05 Feb Happy Birthday, Albert
A mother’s story of love, loss and the child who never leaves her heart, by Rosemary McKnight
Content note: This article contains themes of pregnancy loss and grief that may be distressing for some readers.
The Day That Never Ends
The date was written at the top of the page. I stared at it, its printed shapes and forms suddenly foreign to me, like strands of tangled black spaghetti on a plate. I’m still caught in that date, in a time loop I’m destined to stay in forever. They don’t prepare you for that.
Most would see it as just a day. But it isn’t. For me, it was the 24 hours between the knowing and the knowing — the moment the world I understood fell away. From the time my obstetrician told me, “I’m sorry, but your baby has died,” to the moment I held him in my arms and knew it for certain.
But he was warm. Still warm. And my ever-hopeful heart leapt wildly, foolishly. There must have been a mistake. Some terrible, twisted mistake. But it wasn’t his warmth I felt — it was mine. And that knowledge changed nothing.
At least, I told myself, he felt my warmth. At least I gave him that.
They don’t prepare you for the warmth.
The Myth of Knowing
The ABC series SeaChange got it wrong when its character believed she knew the precise moment her baby died. There is no mystical knowing. No spiritual signal. No clarity.
There are only signs that you later replay endlessly — the baby sleeping longer than usual, the sudden slackness of a once-tight belly, the quiet that settles where movement once lived.
And then there are the well-meaning voices telling you not to worry. That everything is fine. Voices that leave you stranded, untethered, alone in a world that suddenly feels foreign.
Performing Grief
I suppose I should feel guilty. Or angry. But I don’t feel anything at all.
At the hospital, people look at me expectantly, waiting for tears. When none come, they keep watching. So eventually, I perform them — not for myself, not for my baby, but for them. And in doing so, I feel something at last: hate. Not rage, not fury — just the quiet violence of being made to perform grief when you have nothing left to give.
A nurse walks with us to the car. Her name escapes me, but her kindness does not. She defies the doctor and lets my husband stay with me because I need him. In the car park, I feel the stares. I am no longer a woman — I am a spectacle.
When Words Fail
“There was nothing wrong with the baby. There’s nothing wrong with you. Sometimes these things just happen.”
I stare at the obstetrician, stunned. Of course something is wrong. My baby died inside me.
My husband speaks — I hear his voice before I realise he is beside me. I can barely look at him. So composed. So unlike the man I saw earlier collapsing beside a hospital bin in raw terror. My six-foot-six protector undone.
I am trapped in a body that must endure labour without reward. A birth without life. A pain that goes beyond pain.
I want to run. I want to sleep. I want this to end. But there is no choice. There is only endurance.
The Advice No One Asked For
“Get her pregnant again as soon as possible,” a grief counsellor tells my husband.
Another voice protests. They argue over my future as though I’m not there.
What do they know of ‘best’?
I did everything right. I was healthy. Strong. Careful. This was supposed to be perfect. But perfection failed me. And I learned that when loss arrives, it does so without logic, fairness or mercy.
Love That Never Leaves
A year later, I hold another child in my arms. His warmth returns mine. I smile for him and grieve for another.
It takes a man — a poet — to say it properly: that time does not erase loss. That love does not divide; it multiplies. That no matter how many children come after, the first is always carried within us.
For Albert
These are my memories.
My fragments of us.
Your kicking feet.
Your impossible stretches.
The way you made me smile before I ever saw your face.
Happy 12th birthday, Albert.
At least they can’t take that from us.
Grief Support Helpline (Australia & International)
If this story has brought up difficult feelings, support is available. You are not alone.
Australia
- Lifeline – 13 11 14
24/7 crisis support for anyone experiencing emotional distress.
👉 lifeline.org.au - Red Nose Grief and Loss – 1300 308 307
Specialist bereavement support for pregnancy, baby and child loss.
👉 rednose.org.au - PANDA (Perinatal Anxiety & Depression Australia) – 1300 726 306
Support for parents experiencing grief, trauma or emotional distress during or after pregnancy.
👉 panda.org.au
International
- Sands (UK & Ireland) – sands.org.uk
Support for anyone affected by pregnancy loss or baby death. - Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support (USA) – nationalshare.org
Resources and peer support for families grieving the loss of a baby.
If you are in immediate danger or need urgent support, please contact your local emergency services.
