Hope's Story

I am not afraid to talk about my daughter. I used to be. I used to wonder what people would think of me, of her. Would they understand? Would they think something was wrong with her? Would they think it was my fault? 

I now stand proudly and tell people that I have a daughter in heaven. I am proud to be her mama, and no matter what happens I will never deny that she lived, no matter how briefly.

But one thing that I haven’t done, not a single time, is explain in detail the story of her life here on Earth. Namely, her conception, her life in my belly, her birth and her death. 

I know other baby loss parents have, and I am not saying that it is a bad thing. To share that loss in detail, to be that vulnerable, is such a wonderful act of compassion as it can help so many others in their journey. Please do not interpret what I am about to say as a judgement on them, or any other mama.

I haven’t shared Hope’s story with anyone because, to me, I feel like it would validating someone else's need to be convinced that she lived. Or that her life was somehow long enough or special enough or miraculous enough to be considered worthy of remembering. 

Her conception and my pregnancy with her are very sensitive subjects and I do not share them lightly because I do not want Hope’s life coloured by these. She cannot be defined by how she came to be, and I will not let it be a reason for people to judge myself or her.

The day she left me, the day she was born and the day she died, will remain in my memory as the best and worst moments of my life. Never have I experienced love of such depth, or a connection so intimate that permeated my soul. I have never felt such strong emotions. Such joy, such overwhelming grief and sadness. Never have I ever felt so confused or ever questioned more my faith in God’s plan. 

All of this I felt in the space of a few short hours. The time from when I knew something was wrong to walking out of the hospital with an empty womb and  broken heart wouldn’t have been more than most people spend watching television everyday. 

In all honesty, and I say this with all the love in the world for my little girl, her birth and death were anti-climactic. She slipped silently into this world, her tiny heart stopped beating and she died. Nothing that doesn’t happen every day, all over the world. It’s so common and tragic and wrong that it seems almost hard sometimes to imagine how any baby makes it into this world alive at all. 

That day was and is the single most personal event in my whole life, and while there may come a day when I feel I want to share it, it still remains the only time I spent with my daughter and that is something I am not willing to give up just yet. 

Hope’s story to me is not confined to dates and times and memories and stories. It is so much more than that, SHE is SO much more than that. 

Her story continues with every person I meet who tells me that they have lost a baby as well. It is alive every time I get to give a grieving family a picture of their angel. The legacy of hope and love that she is leaving with each person who hears about her is living on far longer than her short life on Earth. 

And THAT is her story. I want her to be known, I want her to be remembered, I want her to be loved. I want people to know that she lived, she was here, she was important, she was wanted and so, so loved. And I believe that I can do that so much more through her legacy, through my ministry with parents, through the people I meet and the friends I make. 

It won’t make her anymore “real” to people, or any less gone to me by sharing the intimate details of her birthday. That is something only Hope and I shared, and it is something that will most likely stay that way.

So please, if you want to know more about her life please feel free to ask me privately. But know that there are things that I haven’t shared for a reason, and try not to be offended if I fail to go into detail.

And please, please think of Hope in terms of what her life is doing for others and help me to make sure that her life and her legacy are not overshadowed by her death.

Let Her Go

So much has happened recently, I can barely put it into words. It feels like life has never been so full, so empty, so beautiful, so painful or so complicated.


Where should I start? Firstly, it has been 6 months and 2 days since my Grandma Betty passed away. She spent her whole working life teaching primary school and she was one of the first people I called when I was accepted into Teacher’s College. It has been 6 months without hearing her voice. 6 months
without her hugs. 6 months. 6 months. 6 months.

I have just spent the last few weeks on my first professional practice in a school, teaching a class of twenty-eight 11 and 12 year olds. It was amazing, and I wholeheartedly believe that teaching is where I should be. Every day I would learn something new, and every day I had new things I wanted to tell my Grandma about. Every day I came home with the same heaviness that comes with wanting to talk to someone, but knowing they aren’t on the other end of the phone.

My Grandma lived life to the full, and delighted in the simple joys life had to offer. While in a class I was stuck daily of all the things I love about life, little things that Grandma taught me make up life. it was also these simple things that I know I will never get to do with Hope. Simple things like school assemblies and kids going up to get their first certificate; reading spelling words out just like my mama did with me; seeing children learn and grow and live everyday.

I never realised how unpredictable my emotions would be while on my pracitce. I anticipated some emotions, after all I was going to be around children and that was obviously going to be hard. But I could handle it, right? I mean, I figured that I knew what things would set me off, and I was ready. I was prepared. I really should try and stop thinking like that! Not only was I unprepared for the different moments that did set me off, I also underestimated the sharpness and the ferocity with which those moments would come.

A little 5 year old coming and giving me a hug.

Working through a math problem with one of my students.

Saying good morning to my students as they entered the classroom every morning with their parents.

All moments that made my soul lift up. All moments that brought back the crushing blow of my own reality-that I will never have moments life this with my girl. All moments that I will never get to share with my Grandma.

And all through the busyness and the paperwork and the teaching and the learning and the joy of being where I wanted to be, questions kept rolling round and round the back of my mind. One in particular, kept poking through to the forefront of my thinking. What colour would her eyes have been?

An educated guess would say blue, like most of my family. And that’s nice to think about, Hope being part of the family and sharing this special trait. But there’s a roadblock to this, and it’s a big one for me. I don’t know that her eyes were blue because I never got to see them. That irreplaceable, unmatchable moment when a mama gets to look into her baby’s eyes for the first time is a moment I will forever mourn. That moment has been going round and round in my head and shows no sign of moving out. Every time I try to consol myself and convince myself that she would have had blue eyes like me, like her nana and aunty and great-grandparents, there’s still a small voice that says “but you don’t really know, do you?”.

Getting to see children learn and smile and sing and breathe and live will never be any less of a joy as it was during my time with my class. But that reminder that my baby girl will never grow up to fill one of those seats, never get to bring home her first certificate, never get to complain about math homework or delight in learning a new spelling word…that will never be any less painful.

So lately my mind has been twisting and turning trying to make sense of all this grief. Mourning my Grandma, one of my favourite people in the whole world who was always there my whole life. Mourning my baby girl, who was here for too brief a moment.


I heard a song recently by Passenger called “Let her go”, suggested by my mum. One line in particular really hit home : "You see her when you fall asleep but never to touch and never to keep because you loved her too much".

I miss my Grandma and I miss Hope. My heart has never been so broken, and my life has never been so full.

This. Is. NOT. God.

Lately, I’ve felt and thought so many things that have damaged me, made me doubt myself, made me hate myself.

People make cruel or thoughtless comments, and instead of taking a step back and asking if it reflects them or me, a voice whispers “It’s you. It’s always you. It’s because you’re nothing. You deserve it.”

And this seems to happen so often that even though I don’t want to believe, I feel it slipping it. and it sounds so much like my own voice, surely it’s true? Each time I feel like I’ve taken a step forward something happens to bring me to my knees.

So it must be me. I am the common link here. It must be my fault. And if all of this is my fault, surely I don’t deserve anything. Even God’s grace. Even to know God at all.

But I have to keep telling myself, telling my soul- screaming at my soul- that THIS IS NOT GOD. He is not putting the words in my head that say “it’s impossible, nobody loves you, I can’t go on, I can’t do it, I’m not able, I’m unforgivable.” That’s the ENEMY talking, NOT my God.

MY god says that ALL things are possible (Luke 18:27), that HE loves me (John 3:16 & John 3:34), that HIS grace is sufficient (II Corinthians 12:9 & Psalm 91:15), that I can do ALL things through Him (Philippians 4:13), that HE is able (I John 1:9 & Romans 8:1), and that HE forgives me (I John 1:9 & Romans 8:1).

It feels like the enemy has really done a number on me lately, and is upping his game. His voice sounds like mine, his words sound like mine. And the further he pushes, the more he tells me that I don’t deserve anything, the further he pushes for me to doubt the very faith that keeps me.

But I have BIG God. Who loves me. Who has forgiven me. Who gives me mercy and grace every single day even though I fail him every single day.

I have a God who died for me.

THAT is the truth. Not that other rubbish. So even when the words sink in, and whispers cut like knives I need to remember that my Heavenly Father loves me, and doesn’t wish for me to feel this way.

Father God, I thank you with all my heart and being that You call me your child and that You are who You are-yesterday, today and tomorrow. I cry out to you. I am in pain and need you so. Please let me feel your comforting hand upon me. Shield me from the enemy’s barbs and help me to forgive those that you have already forgiven-especially myself. And please, Lord, as my heart breaks right now, please hug my darling once for me, and tell her that Mama is going to be okay, because Mama has a awesome God. Amen.