In this week’s blog, Jess, shares her heartbreaking journey of losing her stillborn son, Charlie, at 35 weeks, and the isolation she felt in the baby loss community. She reflects on her unique grieving process, feeling guilty for not fitting the typical narrative of grief. The blog highlights the importance of compassionate care and cherishing the precious moments with her son. Ultimately, she embraces the idea that everyone grieves differently and that her healing is valid.

My grief felt different to theirs, I felt like I was too ‘ok’ and to some extent still do.

Eight weeks. That is how long it has been since I gave birth to my baby boy Charlie who was stillborn at 35 weeks. In this time, I have scoured the internet and social media for other people who are going through what I am. One part of me hoped that there wasn’t anybody as it meant nobody else had been through this horrific experience, but the other part hoped there would be someone who somewhat understood me.

It was very bittersweet when I found so many online communities for baby loss. There was a lot of women who had come together to share their journeys and grief. But after reading through, I still felt like I didn’t fit in. My grief felt different to theirs, I felt like I was too ‘ok’ and to some extent still do. I found a lot of people were still struggling with their loss or losses months or years later, whilst others were on a focused journey to get pregnant again as quick as possible. I was neither of these, and I’m hoping by sharing my story I can give a different perspective and help someone else feel less alone. Losing a baby is the most lonely and isolating experience I have ever been through, so when I then felt I didn’t fit into the group that I should, everything stung just that little bit more.

I’ll start my story at the beginning of my journey to motherhood. In August 2022 my daughter was born after what I would call a simple and easy pregnancy. It had taken us almost a year to fall pregnant, which felt like forever at the time. Like most people, I thought you got pregnant, passed the 12-week mark and came home with your baby. This experience just solidified these thoughts. So, when I fell pregnant again in May 2024, I was ecstatic, and once we passed the 12-week mark I was excited to share the news with all of our family and friends. Again, I had what I would call an easy pregnancy. We found out we were having a boy and were overjoyed that we would have one of each. We couldn’t agree on any names but other than this everything was great. Until it wasn’t.

I heard the words nobody wants to hear “I’m sorry but I can’t find your babies heartbeat.”

On the 1st of January I went to bed, slightly concerned that I hadn’t felt my baby boy move that evening. But as I got into bed, I felt his body move and his bum stick out, a usual position for him so I wrongly assumed everything was ok. I now know it was just his body moving as I moved. The following morning, when I was bang on 35 weeks I awoke after having a very vivid dream. In this dream I had been wording out text messages to family, friend and work colleagues telling them we had lost our baby. I still hadn’t felt any actual kicks at this point, and in my gut I just knew. I knew our boy was gone but I didn’t want to believe it. I told my husband I needed to go get checked out so off I went to the hospital alone. In a strange way I thought if I went alone, what I was feeling wouldn’t be true and my baby would be fine. But when I got there, I heard the words nobody wants to hear “I’m sorry but I can’t find your babies heartbeat.” In this moment my whole world came crashing down. I was ushered into a side room where a scan confirmed our baby had died, and the midwife called my husband to come and be with me. After being given a lot of information and booklets to read we went home for two days before I went back into the hospital to be induced.

Being in the hospital and going through labour was the most surreal experience. I can’t accurately put into words how I feel about it. I wanted to feel everything, and did most of it without pain relief, only really using it for the last couple of hours. It was the most horrendous yet amazing experience, and it was a privilege to be able to bring my boy into the world that way.
He was born on the 5th of January at 08.48am and weighed 5lb 7oz. We swiftly decided on the name Charlie for him, one of the only names we’d both liked.

These first few hours I held him like any new mum would hold their newborn…

I look back on it now as a time we shared together, another memory to hold on to. I don’t want to dwell too much on my labour, for as I say it was an amazing experience, however there were a few complications that tar it a bit. I had a nasty infection and had to have my placenta removed in theatre almost 6 hours after he was born. Everybody apologised that it took so long for me to go down to theatre, but I am thankful that it did. I got to spend the most precious time with Charlie after he was born whilst he was soft, warm and looked like he was sleeping. I’d have missed out on some of this time had there not been that wait. These first few hours I held him like any new mum would hold their newborn and showed him off to my mum and mother-in-law. We were all in awe of how perfect he was.

Before I move on to afterwards, I just want to touch on the care I received during my pregnancy and birth. I have nothing but positive words for everyone involved. I have found in my journey since having Charlie the majority of people feel they have been failed by the health care system and the people involved in their care. My community midwife has seen me through both pregnancies and has been nothing short of amazing. I was booked in on time for all my antenatal appointments, and was always told if I had any worries or wanted to be seen more often to just let her know and she’d fit me in. If I ever had any concerns my texts were answered promptly, and I was seen within the next day or two when needed. I always felt she truly cared about the care she gave and has continued to give since Charlie was born. I will always be grateful for the care she has shown and it gives me faith should we go on to have any more children that me and my baby will be well looked after. The midwives in the hospital also all treated me with care and respect. I was treated like any other new mum, and they all greeted my baby like any other newborn, commenting on how beautiful he was. I will forever be indebted to everyone involved in my care for making the worst time in my life slightly more bearable. People say thank you, but I often wonder if midwives truly understand the positive impact they have on the lives of people like me.

It made me wonder; did I love my baby enough? I now know I did and still do. I love him with everything I have.

I mentioned at the start that I felt like I didn’t fit into the baby loss community due to how I was in the days and weeks after Charlie died. Everyone I spoke to seemed consumed with grief or focused on another baby. I was neither of these. In the first few days after Charlie was born I was incredibly sad and lost, I didn’t want to do anything or get out of bed, but I did. I managed to function, get out of the house and make myself eat. I went for a walk every day and still do. The fact that I was doing this made me feel guilty that I wasn’t ‘sad’ enough. Not like the other mums I had spoken to and read about who spend days holed up inside their house avoiding everyone. It made me wonder; did I love my baby enough? I now know I did and still do. I love him with everything I have.

Whilst I might not be dealing with it the same as other people, that my way isn’t wrong either. I’m not broken.

After the first few days had passed from him being born, the crying lessened, and after about 2 weeks I was able to have happy moments and laugh again. I’d feel happy then guilty that I’d been able to smile when my baby was dead. Other people were telling me months down the line they were still overcome with sadness every day. I felt like I was broken. I wasn’t acting like I should be. I was able to openly speak about Charlie, his life and death from the off without shedding a tear. Again, others were telling me they couldn’t even speak their babies name for months without welling up.

I have only recently come to accept that we all grieve differently, and whilst I might not be dealing with it the same as other people, that my way isn’t wrong either. I’m not broken. I love my baby. I know Charlie wouldn’t want me to be locked in the house, overwhelmed with sadness every day. He would want me to be positive, enjoying nature and treasuring the short time we had together.

Written by Jess Buchanan