Harrison was born on 9 October 2015 weighing 5 pound 6 ounces after being induced at 37 weeks due to getting Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (SPD) in my pregnancy. Harrison was in perfect health. He was doing brilliantly, settling into to our home life with his big brother, Alfie, who was coming up to being three years old at the time. We had our routine check-ups, health visitor appointments, and every time they said that he was doing so well and was in good health.

Harrison and I spent our nights in the living room as everything we needed was there and the kitchen was right next door, plus it helped so we didn’t unsettle everyone else whist being up and down a lot. I put him in his Moses basket which was placed in a travel cot as I always feared Alfie might pull the side of the Moses as he was so young at the time and would always want to play with him (as a newly big brother would).

The evening of 8 December was a normal night. We had settled down, had our dinner, baths and got into bed. Late in the night Harrison was sick as he did suffer from colic. I remember bathing him, changing him and getting cosy for cuddles on the sofa. Once he fell asleep, I put him in his Moses basket and laid down next to him (on my sofa). I remember waking up about 7ish, Harrison was fine moving his head trying to find his dummy that had fallen out. Alfie and their dad were fast asleep, so I went back to sleep. I woke up 2 hours or so later... and that’s when my whole world came crashing down.

I remember checking in on him and he was so pale, grey looking as such. He wasn’t breathing. I grabbed him and ran to his dad upstairs screaming for him to help. I remember being in my hallway downstairs with his dad on the phone to 999 while I laid him down on the floor to start CPR. I didn’t even know what or how to do it, his dad suddenly took over. I remember hearing Alfie screaming from upstairs at top of his lungs. I stood still... The ambulance came, grabbed him and ran. I remember just running behind. Next thing I’m in a hospital room with so many doctors, nurses, ambulance staff all around him... even police officers. Then the words no parent should ever hear “I’m sorry we did all we could, but he’s gone”. My baby who was just there had now gone. Why? I remember feeling I had gone too.

Leaving him behind in a chapel of rest, looking at a box with his handprints and footprints and a teddy! (that teddy meant the world in that moment, just to hold something). 

Days and nights I found myself still making bottles just to leave in his Moses basket... doing things I didn’t need to do but in my head I had to.

About a week later, just before Christmas, Harrison came back to the chapel of rest, from the coroner who said my Harrison was in great health and passed away to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). I had no words for why my healthy baby was gone... it made no sense; I had never heard of SIDS. I remember when I had Alfie, my first born, I was 16 and I read a leaflet that was under his hospital cot saying, 'cot death'. I remember being so scared of the big black and white leaflet, I didn’t even look anymore... Maybe I should of. I often wondered would that have made me more aware.

Due to being over the Christmas period, I didn't get to lay him to rest until January. Overrun by grief, feeling hateful to people who had their sweet babies and I didn’t, I knew I needed help. My doctor gave me the details for Sands, the pregnancy and baby loss charity.

Sands have been a massive part of my healing with my grief, knowing I wasn’t alone. Knowing there are people in the world trying to research and understand how we can prevent this happening. People coming together that have all experienced different types of baby loss. Seeing the prevention plans that you can do. It was like the world of unknown helping me make some form of sense to what happened to my Harrison. Also helping me to support Alfie with his understanding to where his brother had gone because he wasn’t poorly, and Alfie was at such a young age, not understanding his own emotions.  

A year later, I had my rainbow baby boy, Freddie. He was born at 37 weeks in November 2016. Freddie was rushed into ICU, and it felt like the same nightmare had begun again. Freddie had a hole in his heart, which they believed was small but controllable. Once again Sands and the Care of Next Infant (CONI) programme got me, Freddie and Alfie through our journey together. As a grieving / new mum and helping my eldest through his grief as a sibling of loss to having a new brother all over again. 

My forever fear was that it was going to happen again, especially as he was so poorly and Harrison was in such good health. It took my mental health and grief to a new high. He became my little ticking baby as I called him with a monitor that alarmed me when he wasn’t breathing. The peace of mind I had from knowing that I wasn’t alone and I had people to talk to about my worries and fears at Sands.

Years on, when Freddie was three, he went in for keyhole surgery, which ended up as open heart surgery. The fear of losing a child came rushing back to me. Thankfully he is now eight with a perfect heart thanks to doctors at Royal Brompton.  

Harrison turns ten years old this October. In his honour, memory, and because how he grew his wings, it has made me more aware of SIDS and Sands. Plus, all the help and support I’ve received for all these years during the hardest times I’ve ever faced in life.

I’ve created my own foundation – named Harrison’s Wings - with the aim of fundraising and raising awareness for Sands and to support bereaved families and work alongside amazing companies like KeepaBeat first aid who do CPR lessons for all ages. 

I just want to help Sands like they have helped me. I want SIDS to be spoken about with less fear so that we can help create better prevention. 

I’ve always felt like Harrison died over nothing. There is never a good enough reason to take him away, to take my baby. So, this helps me grieve in a way of feeling like I’m doing something for him. As many bereaved parents like me feel that we have been ripped away from doing all the daily things we should be doing for our babies, but we can’t because they have wings and can’t be visually seen. 

The memories of our time together - no matter how big or small – have the most impact. Harrison’s impact was left behind on 9 December 2015. It was the end of my world but a new world of understanding, awareness and prevention for SIDS. 

Support for you

If you would like to find out more about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), also known as Sudden Unexpected Death in Infancy (SUDI), or to find support for yourself or someone you know, please visit our dedicated webpage.