In the quiet hum of a neonatal intensive care unit, where every beep and breath is a fragile prayer, one mother’s heartbreak became the beginning of something extraordinary. Millie Smith and her partner, Lewis Cann, were expecting identical twin girls when they received news no parent should ever hear: only one of their daughters would survive. The discovery shattered their world — but out of that unimaginable grief came a symbol of love and empathy now recognized around the world: the purple butterfly.
A Joy Interrupted by Tragedy
In November 2015, Millie and Lewis learned they were going to be parents for the first time. Millie, who had twins in her family, said she had a “gut feeling” from the start that she was carrying two babies. Ten weeks later, doctors confirmed the joyful news — identical twin girls. For a brief moment, their world was bright with possibility. Then, just days later, everything changed.
During a routine scan, the technician went quiet — that terrible silence parents instinctively know means something is wrong. Millie remembered how her heart sank as the room filled with stillness. The doctor finally explained that one of their babies had anencephaly, a rare and fatal condition in which a baby is born without parts of the brain and skull. Most infants with the disorder live only a few hours after birth. The couple was told their daughter would not survive, but terminating the pregnancy would also risk the life of the healthy twin. They made the impossible choice to continue, determined to give both of their girls — Callie and Skye — every moment they could.
They named their daughters long before delivery. “We knew Skye needed to have a name before she was born,” Millie said. “Knowing she might only survive for minutes, I wanted her to have her name for as long as she could.” The name Skye came easily — a promise that she would always be somewhere they could look up to.
Three Hours of Forever
On April 30, after 30 weeks of a high-risk pregnancy, Millie went into early labor. The delivery required an emergency C-section. The couple was guided by a bereavement midwife to a special space called the Daisy Room, where families could say goodbye in peace. Against all odds, both girls cried when they were born — a moment Millie describes as “the most beautiful and painful sound of my life.”
They had just three hours with Skye. In those hours, she breathed softly in her mother’s arms, her tiny fingers curling around Millie’s thumb. “We were cuddling Skye when she passed away,” Millie recalled. “It was the worst moment in our lives — but I’m proud she fought so long to spend that time with us.”
Callie, born premature, remained in the NICU for several weeks. Around her were three other sets of twins, families focused on feedings and milestones, unaware of the shadow that lingered over Millie’s heart. The nurses who knew Skye’s story eventually stopped mentioning her, and the silence deepened. One morning, another mother — exhausted and joking without malice — said to Millie, “You’re so lucky you don’t have two to deal with!”
The words pierced her like glass. “She didn’t know,” Millie said later. “The comment was innocent, but it broke me.” She fled the room in tears. And in that moment, an idea was born — a way to ensure no parent in her position would ever have to face that kind of pain again.
The Birth of the Purple Butterfly
That night, Millie began sketching. She designed a small purple butterfly — a simple, gentle symbol that would speak when words could not. The plan was clear: any incubator displaying a purple butterfly would quietly tell others that one or more babies in a set of multiples had died. No awkward questions, no accidental wounds. Just silent understanding.
“I chose a butterfly because it represents the babies who flew away,” she explained. “And I chose purple because it’s for both boys and girls — soft, respectful, and full of meaning.”
Soon after, the first poster appeared in the NICU where Callie was staying, explaining the symbol to staff and visitors. The idea spread quickly, traveling from hospital to hospital, then across borders. Today, the purple butterfly project, now supported through the Skye High Foundation, operates internationally. Stickers, cards, and keepsakes bearing the butterfly help families, nurses, and visitors recognize loss with empathy and care.
A Legacy of Love
Callie, now a joyful seven-year-old, carries her sister’s memory everywhere she goes. Their home is filled with butterflies — in pictures, on blankets, in the small ornaments that catch the sunlight just right. For Millie, every purple wing represents not just Skye, but thousands of babies whose brief lives changed their families forever.
“Ultimately, I can’t stop the heartbreak of losing a child,” Millie said, “but I can help make the hardest days a little gentler. If something as small as a sticker can prevent another grieving parent from breaking down, then Skye’s life continues to make a difference.”
What began as one mother’s tribute has become a global message of compassion. Hospitals now display the butterflies proudly. Parents write letters of thanks, saying how the symbol made them feel seen. And every April, when Skye’s birthday returns, the world grows a little more purple — proof that love, once given, never truly dies.
If you ever see a purple butterfly sticker near a newborn’s crib, pause for a moment. Behind that delicate image lies a story of love, loss, and remembrance — a reminder that every tiny life leaves a mark, and every parent carries two hearts: one that beats, and one that remembers.