29 August 2021, Singapore
Thank you all for joining us in-person or online to celebrate the lives of our daughters, Abigail and Lara. If it was not for the pandemic, we would love to have everyone here with us today.
About two weeks ago, Mandy and I both mentioned to each other that the moment we had been preparing for over the past 8 months was starting to feel… real. That feeling was tinged with some anxiety, but overwhelmingly, it was excitement. Excitement about the two new lives who were about to enter our family.
However, just under seven days ago our lives were turned upside down. The excitement was replaced by shock and grief. The anxiety now threatened to overwhelm us.
We prepared for an unplanned labour 48 hours after our babies’ hearts stopped beating. We were also having to arrange their funerals.
Normally, the beginning of life and its end are separated by decades. And the significance of these events evokes different emotions. Yet Mandy, myself and everyone here, are trying to understand how life and death can overlap so closely, and what it all means.
I have delivered eulogies in the past, but for people much older than Abigail and Lara. I find it a great honour to be asked to reflect on someone’s life, distil down their character and understand the impact they made. But we do not have decades of memories for Abigail and Lara. Fate did not give them a chance to enter the world. Instead, we, everyone here, are left with unfulfilled hopes and dreams for Abigail and Lara.
We are only able to contemplate what kind of people they would be, by sewing together tiny insights into their character. Abigail was cheeky, always restless in the womb. Lara, the more relaxed one of the pair.
And their names. Abigail, which means a father’s joy. Lara, which means protector.
Originally I thought it was a complete, wholesale tragedy that Abigail and Lara would not be able to receive the hopes and dreams of Mandy, myself, our family and our friends. The dreams Mandy had for them to become gold medal athletes, as we watched the Tokyo Olympics. The excitement our families felt about two new granddaughters, in families dominated by grandsons. Likewise, our niece, Ellie, looking forward to playing with girl cousins when she’s currently surrounded by boys.
And all the thought, both practical and emotional, Mandy and I put into preparing for Abigail and Lara’s arrival.
Although this week has been utterly heartbreaking, I can also acknowledge there is another angle to the passing of our little girls. It is incredible that Abigail and Lara were the cause of so much happiness in their short lives.
The outpouring of love and support from our family and friends over the past 7 days, because of Abigail and Lara, is humbling. This is the love and support that Mandy and I receive on behalf of Abigail and Lara.
Make no mistake, Mandy and I are hurting deeply. Even when we seem composed on the surface.
We feel robbed.
This is not fair for our daughters.
We want to nurture our little babies.
But alongside my grief of losing what could have been, I can also cherish what we had, thanks to Abigail and Lara.
A few weeks ago, I said to Mandy that we would look back, and see the time we spent preparing for our daughters’ arrival as one of the happiest of our lives. This remains absolutely true, despite the past seven days.
My little girls, we miss you so much.
We love you so much.
For what you have done, and what you could have been.
We’re so happy we got to hold you.
And be with you for a short time.
We're so happy you got to visit home once.
But we now need to let you rest.
You'll always be our daughters.
You'll never be forgotten.