In January 2024, I moved to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, leaving behind the familiar comforts of home. Yet, the hardest goodbye was to my son, Zak, whose tiny body rests in Albany Creek, Queensland. Each day without him feels like a weight, an ache that never quite leaves.
This October, as we observe Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month, my heart aches with a mix of longing and gratitude as I reflect on how I’ve managed to keep Zak’s memory alive even from thousands of miles away.
In previous years, I had attended and volunteered at Walk to Remember events in Queensland and Canberra, finding solace among other families who understood my loss.
Knowing I would miss out in October this year, when I saw the announcement for the Say Their Name event on 25 March, I felt compelled to reach out to Red Nose. Despite the physical distance, I wanted Zak to be part of the remembrance service, to have his name spoken and honoured. The thought of leaving him behind, without anyone to visit or remember him, has been one of my life’s greatest heartaches.
The team welcomed my involvement with open arms, as they always do, and together we planned to create beautiful mementos for the attendees—cards and seed packets that would symbolise growth and remembrance. What made it even more special was that my mother-in-law designed and printed the cards, while my sister crafted stickers and assembled the seed packets. This collaboration became a way for them to honour their loss and connect with Zak, giving them purpose during this difficult time. As I coordinated from afar, my heart swelled with pride knowing that Zak’s presence was felt at the event.
On the day of the service, I was able to watch via live stream from Cambodia. The modern world we live in felt like a blessing; I could see families gather, share their stories, and honour their babies’ names. It reassured me that Zak was not forgotten—that his name was spoken, and he was recognised as a part of our family, as a part of this world. The thought of him being remembered, of him providing comfort to others, filled me with a sense of peace. What more could a mother want for her son?
Zak Michael Watson, born on May 5, 2016, at just 22 weeks and 3 days, remains forever in my heart. Though I never got to see what he would have looked like as he grew, I imagine he would share his sisters’ blonde hair and blue eyes—full of energy and mischief. My hopes for him were cut short, but I’ve learned to channel my love into honouring his memory. Each name spoken, each story shared about him serves as a reminder that he matters, that he was here.
My journey with Red Nose (then SANDS) began shortly after Zak’s birth, when I first attended a Walk to Remember event. It was the first moment I felt seen, understood by others who were navigating similar grief. Over time, I became more involved, volunteering, reading, and sharing Zak’s name through my daughters, who now help me voice our love for him. The support from this extraordinary community has been a lifeline.
In our family, we celebrate Zak every year on his birthday. This year, we made a space-themed cake and sang for him. I try to guess what he would like. My daughters blew out his candles and ate his cake for him. A dear friend, also a bereaved mother, took cake to his resting place, honouring Zak alongside her own lost child. In the beauty of that shared grief, I found strength, knowing that we are not alone.
This friend has been my rock since losing Zak, and in the most tragic of irony, several years later, after being my greatest rock and support, and Zak’s greatest advocate, she herself lost her daughter, TFMR. She attended my very first Walk to Remember event with me, as my support, several years later, I attended her very first event for her daughter, as support to her.
As I prepare for the upcoming events this October, I hold tightly to the memory of Zak. I do take comfort in taking part of the Wave of Light. We will light a candle at 7pm our time, and join in the world wide Wave of Light.
At our home we have Zak’s candle, his memory box, footprints and handprints are on display, we have his birth certificate and photos up on the wall.
We also remember Zak in the everyday, a song on the radio which was played at his funeral, a butterfly or a rainbow when least expected, helps keep us connected.
One of our favourite and most humorous ways of knowing Zak is all around us is the spelling of his name. Almost every year without fail Zak messes with our attempts to honour and remember him, with his name frequently being spelt wrong in slideshows and events. This now makes us laugh. I imagine he would be cheeky like this.
There’s a stigma surrounding conversations about baby loss, and I believe that education is key to overcoming the discomfort. I want to live in a world where I can freely say I have three children, where mentioning Zak feels as natural as celebrating the lives of my daughters, Ava and Zoe. The heartache may never fully fade, but it transforms into a bittersweet reminder of the love I carry.
As I reflect on my journey, I recognise the importance of connection, the healing power of sharing our stories. To those at the start of their journey remember you are not alone. Take one breathe, one moment, one day at a time.
I am not sure it gets easier, but Zak is a part of who I am, I am grateful for the privilege of being his mother. I don’t ever wish for a world without Zak; he is mine and I am his.
