This is My Story - Stephanie

In this series of personal stories we hear from parents who have suffered pregnancy or baby loss. We hold space for loss and grief, and we remember our babies gone too soon.

In sharing their stories, these parents are beginning to exorcise the triple demons of stigma, silence and ignorance that afflict so many conversations in the perinatal bereavement space.

Parents share their journeys and the lessons they have learned about grief, parenthood, friendship and living after the death of their baby. They tell us how they have changed, who they have become, and what truly matters now.

Baby girl Arizona with her mummy

A Journey Through Grief and Resilience: Honouring Arizona Hope.

At the tender age of 20, I was thrust into a whirlwind of emotions when I discovered I was pregnant. The news was unexpected; having a baby was not something I had envisioned for myself at such a young age.

While I had always known I wanted children some day, I had never anticipated that the moment would arrive so soon. The initial feelings of fear soon gave way to excitement. My siblings were also on the journey of parenthood, creating a shared sense of joy. My twin sister was also pregnant, and one of my brothers had a baby due just a day after mine.

For a brief period, it felt like we were embarking on a beautiful adventure together.

However, that excitement turned to heartbreak when, at just 22 weeks and 6 days pregnant, I received the devastating news that my baby girl would not survive. In a hospital in Ballarat, Victoria, I was informed that my daughter was too small and that they would only attempt to resuscitate her if she showed signs of life at birth.

The doctors had made arrangements for my transfer to Westmead Hospital in Sydney or the Royal Women’s Hospital in Melbourne - but only if I could make it to 23 weeks. My immediate thought was one of shock and desperation: “My baby is still alive - we need to get her out now!”

Tragically, my beautiful daughter was born at 11:35 PM, a mere 25 minutes before we could have accessed the intensive neonatal care that might have saved her.

Summarizing my experience of labor is a challenge, as I was both young and naive. In my limited understanding of the world, I never considered that such a tragedy could happen to me. For two weeks leading up to the birth, I experienced a constant ache in my back, which I attributed to the normal discomforts of pregnancy.

I turned to Google for answers, and each search reassured me that my symptoms were typical. Unbeknownst to me, I had an incompetent cervix, and the back pain I was experiencing was the onset of premature labor.

Surrounded by my mother, sister, my daughter’s father, and my sister’s partner, it felt surreal until my waters broke. It was then that my midwife asked me to choose who would remain with me, cautioning that we didn’t know what would happen next.

My baby girl, Arizona Hope, was born sleeping on March 7, 2017, at 11:35 PM. Holding her for the first time was a moment that forever imprinted on my heart. “Oh my god. She is absolutely beautiful,” was my immediate thought - and yet I felt a profound numbness. It was nearly impossible to process the reality of the situation.

Arizona had dark brown hair, the longest eyelashes, and she was the most exquisite little being I had ever seen. She measured 29 centimetres and weighed 507 grams. She had ten fingers and ten toes, and in that moment, she was both my pride and my heartbreak.

The experience of loss has been a tumultuous journey, filled with peaks and valleys of grief. In the early days, I often found myself sitting in her nursery, lost in thought, questioning life, my worth, and why this had happened to me. I struggled to understand why everyone around me was having healthy babies while I was left with emptiness.

The statistic that one in five pregnancies ends in stillbirth became a painful reminder of my reality, amplifying my isolation as I watched my siblings celebrate their new lives.

I was consumed by anger, grappling with the unfairness of it all, but I also recognised that I would never wish this pain upon anyone else.

In the aftermath of my loss, I noticed a shift in my friendships. I withdrew from those who didn’t share my experience, choosing instead to focus on the bonds that truly mattered. In retrospect, I wish I had been more informed about the potential warning signs of complications during pregnancy.

As a young mother-to-be, the guidance I received was inadequate, and I learned that many new parents are not made aware of what to watch out for until it’s too late. I hope that in the future, there will be a stronger emphasis on prenatal education, especially regarding the risks and symptoms to be aware of during the second trimester.

To other bereaved parents, I want to impart four simple yet powerful words: “It’s not your fault.” You will spend countless hours reflecting on what you could have done differently, but the truth is that some things are not in your control.

It is crucial to be gentle with yourself as you navigate the grieving process. While the pain may never fully fade, there will come a day when you can mention your baby's name and smile instead of cry. Our little ones remain an integral part of our lives and families, and we should never shy away from celebrating their existence.

One of my greatest treasures is a portrait of Arizona, known affectionately as my "Possum Portrait." I have very few photos of just myself and my baby, and the ones I do have cannot be displayed in our family home.

Having this portrait to hang up brings me a sense of completeness. It's a way to honour her memory in a space that feels safe and cherished.

In the years that followed, I went on to have three more beautiful children, two of whom are now 5 and 6 years old. From the very beginning they have known about their sister. When I first introduced the concept of Arizona to them, I told them she was in the sky, which led to a charming belief that she was the moon.

But as they grew older, they began to ask more poignant questions, like, “Why did she die?” We chose to approach these conversations with honesty, tailoring our explanations to their age.

We explained that she was sick and that sometimes, when babies get sick in their mothers’ tummies, doctors cannot always fix them. Children are remarkably resilient and often understand far more than we give them credit for.

Ultimately, my experience of loss has taught me that you are not alone. You are not the first person to endure such a tragedy, and unfortunately, you won’t be the last. I hold on to the hope that future parents will receive more comprehensive education about prenatal health, with a specific focus on recognising risks and symptoms during the second trimester. Through sharing my story and honouring Arizona’s memory, I aim to foster a sense of community and support for those navigating the difficult terrain of grief. Our babies may be gone, but their impact on our lives continues to shine brightly.

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