hearing was mine. At this point, I knew that was it and the reality of something being wrong could be seen in David’s face. I was then taken to another room for a scan to confirm what we all knew and that is where we heard the most dreaded words, ‘I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat, your baby has died.’ I was then sent home for two days with our world shattered and would never be the same again.  We returned to hospital 2 days later where our perfect little girl was born.


The next few weeks and months are a blur. I could not believe what had happened and many thoughts ran through my head: What did I do wrong? Was it my fault? I must be a bad person. I just wanted to die and be with my baby. I was lucky to have a fantastic husband and supportive friends and family to help me through those dark days. I craved to find out more information about stillbirths and talk to someone who understood what I was going through and this is when I contacted Sands. I have made lifelong friends through Sands.

We had a 13 week wait for Post Mortem results which told us that there was no reason for Lara’s death. I find this very difficult. How can a perfectly healthy baby die for no reason? And with no reason, what could be done to prevent it from happening again?

On 1st of June 2012, our Rainbow Baby Eilidh was born. It had been an extremely difficult 8 months but at last she was here safely.  During my pregnancy I could not imagine giving birth to a healthy baby as I was convinced it would happen again. There was definitely no announcing our news to everyone after our 12 week scan.  We kept it to ourselves and close family until I was 5 months. This time there was no ante natal classes, pregnancy yoga or shopping for baby things.  I just couldn’t let myself believe everything would be ok. I had to prepare for it happening again.

The care I received this time was very different as I was monitored very closely with extra scans and heart traces. It was agreed that I could have a planned section as I didn’t feel I could cope emotionally with labour as I was worried it would be like reliving Lara’s birth so close to her first anniversary. I feel guilty that I could not allow myself to enjoy my pregnancy and do all the normal expected things. I don’t think it would matter how many times I was pregnant it would always be a very difficult time. I feel I have had the joy of pregnancy ripped away from me. I am thankful for the amazing 34 weeks I carried Lara.

Eilidh is in no way a replacement for Lara and I hate when people say ‘just think, you wouldn’t have Eilidh if that had not happened to Lara’ but I always wanted to have more than one child! Lara’s sister just arrived earlier than I would have thought. Eilidh has given us hope again and, for the first time in a year, I can look forward and see a positive future which Lara will always be a part of.


Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Tasha: Forever Changed

My story like everyone else’s, is very unique. It also has a controversial topic related with it, abortion and selective reduction. My husband and I used a medication called Clomid in order to get pregnant. I do not ovulate on my own so we knew this was our first step in starting a family. We were shocked when I got pregnant the first month. My pregnancy started out quite normal, I was sick and tired but I was happy. When we had our first appointment at 8 weeks we were shocked to find out that I was pregnant with quadruplets. I remember laughing in the doctor’s office because I just couldn’t believe that I had four babies growing inside me. Then reality set in. How was I going to carry four babies? Would they survive? Would I survive?

We were faced with the absolute most difficult decision of our lives, try to carry quads or reduce to twins. We took a week to make our decision. It was the longest and most difficult week of my life (up until that point at least).  We were given so many statistics and hypotheticals that I probably couldn’t repeat any of them back to you if I tried. The bottom line was it was more likely that all the babies would die rather than all of them live. I would be hospitalized by 20ish weeks and the babies would be lucky to be born after 28 weeks. I knew that the chance of them surviving was little. Of course you hear of all the miracle stories where quads survive and everything is fine, but that is only half of it. Most people are not that lucky. Those are the exceptions, not the rules.  We made the seemingly impossible decision to end two of our babies’ lives in order to give the other two babies a better chance of survival.

I have so much guilt and I still wonder if we made the right decision. Of course I have had some judgment from others and honestly that is okay with me. I know that with the facts we had, we made the right choice. It is easy to judge from the outside but until you are faced with that kind of decision, you have no idea what you will do.

A week after the reduction we found out that one of the babies heart had stopped. I was devastated. At this point I was 13 weeks along and just hoped that everything would go smoothly from there. I kept thinking that we had already gone through so much that we could not possibly lose the last baby. That would just be too cruel. The only thing that was getting me through was the fact that we still had one baby to look forward too. We began planning like any other expecting parents. We planned the nursery, work, and picking out a name. I had been having other complications and was being closely monitored by my doctors. However, at exactly 19 weeks I began having contractions. This was not the first time so I was hoping it was just another false alarm. We went to the hospital just in case and just a few hours later we were informed that the placenta was detaching and the baby would be born and that he would not survive. I remember feeling like I was underwater when she said that. All I could think was “no!” This could not be happening. We had already been through so much, he couldn’t die too.

At 11:42 on October 5, 2012 I gave birth to our sweet angel baby Maddox Moore. He was absolutely perfect. He had my mouth and nose, and his dad’s beautiful shaped eyes. I am so proud to be his mom and I am so glad that I got the time with him that I did. I would go through it all again if that meant being able to hold him one more time.

I go through our decisions all the time and I wonder if we did the right thing. I know that many people will say that what we did was wrong or that they would have never been able to do what we did and others will agree that they would have done the same thing. I know that we will always wonder what would have happened had we not done the reduction. I also know that had we lost all four babies later in the pregnancy that would have been just as awful. I would have then wished we had done the reduction. I will never know what would have happened but I do know that I have to accept the decision we made and be thankful for the time we had with Maddox and the other babies we never got to meet.

You can read more about Tasha's story on her blog Forever Changed.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

Tracy: How I Came to Hold You (Liam)

Following Ben's post about the forthcoming publication of 'How I Came to Hold You', we asked people in the loss community if they would be interested in sharing their stories of how they 'came to hold' their own rainbow babies. This is the first of these stories...


I now find myself a member of a club, a club I don’t want to be part of and no-one else wants to join. Now that I’m a member, I can’t leave and very few people want to discuss this club with me. For my family and I have lost our son, or at least that’s what I hear people say. As if we lost him in the supermarket or shopping centre or forgot where we left him. If that was the case, we would simply go find him. We would travel to the end of the earth and never rest till he was found. However, we know he will not be found as, he’s not “lost”, we know exactly where he is.

In the early hours of Monday 17th October 2011, our world came crashing down and was changed forever when our gorgeous Ethan died. He was a happy 7 month old who touched the hearts of so many with his beautiful big, blue eyes and heart melting smile.

He led a normal, happy, healthy life bringing joy to us all, but what no-one knew and what we couldn’t see was he was poorly on the inside. He had a very rare, undetectable heart tumour which, presented no symptoms. It just sat there like a ticking time bomb, growing and waiting for the day when it would destroy all our lives.

Our gorgeous Ethan, taken the day before he died

As I put him to bed that night I never imagined that it would be for the last time, I still wonder why it chose that day, that moment in time. There will always be questions Why? What if? If only?

The hours, days, weeks and months that followed consisted of getting through the day for the sake of our eldest child, she was our rock and our only reason for carrying on and getting out of bed in the morning. I found the best way to deal with my grief was to always have something to focus on, organising a charity night, planting a memorial garden etc. Then I had a new focus, I was pregnant with a “Rainbow Baby”.

Every pregnant woman has normal pregnancy worries but when you’ve a child who’s died this seams to magnify them and also bring a whole new set of worries. I didn’t enjoy this pregnancy and certainly didn’t plan or think about our future together. I had extra ultrasound scans, fetal heart scans, growth scans, hospital appointments but, still couldn’t accept that this baby would be healthy. After the first fetal heart scan I though I would feel the weight lifted from my shoulders when, the consultant said this baby had a normal, healthy heart but I didn’t. No matter how many people said this baby would be “fine” I still couldn’t believe it would be true.

One year exactly after we said our final goodbye to Ethan, I was sat in hospital waiting to be induced with our Rainbow baby boy. The next day we met our beautiful Liam.

I truly believe the only way to heal our hearts was to have another baby and would recommend this to any couple in the same situation. Its amazing how much joy, hope & healing a new baby brings.

On the other hand, it also brings all those emotions bubbling back to the surface and a whole load of new emotions. I look Liam and see Ethan, they have similar personalities and the same smile & expressions. When we are together as a family, it breaks my heart because Ethan should be here too.

The hardest thing of all, and I cannot get my head round this, is...

We would do anything to have Ethan back, but then we wouldn’t have had Liam. I would not be without Liam, but to have Liam we cannot have Ethan.

Thursday, 4 April 2013

Catherine: Gabriel's Garden

When I first read Clara's email asking if I'd like to write a guest post to share Gabriel's story, I immediately accepted her offer. I'm always looking for outlets and places to share Gabriel with others and welcome every opportunity to do so. But as I grabbed my notebook and pen and sat down to write yet another version of his story, I thought about how many times I've written about his fatal diagnosis, his birth, his tiny body, his beautiful hands and miniature fingers. And I realized those are merely descriptions of him. What I really want is for others to know how Gabriel has inspired me to grow, take risks, help others and heal. What I really want is to share all of the ways in which he continues to live on.


Shortly after Gabriel died, I felt compelled to connect with others who understood the sorrow of losing a baby. I began searching the internet and was amazed that not just a few, but thousands of people were blogging, writing, Facebook-ing, and sharing their stories. Slowly I started talking about Gabriel and meeting other people. I was profoundly touched and felt a surprising amount of comfort when other people would write his name or light a candle in his memory or simply send me a note saying they understood. Nothing they did ever erased the pain, but knowing that I wasn't "the only one," dramatically changed my perspective on grief and healing.

I realized that I no longer had to suffer silently and alone. Giving my grief a voice was powerful and having it acknowledged was radically healing. As time went by, I thirsted more and more for a sense of community. I wanted to make more connections with people who I could relate to on an empathetic level and I wanted to encourage others to do the same. I thought about how in a community, an important part of being a member is being actively involved and supporting others in the group. But what could I do? For weeks, this question remained stuck in the back of my mind.

During this time, I was busying myself with a new hobby and passion: photography. I was finding photography to be therapeutic, so every few days I went out in search of new places where I could practice. I'm not sure why, but one day I visited a botanical garden near my house here in Los Angeles. I've lived here for over a decade and never once thought about going to this garden. But something inside me kept urging me to try new things, to live life fuller and to not be afraid to explore. So I went to the garden, camera in tow, and explored. While there, I marveled at the beautiful sights and thought about how much I wished Gabriel could see this place, with all its trees and flowers and butterflies. And I realized, had it not been for Gabriel, I would not have discovered this place. I never would have known about a little piece of paradise tucked away in my own backyard, nor felt inspired to savor the simplicity of nature.

When I left the garden, the question that had been mulling around in my mind re-surfaced. I had found a place where I could heal, but just being there wasn't enough. I had found a community in which I could grow, but just being part of it wasn't enough. I knew instantly how I could combine both into a meaningful healing project.

I returned to that garden a couple weeks later, but this time I picked flowers in memory of Gabriel and other angel babies. And so began Gabriel's Garden. Now, I go regularly and every time I go, I pick and photograph more flowers than the time before. Today, the request list is longer than I ever could have imagined when I first launched the website and I've reached dozens of people through my Facebook page. I'll admit that I had low expectations when I first started, but  now I've seen that helping others even on a small scale, can lead to unexpected growth and healing.Looking back, I know it wasn't random chance that brought me to the garden. Gabriel's Garden has always been a part of my plan, just as it's always been a part of Gabriel's. To most people, it's just a garden, but to me, it's a precious corner of the world, where our paths were destined to cross.

In December, I made the decision to go back to school to become a sonographer. I considered taking out a student loan, tapping even deeper into our savings, or borrowing from the bank. I knew I wanted a new career, but I needed a way to to pay for it and none of the options were ideal. I told myself this dream was more important than money and enrolled for the spring semester with the hope that things would work themselves out.

That same week, my husband and I went for a walk close to the beach and stumbled inside a little shop that sells seashells. I wanted to buy an ornament of an angel made out of seashells. It was $10 and I thought that was too expensive for a few shells glued together. My husband said something about buying the individual shells and making the ornament myself. Genius! "And what about making a butterfly?" he asked. As soon as he posed the question, an answer immediately erupted in my mind.

The Sacred Seashore ended up being the answer to many questions. It has become the culmination of many ideas and dreams. It started off as a way to pay for my education, but it's also been a creative and healthy outlet for expressing my grief, an avenue to healing, a means to give back to organizations that help the babyloss community, and yet another way to connect with and to help other people.

I knew from the beginning that the Sacred Seashore would be a source of great healing because it allowed several things that are important to me, to intersect: Gabriel, photography, the beach, community, art, creativity, charity and helping others. I'm amazed by how perfectly it fits into my heart, and how much I've learned from the experience.

Both Gabriel's Garden and the Sacred Seashore are places of healing and strength, but they are also Gabriel's little legacies. They are where he lives on and where he will never be forgotten. They are his imprint on the world... a message of how love and beauty can transform a broken heart into a healing heart.

Redondo Beach at sunset

I know that in many ways I am unlucky. My firstborn child died in my womb. I now carry around with me the fear of never being able to have a healthy baby. I've endured the type of sorrow and pain that nobody deserves. But I realize, too, that I am so very blessed. I know that God has a beautiful life planned for me. And though that plan will likely include more pain and suffering, more loss and grief, I trust that there will also be more beauty and more healing.

For those of you in search of healing, I encourage you to look inside yourself and contemplate ways that you can grow. Challenge yourself to live a full and meaningful life. Be kindhearted and generous. Love others and love yourself. Do what is right for you and follow your own path.

Remember that healing is not a reflection of the passage of time. Healing is a perspective, a lens through which to see the world. It is not the absence of sorrow; but rather the presence of peace and spiritual growth. It is both inside and outside. It is everywhere and anywhere you are willing to go. It is real, but only as real as you choose to make it.


You can find Gabriel's Garden and the Sacred Seashore here:


An addendum from Clara:

I was so pleased when Catherine agreed to write about Gabriel's Garden and the Sacred Seashore for the blog. I came across Gabriel's Garden a while ago after seeing photograph's on another blog. I loved what Catherine was doing and immediately added Molly & Grace to the waiting list. I received their photos a few months ago:

Catherine also has a facebook page for Gabriel's Garden and, every so often, offers the chance for other special photos to be done. These were the girls' beautiful Easter photos:

I have also requested starfish photos from the Sacred Seashore for the girls' forthcoming birthdays.

These are all opportunities to see the girls' names written and to have them remembered elsewhere in the world. This is something really important to me. Catherine's inspiration for starting these projects makes it even more special - every time she creates a memory for a lost child, she is creating a memory of her son Gabriel and it is truly wonderful.

Thank you Catherine (and Gabriel!) xx

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Ben: How I Came to Hold You

'How I Came to Hold You' is a book about becoming pregnant after the loss of a baby, whether it be through miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death. Describing the true stories of seventeen families,  it explores the challenges and emotions faced during a time which should be joyful, but for many parents - whose loss and grief is still so raw - becomes a time of anxiety, nervousness, and daring to hope.

But 'How I Came to Hold You' is about more than that, really. It's about bravery, courage, about how much the human spirit can endure when placed under the worst stress and grief imaginable. It looks at ways in which bereaved parents can find encouragement and comfort, and gives those who have not suffered a similar tragedy an insight into the mind of a grieving father or mother, so that they know how best to approach a friend or relative who has had their child taken away.

Most of all, 'How I Came to Hold You' is a book about love. It is about the imprint and impact that a baby has on a parent's life, regardless of how long they were held in their arms. It is a declaration of love to the baby lost, but also an explanation of the arrival of the baby who followed: this is the journey we endured, the grief we felt, the love we had, my child. This is how I came to hold you.

'How I Came to Hold You' will be published on 16th April 2013, and will be available from the Sands online shop or on Amazon. Every copy sold will raise vital funds for the charity Sands. You can read more about Ben and his journey in writing this book on the How I Came to Hold You website. You can read extracts from the book here, release a virtual balloon in memory of your little one and have a read through the blog.