Thank you for taking the time to visit Aran’s Memorial Page 💙

Born at 31 weeks on the 2nd of August 2010, Aran, along with his twin brother Ishan, was ready to meet the world. Aran, weighing a tiny 1lb 4oz, came out fighting and didn’t require ventilating. He was perfect.

He spent the first 16 weeks of his life in special care and neonatal units. However, while in hospital he contracted Group B Strep, pneumonia, and meningitis. For both early- and late-onset Group B Strep disease particularly for babies who develop meningitis, there may be long-term consequences such as deafness and developmental disabilities. Sadly, Aran experienced all of these.

He fought everything that was thrown in his direction and finally came home on oxygen and a feeding tube in November 2010. He was doing well, growing, playing, smiling with his big sister and twin brother in a loving family environment. He made us smile and completely changed our views on parenting. From having a perfectly healthy child to everything changing in the blink of an eye, our eyes were opened. We adapted our needs, just as our amazing son Aran did.

Towards the end of March, Aran became seriously ill again, and our lives changed forever. He was taken by ambulance to the local hospital, where he sadly suffered two cardiac arrests. He was stabilised and transferred to Great Ormond Street Hospital. Having already endured so much, our little soldier continued to fight. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet, and as long as he was fighting, so were we.

Aran spent the last eight weeks of his life at Great Ormond Street Hospital. He fought a good fight, and in never giving up, he taught us so very much.

As you can imagine, this was the most difficult time in our family’s life, knowing our beautiful baby boy was so sick and that we couldn’t take his pain away or make it better. We would have given anything. With the incredible support of the staff and this amazing hospital, we were able to take our beloved son home on a life-support machine, to a house full of love and memories. He wasn’t in pain, the suffering was over, and the lesson he came to teach us was learnt.

Aran sadly passed away in his mother’s arms on the 9th of May 2011. 💙

“The nurses and pediatricians at Great Ormond Street Hospital were amazing beyond words. Each of them was gentle and skilled, always on hand to talk to us and give us as much time as we needed. The palliative care team helped us through Aran’s last moments, ensuring everything was done with his best interests at heart. We experienced warmth, friendship, and love from the staff, which helped us get through each day.”

♥ It’s not how much you accomplish in life that really counts, but how much you give to others.

♥ It’s not how high you build your dreams that makes a difference, but how high your faith can climb.

♥ It’s not how many goals you reach, but how many lives you touch.

♥ It’s not who you know that matters, but who you are inside.

♥ Believe in the impossible, hold tight to the incredible, and live each day to its fullest potential. Tomorrow is not promised.

My Journey So Far…..

In the days and weeks following Aran’s death, countless people told me, “It will get easier.” Now I can say that, in some ways, it has. My son’s death is no longer the first thing I think about when I wake up, nor the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. It no longer consumes me.

But even though an endless number of days have passed, I still miss him. I still have days and weeks when the pain feels just as raw as it did when we lost him, and moments that make my head spin. Child loss is a loss like no other, one often misunderstood. If you love or know a bereaved parent, remember that even their “good” days are harder than you could ever imagine. Compassion and love not advice are what’s needed.

If you’d like an inside look into why the loss of a child is a grief that lasts a lifetime, here is what I’ve learned so far while trekking through the unimaginable....

1) Love never dies

There will never come a day, hour, minute, or second when I stop loving or thinking about my son. Just as parents of living children love unconditionally, so do bereaved parents. I want to say and hear his name just as naturally as other parents do. I want to speak about my deceased child the same way people speak about living ones.

I love my child just as much as you love yours, the only difference is mine lives in heaven. Talking about him is often taboo in our culture, but I hope to change that. Just because it may make others uncomfortable doesn’t make him matter any less. His life was cut irreversibly short, but his love lives on forever. And ever.

2) Bereaved parents share an unspeakable bond

Over the years, I’ve been continually struck by the bond between bereaved parents. Strangers become kindreds in seconds, a look, a glance, a knowing of the heart. No matter who we are or how different our lives may be, there is no greater connection than that shared by parents who understand the agony of losing a child. It’s a pain carried for a lifetime, and only those who have walked this path understand both its depth and the immense love it holds.

3) I will grieve for a lifetime

Period. The end!

There is no “moving on” or “getting over it.” No fix. No solution. No end. For as long as I breathe, I will grieve, ache, and love my son with every part of my being. I will always wonder who he would be, what he would look like, and how he would fit into the tapestry of our family.

Grief lasts forever because love lasts forever. The loss of a child is not one finite event, it’s a continuous loss, unfolding minute by minute across a lifetime. Every missed birthday, holiday, milestone, graduation, wedding, and grandchild that will never be, an entire generation forever altered.

This is why grief lasts forever. The ripple effect lasts forever. The bleeding never truly stops.

4) It’s a club I can never leave, but it’s filled with the most shining souls

This club called child loss is one I never wanted to join and can never leave. Yet it’s filled with the most compassionate, grounded, loving, and resilient souls I’ve ever known. Warrior mums and dads who redefine bravery.

Bereaved parents move mountains in honour of their children. They start movements, change laws, and turn unimaginable loss into legacy. Love is the most powerful force on earth, and the love between a bereaved parent and their child is something to behold.

5) The empty chair never becomes less empty

The empty chair. The empty room. The missing space in every family photo. Time doesn’t make it less empty. Nothing fills it. Empty is still empty. Missing is still missing. Gone is still gone. Help us by holding space for that truth.

6) Because I know deep sorrow, I also know unspeakable joy

Grieving my son forever doesn’t mean my life lacks joy. It’s both/and, not either/or. I live and love more deeply now. The joy I feel today is richer because of grief’s alchemy.

Grief is unpredictable, inconsistent, and strange and that’s because it’s meant to be. We don’t get over it; we learn to live with it. My life is more vibrant not despite my loss, but because of it. In grief, there are gifts, never worth the cost, but gifts nonetheless.

I have Aran to thank for that. Being his mum is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. Even death can’t take that away. 💙

We were able to take our son home. Even though the outcome wasn’t what we wanted, he is now at peace, thanks to the incredible support from GOSHCC.

We fundraise to say thank you for the love and care shown to us and our beautiful baby boy. We will never forget him or the compassion we experienced. Thank you to everyone who has supported us, every single penny makes a difference.

Aran’s memory will always live on. A true soldier. A fighter until the end.

💙 Miss and love you always. Forever in our hearts💙