09/10/2026
Please Hear My Voice - our poem for Baby Loss Awareness Week
I came to you with hope in my heart,
Dreaming of the day I'd meet my child.
I imagined their fingers wrapped around mine,
Their first little cry, our lives intertwined.
I am a parent, though my baby has died.
I am a father with nowhere to place his pride.
I am a mother whose arms are aching and bare.
We are a family whose world has changed beyond repair.
Please don't let my baby become just a name,
Another sad story, another family's pain.
My baby existed. My baby was real.
Please recognise my loss. Please acknowledge what I feel.
As I sit here listening to you and hear babies cry,
Please understand why I struggle to look up or reply.
The sound that once promised joy and delight
Now reminds me of the future stolen from my sight.
When I hear laughter from rooms down the hall,
I wonder how happiness comes to others at all.
I know every family has their own story to tell,
But today, I am living through my own private hell.
Please don't ask me to be strong or brave.
Please don't tell me there was nothing you could save.
Sometimes I need answers; sometimes I need space.
Sometimes I just need kindness reflected in your face.
I may not remember every word you say,
But I'll remember how you treated me today.
Whether you looked at me, whether you stayed,
Whether you listened when I was afraid.
I will remember if you spoke my baby's name,
Or avoided it altogether, as though it brought shame.
I will remember the tenderness in the care you gave,
And whether you made room for the grief I could not explain.
Because maternity care does not end when a heartbeat stops.
Compassion must remain when all our hope drops.
In the quiet moments, when there is nothing to do,
Your presence may be the thing that carries us through.
I need you to see me, not just my notes.
Not just the medical details or the words in your quotes.
See the parent who arrived with a dream,
Who now faces a world that no longer feels as it seemed.
Ask me what I need. Let me make choices where I can.
Explain what happens next; help me understand.
Give me time to hold my baby, to say my goodbye,
To create memories I can carry when I leave this place behind.
Don't assume you know what my grief should be.
Every parent mourns differently. Please make space for me.
My culture, my beliefs, my family, my way of saying goodbye—
Please honour them all. Please don't let them pass by.
And when I leave the hospital, please remember I'm unprepared,
Still waking to an empty room, still searching everywhere.
Bereavement doesn't end when the discharge papers are signed.
Please help me find support for the days that lie behind.
A gentle word. A listening ear.
The courage to sit with us and share a tear.
The willingness to say, "I'm sorry your baby died,"
Can mean more than you will ever realise.
You may go home when your shift is done,
But we carry the memory of how you helped us through.
Your kindness cannot change the ending of our story,
But it can help us remember our baby with a fond memory.
We are bereaved parents, but we are parents still.
Our love did not end, and it never will.
Our babies deserve recognition, dignity and care,
And we deserve compassion as we learn to live with them no longer here.
Because our babies mattered.
Our voices matter.
Our grief matters.
And the care you give matters.
