Finn's Story

There are times, at night that I can’t look out our front windows without physically feeling and being emotionally drawn into that night. If our front walkway catches the streetlights and the stillness is there I can physically feel the cold of the pavers on my bare feet as I chased the emergency response team that came for Finn. I left in a nightgown crying and begging them to save my baby boy, to bring him back to me. I’ve heard the desperation in my cry every day since.

There was nothing anyone could do. Though Finn was revived (his heart began beating again) it was only with the help of life support. He was gone. I think I knew that the moment I found him. The day he died I cried the heaviest tears imaginable. I held him and all the tubes and wires as they told us we had to let go and say good-bye. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the NICU that day. I don’t remember names but I remember faces, there were so many faces that came close to my face - most often the memory is so overwhelming it takes my breath away – all the faces of people coming close to me to say something comforting, most of is garbled in my memory, just as most of my words came out garbled, nothing made any sense, but we were surrounded by people who were caring for us.

There are some people who cannot be thanked for the work they do. It is impossible to find the right words. They put their hearts on the line every day. It takes a special kind of person to work in an arena of such immense feelings and be able to be both compassionate and realistic, focussed, detached and in the moment, scientific, biological and reactive…, they get the job done with determination. Everyone who cared for Finn whether it was when he first arrived or when he left did it with the greatest of effort, and genuine concern. Many of them attended his funeral and have remembered us long after. Every memory of Finn is a little bit of life for him, a little more time on earth.  

That is why we wanted to coordinate this fundraiser with the hospital. Finn’s days at TBRHSC were short, but days like his happen all the time. If there is anything we’ve learned through losing a child, it is that we are not alone. There are countless bereaved parents like us trying to find meaning in it all, and countless carers trying to help them through it. Whether your stay in the NICU is two days or months, every minute there freezes time. Nothing is more precious. Anything we can do to help more babies make their way home is a passing thought of Finn, and carries him along in the thoughts of others, which in a small intangible way makes him feel nearer to us.

Losing him, having to say good-bye and let go felt like all the air left the earth and the lights went out. It felt dark for a long time, then the fog settled in and stayed for what seems like a lifetime. It didn’t (and still doesn’t at times) feel real – that he’s gone. He was perfect. Each little finger, each little toe, his button nose and soft blonde hair, and his precious little chin. I loved every bit of him so much that on his second last day I photographed his toes and arms and held my fingers up to him to show the comparison. He was so little, I had forgotten how little newborns are and couldn’t believe how incredibly cute he was. I had imagined him for years hoping for a second child, so to finally hold him and admire him was the most peaceful experience of my life.

With my first baby, Hannah, I was like any first time parent fumbling through it all. With my third, our rainbow baby, Oliver, I was terrified most of the time (I still am)…, but with Finn I only remember feeling peace. He was a breath of fresh new life after the loss of my mother to breast cancer four months earlier. He was a new direction, an exciting new chapter. I had been a mother to a daughter for fifteen years, so to now be a mother to a son was surely going to be an adventure.

While expecting Finn I was excitedly preparing to take photographs of our new little one wearing a collection of crochet and knit hats that I had purchased through Etsy makers. At the time I did not know how to knit, crochet, or felt, but I was an admirer of all the fibre arts and received many top marks from my mother for being an excellent yarn ball roller. In the short time Finn was with us I didn’t get a chance to take any of the photos I had planned. What I did capture is better than anything I could have planned. It was the morning of September 27th, I had Finn with me upstairs, and the sun was softly rising through our bedroom window, the light was just right to fall across a newborn’s waking face. I tossed a backdrop sheet from my waiting pile across our bed, slipped off Finn’s sleeper (to capture as much of his soft skin as possible), lay him on the sheet and gently placed the little rainbow striped knit elf hat over his head. I took three photos with my iPhone before quickly slipping him back in his sleeper to stay warm. I didn’t take the photos too seriously, assuming I would retake a similar one with more effort using my "real camera" and better props.

It's amazing now, to think how easily I brushed off that moment at the time because it's such a deeply treasured memory now. He was so cute in that hat, and his little eyes were peeking back at the sun. His eyes were open a lot for a newborn, and that morning he was taking it all in. 

Finn’s rainbow elf hat now hangs in a shadow box opposite his photo wearing it. It is what I’ve modelled all of my infant elf hats by.

I learned to crochet about a year after Finn lived and died. My thoughtful friend Sheri taught me a few simple stitches and sent me off with the confidence that I would know what to do next…, and I did. I had already found a new passion in needle felting. What developed was a love for wool, and a deeper respect for the animals who provide us with beautiful workable fibre. Through that, a quirky art I think I’ve always fostered started to take centre stage. It began with making thank you gifts for the people who helped us the most and grew into an outlet to provide handmade, thoughtfully made keepsakes for all kinds of people. Combining crochet with my needle felted projects resulted in the development of Olives and Bananas, a yarn shop named in honour of my three children. Oliver and Hannah are held together in my logo with a small dragonfly representing my little Finn, who inspired it all. 

Inspired by Finn’s rainbow hat, I began a fundraiser called Infant Elf Hats, where donated the money I received for each infant elf hat I lovingly crocheted. Over $1,000 was raised for the NICU, and the world is filled with that many more one-of-a-kind treasured keepsakes. Now I'm continuing that fundraiser by asking for donations in honour of Finn.

Designs grew in my garden: foliage, flowers, herbs and vegetables appeared on my hats. Some decorations were felted wool, others crocheted; all coming together to create something beautiful.

When I was planning infant photos while expecting Finn I found myself most attracted to these elf hat photos and the versatility of how they were used in photos. I still love the elf hats for so many reasons and never tire of the photos I see of them being worn.

Finn’s little brother, Oliver, who was not a very willing participant in infant photos, posed long enough for me to take about three photographs of him wearing my first "sweet pea" elf hat. This was one of the first hats I made and it is tucked away with other precious memories of his early months. 

I have a dear photographer friend, Mell, who stands firmly in the school of photograph everything, every minute, every glance, every memory, all the time.., a school I was wary of stepping into not wanting to always have a camera in Finn’s face, but I couldn’t help myself and I felt a bit guilty doing so. I don’t anymore. I stand firmly beside Mell. Had I not been so camera crazy with Finn I wouldn’t have such a precious collection of his short life. I wish I had taken more.

I do hope that Finn’s story also inspires people to capture more moments.

This is more than a donation. It's healing. Proceeds will go to the tiny ones, like Finn, who are full of hopes and dreams... to help them go home with their parents and make those dreams come true.

I try to remember what it was like when I was expecting Finn and how fearless I felt once he was born healthy and home. There’s strength in that.

Donate to the NICU