Mr. Brian Roche:

I thank the committee for its invitation to attend this meeting. I also thank Deputy Sandra McLellan. Over the past three years I have been in and out of Leinster House, so to get to this point is amazing for me. First and foremost, I am a bereaved dad. I want to outline my story to give the committee an insight into my world and why I think that this day is so important and why it should be ratified in Ireland.
In January 2006, we finally got the news that we wanted and had awaited for so long. We had already one child, Lynn, who was then six, just the right age to become a big sister. In February, we had the first scan at 12 weeks. Everything seemed fine but the baby was a bit small so they asked us to come back again in a few weeks. On 13 March, we went for this scan and brought Lynn along with us. After about ten minutes of scanning, we were asked to put Lynn outside. We were told something was not quite right and to come back in an hour to see a specialist.
We were told first that we were having two babies, and in the next breath that they were conjoined, both sharing a single heart. Our world just fell apart. We were told that nothing looked good at this stage and that nature would probably take its course. Due to the rarity of conjoined twins, we were advised not to tell anyone. A week later we got an appointment to see two consultants and were given a bit more detail about our children. They were joined at the upper chest, sharing a single heart and a pair of lungs. The chances of progressing past 16 weeks were very low. However, they continued to grow and after 18 weeks, Liz could finally feel them move. At 20 weeks, we found out that it was two girls. We named them Lucy, twin one on the left, and Ellen, twin two on the right.
By now we had told everyone that Liz was expecting twins. Even though we knew what the outcome was going to be, and the heartbreak that lay ahead, it was still our good news that we had two daughters. These girls were fighters; they were beating all odds and jumping over every hurdle that they came up against. We were up every two weeks for a scan and could not wait to see their tiny heart beating and to see the girls getting bigger and bigger. One week we would be told that fluid was developing around Lucy’s brain, which could be the beginning of the end, but the following week it would be gone. At 22 weeks, Liz had an MRI scan to get more detail and a team from Great Ormond Street hospital in London got involved, but the outcome was still going to be the same.
Once the magical 24 weeks was reached, scans became a weekly event. This was a week we were never supposed to reach. Lucy and Ellen always put on a show for their mum and dad. Even one time you could see Lucy slap her sister in the face. We brought Lynn up a few times and she was delighted to see them move. We told her that they were a bit sick but left it at that. How could we explain the truth to her when we could not grasp it ourselves? Over the next few weeks we continued leading double lives because to the outside world everything was fine but we knew what heartache lay ahead.
As Ellen and Lucy grew bigger, we made our memories of their lives. They used to love dance music on the TV and having a bath, when you could always hear Lynn laughing all over the house at the sight of legs and hands sticking out at all angles. Lucy was always the first to wake and within a few minutes would have her sister awake. They were surpassing all odds and determined to say hello to us. We were told that they might live for five minutes or an hour; we just did not know.
On 3 August, at 33 weeks, the girls decided to say hello to us. They were due to be delivered on 14 August but - as throughout this pregnancy - they did everything their own way. Our girls were born weighing just over 7lb 2oz. Ellen had officially been first but Lucy got her say in too because her hand was on Ellen’s face. We had them christened, then anointed, and 35 minutes later they passed away in their mum and dad's arms. Our girls had lived their lives.
Liz was in hospital for six days. Over those days, Lynn was able to hold her sisters, doing "ring a ring a rosy" on their hands and playing "this little piggy went to the market" with their toes. We took tons of photos. We brought them home in Lynn’s Moses basket and kept them at home for two nights before saying goodbye. Lynn drew pictures for them and we all placed gifts in with them. We had a private Mass at home and then to the graveyard. Lynn released two pink balloons. They were not tied together, but they floated off side-by-side, just as our girls had been for their lives.
Our two girls - even though their lives were so short - showed us so much courage and strength and put up such a fight for life that any parent would be so proud to have them as their daughters. With all the sorrow, they gave us so much joy. Later the following year, we had two subsequent miscarriages but as a couple we were strong and never gave up hope. In November 2008, our daughter Abbie was born.
As a parent, one of the most unimaginable things that can happen is the loss of a child. There are no words to describe that feeling inside and the emptiness one feels. I am a dad to six children, four of whom have passed. In the early stages after losing our daughters in particular, two things had me in a major panic. One was that I would forget them - how they looked, their smell, that sense of holding them. I remember meeting a couple in their late 70s at a remembrance service. It struck me how they comforted each other, remembering their loss from so many years ago. Strangely enough, I got great comfort from that, knowing I would never forget my children, no matter how many years passed. The second was the feeling that we were alone in this journey, even knowing our family and friends were around us. In my mind, this had never happened to anyone else; it was just us. However, 15 October quickly showed us we were not alone. This day and the act of lighting a candle showed us that there was worldwide support for families, which was openly acknowledged by this one simple event. This day allows bereaved parents and families to unite in remembrance of their loved ones and also allows non-family members to show their support.
The benefits of acknowledging 15 October as pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day in Ireland would be far-reaching. It would allow us to come together as a country to celebrate the lives of our children. It would be a platform for breaking the silence on pregnancy loss and the isolation that families feel at the loss of a child. It would also give those who were bereaved many years ago an opportunity to openly express the loss that for so long may never have been dealt with. As a dad, I fully believe things happen to us for a reason and that our children choose us. For that reason alone, I am so proud that I was chosen to be their dad and that they came into our family, albeit too briefly. Getting 15 October designated here in Ireland as pregnancy and infant loss day would be an ever-lasting legacy not alone for our children, but for all other families and their children.
I asked the parents for a quote and they gave me this:

When our little girl died, it was so unexpected and sudden that sometimes it doesn’t feel real. It is so important to us to keep her memory alive, to acknowledge her life, albeit brief, in whatever way we can. Lighting a candle on October 15th means we can keep her memory alive forever and give our little girl the recognition and respect she deserves. It also makes it acceptable for people to talk about the loss of a baby and be supported in that loss.

That was from Paddy and Maria Cahill. Another dad said: "The loss of a child is horrific, but the loss of a baby sometimes feels worse, as if you're confronted by a wall of silence and you feel you are unable to mourn the passing of your child." It is a taboo subject that people do not want to talk about or discuss. The date of 15 October is the only day parents feel they are able to step forward and talk about their beautiful baby. It is a day when it is OK to remember, a day when we can discuss the devastation of losing a baby and the shockingly high number of people it happens to. It has already been passed in the United States, Canada, and in New South Wales in Australia, although they are working to get it passed in all of Australia.
To conclude, I am just an ordinary dad, sitting before the committee, who, because of the loss of his children, is campaigning for something that I truly believe will make a difference not only for the healing process of families, but also for our children, so that they will never be forgotten.