I am a proud Nan, but I am also a bereaved one
Our family’s world changed forever when my daughter lost her baby at 26 weeks, after weeks of fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak. From around 20 weeks we knew the baby was poorly, and we watched the pregnancy become overshadowed by preeclampsia and the growing knowledge that something was terribly wrong. Those weeks stretched endlessly, filled with hope, worry, and the desperate wish for a miracle.
When our granddaughter passed away, it felt as though time stopped
As a Nan, I grieved for the little girl I had already begun to love, the tiny person I had imagined holding, spoiling and watching grow. As a mother, I felt a different kind of agony: the helpless pain of watching my own daughter break, knowing there was nothing I could do to protect her from this loss. And as a wife, I felt lost, trying to hold myself together, knowing we were all breaking.
The way I saw my daughter in sorrow, pain and loss broke my heart, but I have never seen strength like it, a strength born from a mother’s love. She carried her pain with a quiet courage, loving her baby fiercely even in loss. I saw her stand when I imagine every part of her wanted to fall. Watching her endure, grieve and love so deeply showed me what real strength looked like. I have never seen bravery so raw, so real and yet so heartbreaking.
People often forget that grandparents grieve too
We carry the sorrow of losing a grandchild while simultaneously carrying the heartbreak of seeing our own child in pain. It is grief on two levels, and it is heavy in a way that is difficult to put into words.
It has been three years now, and it still feels unreal at times
People say that grief gets easier, but I don’t think it does, it simply changes. We learn to grow around the loss. We find ways to carry our granddaughter with us in everything we do, even though she is not here in the way we longed for her to be.
In those early days we felt very alone. As a family, we were shattered, and as a grandparent I didn’t realise how little support there was for people in my position. Grandparents often stand quietly in the background, trying to be strong for everyone else. But we hurt too. We love deeply and we lose deeply.
I want to share our story in the hope that it helps other families, especially other grandparents, feel less alone. Baby loss shakes the foundations of a family, but speaking about it helps us honour the tiny lives that changed us forever.
Our granddaughter may not be here in our arm, but she is part of our family always
And she will always be loved. Her name is Savannah; she was born sleeping on August 7th. We say her name, we talk about her every day, we buy a cake on her birthday, and she has a mini-Christmas tree at Christmas. We keep her memory alive in so many ways.
Following the loss of Savannah, I completed my Sands counsellor training and and I created Sunflower Talking Therapy in memory of Savannah as the flower we remember her by is a sunflower. I now work with individuals and families who have experienced baby loss.