Warning: This post includes details and imagery of stillbirth that may be triggering for some readers.
Just over four months ago, Aimee Green went into labour at home, with her partner Ryan by her side. She gave birth at home, but when her baby arrived, she wasn’t crying. It would become the hardest day of Aimee’s life.
Even to this day I can hardly comprehend the fact that she was with me the whole way, every single minute of every single day but not for the last couple pushes.
What was going on? Why wasn’t she crying?
What are they doing to her, am I okay, am I alive, am I dreaming, when will I wake up?
A thousand questions were going through my brain but I couldn’t even speak. I have no idea how my body didn’t go into shock, I just pulled a towel over my head, sat still and prayed. I’ve never prayed properly before, I don’t even know how to, but I did. I prayed repeatedly for her to breathe.
At that very moment I just wanted to die. I had no idea how Ryan would ever love me again or how I would cope. This was the lowest point I had ever felt in my whole life.
My gut had already told me the answer to my prayers, and Ry’s voice said the rest, but I wasn’t giving up hope just yet. Ryan was beyond incredible. He had to see his wife to be shocked to silence and body battered in between checking on his daughter being resuscitated, communicating with the midwives and trying to understand what the f**k was going on himself.
Above all, he remained so calm and collected, reassured me that everything would be okay, stroked my head and told me how amazing I was.
Holly Wainwright and Andrew Daddo speak to Bec Sparrow, about what we could possibly say to a mother who’s lost a child. Post continues after audio.
I was completely numb. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t do anything. I just held Ryan’s hand and prayed to the universe to make our girl cry.