This is Marnie’s story:

On Sunday the 6th April 2025, our darling daughter’s heart stopped, and so did our world.

The pain and heartache we were living through was insurmountable, but we are determined to talk about her, celebrate her, shout her name from the rooftops and ultimately, make her proud.

Marnie’s life began in a petri dish, as part of the exhaustive and emotional IVF journey that we embarked on in 2024.

Following a successful embryo transfer, our little lady was officially settled in for the next 9 months and we could not be more excited to meet her. The pregnancy journey was relatively smooth sailing and all scans and checks passed with flying colours. Bring on the 17th April, the date for our planned C-section and the day we finally get to meet our firstborn and bring her home.

With only a couple weeks to go, Katie officially started her maternity leave on Friday 4th April. The next day, Saturday 5th, we celebrated with family and friends at our wonderful baby shower.

The love and excitement was palpable. Marnie was already loved so much and we could not wait to introduce her to everyone in our circle.

The very next day, Sunday 6th, we were plunged into any parent’s worst possible nightmare.

That morning, Katie noticed reduced movement and so we rushed to hospital where it was confirmed that Marnie’s heart had stopped beating. At 37 weeks, so close to the end, we had lost our baby girl.

The next 5 days were a complete blur, spent in hospital waiting to meet our sleeping baby. After multiple painful and failed induction attempts, Katie was taken into theatre on the 11th, where Marnie was finally delivered via C-section.

Even right up until that moment, we prayed for a miracle and to hear her cries as she was pulled from Katie’s womb, and yet the silence was so loud and the absence of life was so clear.

Our surgeon informed us that the cord had been tightly wrapped round her arm, which had likely caused the prevention of oxygen supplied by the placenta to pass through to her sufficiently. Despite this information, they may never be able to definitively say the cause of Marnie’s death.

I remember looking at Sarah in the hospital so many times and being like, “We’ll be ok, won’t we? We’ll be ok?”.

We knew we wanted help, and Petals were so responsive, with the triage meeting and then matching us up with a counsellor.

We decided to do our sessions together, because Sarah needed it just as much as I did. She went through a kind of different journey, but she had to watch me in the hospital and wasn’t able to do anything to help or take away any of the physical stuff that I was going through. The same event is experienced very differently.

It was amazing that we were both able to utilise the counselling sessions and I think we enjoyed going together, because it just allowed us to open up more to each other.

Yes, you can speak to friends and family, but it’s different to talk to a counsellor – someone who is trained to talk about this, who you know won’t pass any judgement or say the wrong thing. It was a really nice, safe space.

I definitely feel like I have more coping in mechanisms because of the counselling. I think that having the ability to vocalise how I’m feeling to people in my life, to make sure that I’m advocating for myself and I’m protecting myself – that’s definitely something that I’ve got out of the counselling.

They always say that the grief never goes away, but the counselling enabled me to build those coping mechanisms better and quicker than I would have done on my own.  

According to most recent studies, 50% of stillbirths are unexplained. Marnie is now part of that statistic.

We know she is more than that, way more than a statistic. She was destined to do great in life and have a huge and positive impact on everyone around her.

In honour of Marnie, and as part of her legacy, we are determined to raise awareness and money for other bereaved families who tragically experience the loss of a baby.

Marnie would want to help, and so we do this for her, and to make her proud.