I was over the moon about having kids. 

I was one of the last of my school mates to start trying for a baby. 

Stillbirth wasn’t even a blip on my radar when Jacqui fell pregnant. She didn’t fall pregnant quickly (it was a bit of a journey) and so we were just delighted!

Just shy of 27 weeks gestation, it was a Sunday night and Jac was a little concerned about the lack of bub’s movement during the day. 

We headed to the hospital just to check on the baby, for peace of mind. I remember feeling confident that there was nothing to be worried about. 

My confidence faded as I saw the nurse’s body language change. I immediately walked over to Jac and held her hand. 

The nurse left to find an obstetrician. His words will never leave my head, “there’s no heartbeat”. Our worst nightmare confirmed. 

How? Why? What did I do? Was it something genetic? Can’t modern medicine just magic this all away? I definitely won’t meet “it”? 

My brain wouldn’t compute that Jac had to give birth to our unborn deceased child. 

What could I do to help? I felt so removed from the situation. All I could do was hold Jac’s hand, hug her tight and try console her tears. 

Beau was born early Anzac Day 2017; I was in a delirium due to the lack of sleep and overwhelming emotion. During the labour I was still adamant I would not meet our child. Looking back, I can see I was really just scared. Scared that I would not recognise him as the live baby we were expecting. And scared that he wouldn’t actually resemble a little baby.

Once he was born, I changed my mind. Our 26-week-old stillborn baby boy was beautiful, except for one thing – he wasn’t moving. 

The next few days were rough. Jac had to recover physically and emotionally from the debilitating trauma of birth without the reward. We got to cuddle our baby boy for small periods of time as he was returned to the maternity ward from the hospital morgue. The shock of his cold body was such a slap in the face. 

Then came all the horrendous questions, what coffin do you want? Where was he to buried? What songs do we want played at the funeral. And legally we had to come up with a name – Beau (meaning beautiful) Bruyn Clark.

Beau’s funeral was a blur. Within the space of 8 days, we went from coasting along in pregnancy to burying our son. 

I was distraught and grieving but as the male, I was very removed from the physical part. I didn’t have him growing inside me, I didn’t have to birth him, I didn’t have to recover…. this was not an easy thing to balance. There were times where I felt guilty, I wasn’t upset enough. I honestly got to a point where I didn’t know what to do or how to help Jac, who was really struggling. 

Luckily, we found a support group for stillbirth parents and Jac found an amazing psychologist that helped ease the trauma and grief. 

There is such a taboo around stillbirth. But if anyone asked me how I was going, I just started talking about Beau and found it hard to stop. In hindsight I think this was how I dealt with my grief. 

Another way of dealing with our grief was to reach out to charities like the Stillbirth Foundation Australia and Bears of Hope. It was nice to be able to return the favour later on by becoming ambassadors for the Stillbirth Foundation Australia. 

It is so unfortunate that stillbirth has touched our lives but please know that you’re not alone. The grief will ease but never leave completely, as our babies will never be forgotten. 

I am always happy to chat if you need someone to talk to. 

From Trent

PS – Beau we love and miss you