Cael babi arall
The decision to have another baby is a very personal one and sometimes you and your partner may not agree about the prospect or the timing.
Tell us about you
I live in Brighton but spent over a decade in France. My daughter, Vikki, lives with me. I love history, art, true crime documentaries and have a real curiosity about people. I’ve had nine pregnancies and three births – Vikki, Adam and Jamie. Today, I’m sharing Adam’s story.
Tell us about Adam
Adam was born full term, a healthy weight and he made his entrance in just 40 minutes. Six weeks after Adam’s birth, I haemorrhaged. Because of this, I was advised to get help and knew a trainee nanny who fitted the bill. She looked after him whilst I was recovering.
At exactly eight weeks old, on the morning of 29 April 1987 (which was the nanny’s last day with me), I gave Adam a bath. I remember so clearly Adam smiling at me. It was such a knowing smile – one that an old man would give you. I said to him, “Do you know something I don’t?” He had a feed, a cuddle and a play. The house was silent. Vikki was napping.
The house was on several floors and you could see down to the dining room, where Adam was sleeping in his carry cot. I went to look at him after taking about five minutes to iron a romper suit he was going to wear later as we’d been invited out for tea that afternoon. When I saw him, I could tell something was wrong and said to the nanny, “He’s gone ever such a funny colour.”
I picked him up. He was white and floppy. I didn’t scream, I froze. I called for an ambulance and gave resuscitation instructions to the nanny. The ambulance arrived quickly and we rushed to the hospital as soon as my husband got home.
At hospital, we were shut in a room and when the doctor and two nurses walked in and stared at the floor, I asked them if they were about to tell me my son had died. They nodded.
The shock carried me through the first day. When I got home, I sat down and called certain people while I could still say the words, “Adam died today.” That same evening I got a call from The Lullaby Trust (then the Foundation for the Study of Infant Deaths).
The caller’s voice was warm and kind. She asked if I’d like to be matched with a befriender, another parent who had been through the same thing. I said yes, please.
What happened next?
My befriender’s name was Suzanne. She came to see me and she was smiling. I asked her, ‘How can you possibly smile?’ She replied, ‘You will one day.’ I then asked, “Will I ever get the sparkle back in my eyes?”
I clung to Suzanne. She gave me hope and she showed me it was possible to smile again.
Four years after Adam died, I went onto have Jamie. I was worried all the time. Every sniffle, I felt he was going to die and so we were constantly at the doctor. How could I protect Jamie when I didn’t know what I was protecting him against?
I became a befriender myself after the then statutory two years since our babies had died. I’ve spoken to so many parents over the years – some with partners, some entirely alone. They tell me things they can’t tell anyone else. We’re a strange kind of club, those of us who befriend. It’s a club none of us ever wanted to join, but a club where we truly understand one another.
Why do you befriend?
It was 36 years ago when I started befriending. I befriend because, for me, it’s a way to remember Adam. Befriending helps parents feel less alone. It gives their baby’s memory a voice. I know how much it matters, because what we feel doesn’t end. I can try to help other mums give vent to and share. their grief and deepest feelings. They know I have been through a similar experience and thus can understand what they are going through – and I have survived. I also say to them that doing so doesn’t mean they’re letting go of or forgetting their baby – after all, I use Adam’s name when talking to them.
The Lullaby Trust offers incredible bereavement support. If you’re desperate for help on a Saturday night when everyone is out having a great time, we’re here.
One bereaved mum that I supported went onto have another baby – a boy. She told me that the baby’s middle name was Jude, after me. Some have gone on to become befrienders themselves, passing on what I did for them. It’s massively rewarding and it’s Adam’s legacy. He needs a legacy, otherwise, what was it – the pregnancy, his birth and his all too short eight weeks of life – all about? Adam’s legacy is, hopefully, me helping another family feel that same support and light I felt, even in the darkest times.
Discover more
Become a befriender
Becoming a befriender is a rewarding experience where you can offer support and guidance to others in their own bereavement.
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Befriending is a listening support service that we offer to bereaved family members.
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Whether a parent or carer, grandparent, teacher or family friend - these stories are from those who have experienced the death of a baby or young child.
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