Lonely footprints in the sand.

Grief is the love story we keep telling through tears, laughter and everything in between. The way we tell it has no bearing on the depth of our pain. ‘Franchesca Cox’

Yesterday, yesterday Henry I got out for the morning, I went to a morning tea type event which was supposed to focus on grief and essential oils to help with grief…. It didn’t quite go that way.. It only ended up being a very small group and no one was able much to focus on or talk about the big fat pink elephant in the room, ok so maybe not a room but a courtyard where we sat in the sun! They spoke of the essential oils but I felt like most eyes were on me and they tiptoed around the subject, then it turned in to a bit of a sales pitch for the oils, however no one addressed the topic of grief and as they muddled over their words, looking not knowing what to say I thought to myself this is why my letters to you are so important, this is why I want to share, so people will acknowledge and people will talk about and learn about these topics that are often considered taboo. because if we don’t talk about it, how else do people know.

Yesterday afternoon we drove, we drove further south to get away, but one thing I have come to realise is no matter how far we drive away, it’s still there. That pain we feel, that ache in our hearts, that feeling in the pit of our stomachs, the never ending thoughts, the constant yearning for you… it’s with us always, it’s going to be a part of us now. No matter how far we venture from home this will never leave us. I know with time we will get stronger, we will learn how to move, cope, breathe and get through days with a little more ease.

Yesterday afternoon as we walked on the beach I looked back in the sand to see my footprint, my first thought was not about the clear beautiful water as it may have once been, it was not about the gorgeous sun starting to set but rather that we would never get to see your footprints in the sand.

We did sit with some nibbles and watched the sunset which was beautiful and toasted to you! Our precious boy, we toasted to you and talked about how much we loved you.


Last night, last night was the worst nights sleep I have had, it was one of the first nights I have not taken something to help me sleep, something to quiet my mind and my mind was not quiet it was filled with thoughts, moment, memories… memories of first being told your heart was no longer beating… of being in that room without your dad there yet and being told you were no longer alive, of the looks on the caring midwives faces as they had to break that terrible news to me. I thought of your birth, of the hours and hours it took for you to come in to this world, of all the emotions we felt that day… Emotions that shouldn’t have been, excitement and joy and that little bit of being scared of the unknown of bringing your first child in to the world were replaced with sadness, fear, grief and emptiness of knowing when you arrived you were not going to cry, you were not coming home, you were not going to open your eyes, you would be still…. Our first baby and you would be still.

Last night I remember comments of you can try again, then I wondered, how do we try again, I waited over ten years for you! How do we know we will even be blessed again and if we were how do we go through a pregnancy without panic, without anxiousness, without wondering what if this happens again, how do we? how???? and even if we did it will never replace you, we will still always think of and want you with us.

As I lay awake and tossed and turned last night I listened to the wind blowing, I listened to the rustle of the trees, I listened and the only sound I wanted to hear was you, I cried.

This morning not being able to sleep I got up very early, trying to quietly tip toe as to not wake your dad, and went to make a coffee as I stared out the kitchen window, I got to see the colours of a beautiful sunrise, I smiled at that even with my sadness, I smiled and thanked you, making my way on to the upstairs balcony I looked over with my coffee and took the colours in.


This morning I wanted to acknowledge all of our beautiful friends, all of you who have sent messages, commented, read my blog, sent gifts or flowers, cards and thoughts. You are all amazing and I know a lot of you have started off with I don’t know what to say…. I wanted to let you all know, that is ok…. Sometimes Tim and I don’t know what to say either, but the fact you have reached out even though you do not have the words, means more than you know. I thought I would share some articles for those who are interested in reading. What do you say  and this one is on Grief  which our beautiful midwife who supported me through most of your labour and birth shared with me.

This morning as your dad continues to snore, I guess at least I know he is resting for a change!! This morning because I can’t share you enough Henry, because I can not speak your name enough I want to end with a photo of us, a photo of you our beautiful boy. We love you so much we love you always. This morning I start my day again for you!




Author: Letters to Henry

My husband and I live on the beautiful south coast of NSW, Australia. We are currently learning to rebuild and navigate through life after the loss of our son Henry to stillbirth due to medical negligence in April 2018 and learning to parent after loss with Henry's little sister born in August 2019..

One thought on “Lonely footprints in the sand.”

  1. No words, my lovelies. My heart feels so heavy and missing Henry so so much too, the weight of him in my arms as I looked down at him and felt so much love for him. And feeling so helpless, so devastated, not knowing what to do for you both. Grieving for you, Tim and Henry. 💙💙💙💙💙💙


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