And while the old adage tells us that “sometimes not knowing is worse”, Goodman is resigned to the cause of death being a mystery. In a sense, she prefers it that way.

“It’s probably best for us, not knowing why,” she says. “We can’t blame ourselves that way, it’s just something that happened.”

Little Jade was one of the approximately 2000 babies who are stillborn every year in Australia.

That is six babies every day who are born sleeping, sometimes for reasons known, sometimes not.

A further 700 newborns also die every year from a range of complications and illnesses soon after birth — between two and three every day.

And the statistics for pregnancy and infant loss soar to about 100,000 every year when you include miscarriages, with one happening about every 3½ minutes.

One in every four pregnancies in Australia ends in loss, but despite these alarmingly high figures, pregnancy loss and infant loss are still topics that most people are reluctant to talk about.

For those who have experienced such a loss, it is often just too painful to speak about. And for those who have not, it can be hard to even know what to say to a bereaved parent, and the topic is so impossibly sad that people tend to just not confront it at all.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month, with a remembrance day on October 15. A major goal of this event every year is simply to get people talking about the issue, to make it visible, and to challenge our reluctance, as a society, to look this issue in the eye.

Because for mums like Hobart’s Kelsey Goodman and husband Nick, the loss of a baby is not some abstract idea or vague lurking fear. It is a real thing. And it shatters more lives than you might know.

Jade Fay Goodman was stillborn at full term on October 1, 2014. Her parents have just marked her sixth birthday with a small party, including lunch, cake and balloons, as they do every year, and a family visit to the cemetery.

“I was already in labour when we found out something was wrong,” Goodman says. “I’d been having really bad contractions that morning, so I called my husband home from work, we rushed straight to the hospital, ready to have a baby.

“But once we were there, they couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat.

“Afterwards, my obstetrician went back over the whole pregnancy and couldn’t find any sign of problems at any stage. They took blood samples, examined the placenta, but there was just nothing they could find that explained why it happened.”

Using a Cuddle Cot — a specially designed bassinette with a cooling system — the Goodmans were able to spend three days and two nights with Jade in the hospital before going home without her.

They were given a package by Pregnancy and Infant Loss support organisation Bears of Hope, which included information on things like counselling, grief support and organising a funeral, as well as a teddy bear to take home, so their arms would not have to be empty as they left the hospital.

Bears are donated to the organisation by other bereaved parents, often along with their own baby’s name, so they can be given to other parents experiencing loss.

It is a gesture so simple and so meaningful that it can serve as a link between bereaved families, a symbol of shared pain, an understanding, and an acknowledgment that even in that darkest time, you are not alone.

Bears of Hope co-founder and chief executive Amanda Bowles understands that pain and need for connection only too well.

Her second son, Jesse, was stillborn nearly 15 years ago, at 21 weeks’ gestation.

“We were given a diagnosis that is described as ‘not compatible with life’,” she says. “Jesse had no chambers in his heart, just the external walls. My body was essentially acting as a bypass for him.

“When it was discovered, specialists said that even surgery after birth wasn’t going to help, so we were encouraged to deliver him at 21 weeks.

“He was a perfect little baby, he looked just like his big brother.”

But Bowles found that after leaving the hospital there was very little assistance available that was specifically targeted towards the grief and heartbreak she was experiencing.

In a culture where people still rarely spoke openly about miscarriage or stillbirth, even finding another mother with shared experiences to talk to was close to impossible.

So along with Toni Watson, a fellow bereaved parent, Bowles co-founded Bears of Hope to help fill that gap, to provide information, counselling and grief support, access to peer groups with shared experiences, and to supply those vital early care packs to hospitals, containing helpful resources and a bear.

“Being able to find someone else feeling the way you were, so you could feel less alone and isolated, really was so unbelievably important,” Bowles says.

“Groups likes ours and other organisations like Sands (which specialises in peer support), one of the most valuable things we can do is help people to form those friendships, whether through social media or face-to-face, the positive outcome is that people are sharing their stories, receiving validation and acknowledgment of their grief.

“Just having the ability to instantly connect with others helps normalise how they feel, what they face, and it helps when other people can jump in and say I felt that as well!”

There are systemic barriers to bereaved parents, as well. Hospital staff, while well trained medically, are not always as well prepared to deal with the emotional impact of the loss of a baby.

“We do a lot of work there,” Bowles says. “Medical staff are taught to work at a clinical level, particularly in emergency. But discussions in front of bereaved parents need to reflect the care and consideration of the enormity of what they’ve experienced.”

Parents who have experienced stillbirth usually remain on the maternity ward.

“Hospitals sometimes do identify a room towards the far end of the ward and keep that as a room for bereaved family and while we accept that the maternity ward is the best place to be cared for by a midwife, we think more consideration needs to be given to the issue,” Bowles says.

Even something as culturally entrenched as what Bowles calls the “magic 12-week barrier” has its roots in extremely old and outdated attitudes that regard anything earlier than 12 weeks’ gestation to be “not really a proper baby”.

For this reason, many mothers who miscarry in the early stages of pregnancy are still subject to this strange assumption that their loss is somehow not that big a deal just because it happened early.

But that mother still had hopes and dreams for that baby, might have had a name picked out, and may grieve the loss of that future just as keenly as any other bereaved mother.

“Even now there is this kind of tradition not to announce your pregnancy before 12 weeks,” Bowles says.

“But it is very much a personal choice and there should be no judgment on someone who announces at six weeks or two weeks, because they want people to know. And if, say, at the 10-week mark they become a one-in-four who lose that baby, they will want their family and friends around them to support them.”

Tegan Small’s firstborn, Felix, was stillborn after an emergency C-section nine years ago, when Small suffered pre-eclampsia at 30 weeks.

“There was no notice, he died during the delivery and was pronounced stillborn,” she says.

She says many of the surrounding events that occurred at the hospital left her further traumatised.

“All I could hear on the maternity ward was babies crying, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. And the staff basically just dumped the Bears of Hope pack with me and said if I had any questions they would put me in touch with a social worker.”

But while Small experienced first-hand the kind of underestimation of her grief that so many bereaved parents endure, she also experienced the unique care of some of the organisations that exist to ease the strain.

“There are groups like Angel Gowns who make gowns and clothing specifically to fit babies from early loss to full-term. And Heartfelt Photography does a beautiful job of taking photos of the baby for you to keep.”

But never underestimate or minimise the ongoing trauma of losing a baby, whether early or full term.

And beware of using phrases that begin with “at least”.

At least it happened early, at least you can try again, at least you have other children … None of these things will be of any comfort and will usually just cause more pain.

While parents might get stronger and more practised at carrying their grief, its weight is never any less.

Small suffers post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of losing Felix and Goodman experienced postnatal depression when she had her second child, triggered by deep issues lingering from the grief of losing Jade.

Both have had other children now: Small has a daughter, Mia, and Goodman has a son, Tyler, both of whom are five.

Both mums continue to receive counselling to help them process and live with the grief, and they say the emotions are triggered by many unexpected things.

“I work in customer service and people always ask ‘how many children do you have?’,” Goodman says. “I always say two: one living and one who isn’t here any more.”

“A friend of mine had a baby born just three weeks after we lost Felix,” Small says. “So it was really hard seeing constant updates on his first this and first that and thinking we should have been doing that.

“And I went to a birthday party with my daughter recently for one of her school friends, whose name was Felix. I had to stand in a room while everyone sang happy birthday to Felix.”

Tyler, Goodman says, was conceived three months after losing Jade, and the experience of her second pregnancy was so stressful that Goodman says they have not wanted to try again.

“I was at the doctor’s every two weeks, when I went to the hospital they put a baby heart monitor on me the moment I came in the door and didn’t take it off the whole time, there was a midwife present constantly, and I didn’t have any drugs of any kind during labour,” she says.

But both mums have remained involved with Bears of Hope, so they can try to help other bereaved parents navigate that nightmarish terrain they know so well. Goodman has even delivered bear packs personally to other parents.

And if you ever ask someone about their children, and they tell you they have lost a baby, the best way to respond is to stick to the basics: be open, ask questions, make no judgments.

“I think the best response I have ever had to telling someone about losing Jade was ‘I’m so sorry, what’s her name?’, says Goodman. “It was really touching to be asked that and showed that they really cared. And the next question she asked was ‘when’s her birthday?’ ”

Most importantly: a bereaved parent is still a parent. Still a mum. Still a dad. And they still love their baby, even if they cannot hold them.                                                 

October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and the month is usually marked with fundraising walks and remembrance services run by Bears of Hope and Sands. But COVID-19 social distancing regulations have caused most of these events to be moved online.

Launceston will host Tasmania’s only physical event this year, the Bears of Hope Choosing Hope Walk on Sunday, October 11, at Royal Park.

Check-in is from 1.30pm and the walk starts at 2.30pm, finishing at 5pm.

Other memorial events will be held virtually via the Bears of Hope Facebook page.

There will also be the annual Wave of Light on the evening of October 15, where people are encouraged to light a candle and share photos on Facebook.

For more information about pregnancy and infant loss support services, visit bearsofhope.org.au or sands.org.au