The previous week I had been blessed with witnessing the miracle of life when my human eyes were the only ones to witness one of our ewes, Abigail, give birth to a baby lamb. I had noticed she had distanced herself from the herd, therefore I continued to check on her throughout the night. At one point attempting to head inside when another ewe, Maple, ran to the fence and alerted me, as if pleading with me not to leave. This too was strange behaviour for Maple, who usually kept to herself, so I stuck around, well into the darkness of the night. At 8.21pm Abigail gave one final push and a beautiful black and white painted lamb was born.
All of us were so excited, with Charlie naming the lamb ‘Baby’ and showing it off to all of his cousins who visited over the long weekend. We took turns checking for foxes nightly, even stumbling across a five-foot brown snake one night! That was a huge learning experience for my nephew who is usually high functioning at all hours of the day, needing to stand still and wait for Dave to come across and help. My sister also experiencing a snake encounter for the very first time, having to trust me with her son and know I would keep him safe at all costs.
‘Baby’ was a week old when they (unsure of sex) disappeared. Dave was headed to work one morning when he heard Abigail bleating repeatedly, her voice all raspy from calling for her baby – but ‘Baby’ was nowhere to be seen.
The moment Dave came back inside to tell me the lamb was gone, I instantly burst into tears, losing all faith in the world and I was angry. There was no trace of ‘Baby’ and Abigail continued to call for them for the next two days. Obviously, my heart broke for yet another mother who had her baby taken from her and was left to lick her wounds alone. I just couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, it was like I was numb with sadness and I just didn’t have any room for any more grief – my cup was full.
On top of this was again having to break the news to Charlie, who responded with ‘Baby gone’ – so that was a fun thing to hear for a few days.
Walking into day care the next day and explaining what had happened and why my son was walking around saying ‘Baby gone’ was a hard conversation to relay with dry eyes. Alas, I communicated the situation, said goodbye and made my way for the door – only to get stopped by a parent on my way out.
~
When Louis passed, an email was sent out to the families at work, informing them of our loss and also the passing of beautiful Harry. The email contained a lot of formal words, such as navigate, process and beliefs.
From this, it was my understanding that the families had been informed. A lot had contacted me personally or commented on the birth announcement, but also, a lot had said nothing – not even a ‘Hello’. This was devastating. But the one person who I thought would say something and hadn’t was a lady named Samantha.
At eleven weeks post birth, Samantha did say something to me – she asked me, ‘How’s your baby going?’ And my heart sank. All I could make out was ‘Oh, don’t you know?’ and the poor woman went into shock and threw her hand over her mouth. I burst into tears.
I had feared for this interaction, but if I were to have this first awkward conversation with anyone, I was glad it was with Samantha! She walked toward me and opened up her arms to give me a huge hug. She asked me what my baby’s name was and how much he weighed – which admittedly I couldn’t remember. She asked me when he was born, and I had to tell her that it was a while ago now and I had only just gone on maternity leave when it happened.
Despite the misunderstanding, Samantha really was so kind with her words and her motherly nature, she too was teary herself and this entire conversation happened in the doorway of the day-care – two grown women blubbering away!
I got in my car and drove to a spot I used to lunch at and just let it all out, my emotions that I had been suppressing about losing the baby lamb too. I had recently changed my taste in music and my Spotify playlist had run through and had started picking similar artists – it was heavier than I would usually listen to, but it suited my current mood perfectly.
This was the day I knew I would never be able to return to the life I had known, I would never return to the place I had called home for the past three years.
~
Sharna and Iain were high school sweethearts and all of us had been getting very impatient for them to FINALLY become husband and wife. Iain planned the perfect proposal in February and they were to be married on October 4, 2024 – about bloody time! The wedding invite arrived in the mail amongst the sympathy cards for Louis, and there was no question for us, we had to be there.
As the wedding was at Beechworth, we were lucky that my parents offered to attend the weekend away and have Charlie to ensure our attendance. I had a lot of anxiety about going in the lead up to the big day and I had this image in my head that because Sharna came from a big family, the wedding would be huge. I wanted to look good with the perfect dress, shoes and hair. Dave was really looking forward to having a weekend away and being a part of their special day – although we both knew it would be hard.
The day of the wedding arrived and we needed to be in Beechworth by 12pm, get lunch and be ready for the ceremony at 1.30pm.
I felt like I spent the whole time repeating to myself ‘remember to breathe’ and took deep breaths regularly. I was putting on a brave face.
As far as weddings go, fairy-tale or not, things had not gone to plan for the bride and groom. The weather was predicted to pore with rain, the make-up artist had pulled out the night before and the catering was questionable due to the weather and reception venue being outside. There were countless delays before the ceremony had even started so the guests talked amongst themselves while seated and waiting patiently. I made polite chitchat with the people behind us and continued to focus on my breathing – Dave beside me.
Finally, the music started and the bridesmaids began to make their way down the isle, before Dave learned over and said ‘I need a break’. He had said something similar to me on our own wedding day, before he collapsed during our vowels. As he walked away, I knew I had let him down and I was now left standing alone as Sharna and her parents walked down the isle, her mother grabbing my hand as she walked past.
I knew Dave didn’t want me, but if he hadn’t of returned when he did, I was about to make eye contact with one of the boys and send them in to make sure he wasn’t laying in a ditch somewhere. Anyway, he had returned and exclaimed it was a false alarm and he was feeling better – but I felt eyes on us. I reached across and grabbed his hand tightly and we sat in silence listening to the vowels we had all waited so long to hear.
I spent an hour alone in the car that night, bawling my eyes out with sadness and frustration. I knew if Dave and I didn’t discuss what had happened than our communication would fail and we would be in the same position we were in the first time I ended up in therapy. But not tonight!
We touched on it lightly the next morning with Dave finally admitting that the death of Louis had affected him more than he realised. This being a huge admission and step in the right direction for moving forward.
Later that day I finally read through the Disney storybook that Sharna had hand-picked for all of the wedding guests. She had written personal messages on the inside and used them as table place settings – it was such a cute and thoughtful idea and everyone loved it! Mine was ‘The Princess and the Frog’, a story I wasn’t familiar with and at first, I thought – a love story, it’s Dave and I, how sweet! But as I read through the story, I came across a trumpet-playing alligator with dreams of becoming a human jazz musician, Louis! And I was in tears again.
It was the perfect sentiment to our boy that should have been tagging along, attending that wedding and celebrating within the arms of the people who loved him. It was a gentle reminder that our little Louis would never be forgotten, even on the biggest of days.
'Our Little Louis' 