Tuesday 26 January 2010

Restored , Returned



Warm are the still and lucky miles,
White shores of longing stretch away,
The light of recognition fills
The whole great day, and bright
The tiny world of lover's arms.

Silence invades the breathing wood
Where drowsy limbs a treasure keep,
Now greenly falls the learned shade
Across the sleeping brows
And stirs their secret to a smile.


Restored! Returned! the lost are borne
On seas of shipwreck home at last:
See! in the fire of praising burns
The dry dumb past, and we
The life -day long shall part no more.


W.H. Auden

..a few words..


I was asked to write a few words on child bereavement for a programme, hence the less personal style, but nevertheless, you are there in every word

...When your child dies your world is changed forever. Your heart is broken in a way you could never imagine possible. You will never return to the person that you were before your child died, and the process of coming to terms the death of your child involves irreversible life changes for you, for your family and for all those around you. This can cause others to feel mystified and shut- out. They seem to grieve the person you were “before”. But the most important thing is that you are able to get as much support that you can find, along with the necessary time and space for you to grieve in your own way. There is no map, and no right way, and there is no short cut. There are no recognisable neat patterns and there is nothing clean about it. There will never be a day that it will feel “acceptable” to you that your child’s life was cut short and that you outlived them. Life has been thrown into unrecognizable turmoil, and you find yourself in a bleak and lonely world that feels completely alien.
Becoming accustomed to the reality of your life without your child physically in it, growing alongside you, is a slow and painful process. In our high- speed world people want solutions fast. Often others close to you who love you may want you to “recover” quickly or come to terms with your loss. They may feel frustrated with how long it is all taking and they may offer advice or well-meaning comments that feel hurtful and inappropriate. They may also have their own opinions as to how you are coping, or not, and may express these without invitation. Sometimes you sense a feeling of barely disguised relief from those around you when, in their eyes, you make one tiny step, apparently forwards. However, for you, it may be that you just got through the last day relatively unscathed by the demons of grief, and it can feel like a hollow victory. (“So What. My child is still Not Here”). You may battle with guilt and try to appease, after all, you know that it is all well-intentioned and loving. All this can make a bereaved parent’s heart hurt even more. You may feel pressured to hide your true feelings, and you can often feel extremely isolated.


The grief that follows the death of your child unfolds in a way that others find hard to imagine. In the early weeks and months, you may feel raw with grief, in deep shock and after-shock, inconsolable and unable to imagine a life without your child. It is extremely common to feel that you want to join your dead child, or to feel that you cannot focus on your other children, if there are any. You may experience confusion, memory loss and inability to concentrate on anything going on around you. You may also feel so physically exhausted that you are unable to move, as if you are physically weighted down. You may be desperate to sleep but unable to. Answering the telephone, and dealing with the mail can seem like mountainous tasks, all requiring you to speak words to people that you are barely able to say to yourself – that your child is gone for ever. Most social events fill you with dread as they inevitably revolve around conversation about children. It is very important for those around you to be gentle, and to allow you time and space to spend thinking about your child and being with them, wherever you feel and sense that they are.

If you are supporting a bereaved parent, don’t expect them to plan too much further than the present day, or sometimes, the present hour. Offer a quiet place for them to feel they can express themselves if they need to. Sometimes, silence can be most comforting, as bereaved parents often feel crowded by other people’s opinions. Don’t give them advice, or suggest how they should feel. It is inappropriate - you’re most important act is to listen, be patient, and walk beside them in this most terrible experience. Don’t be tempted to offer advice on how they should deal with their child’s belongings, or what they should do with their child’s bedroom. These are all deeply personal choices, and it is up to the parents alone to decide, in their own time, how to best deal with these things. Most importantly don’t feel afraid to mention their child’s name, for fear of “upsetting” them or “reminding” them – they are upset already, and will not have forgotten! You can be sure that their child’s name is never further than a breath away for them. It is always in their heart and mind, and on their lips. To speak or to hear the name of the child they love so much and miss so desperately, and to know that the world has not forgotten, is a great relief. Be sensitive around birthdays, anniversaries and annual events such as Christmas and New Year. A Happy New Year is often a painful reminder of another year further from the life they spent with their child. These events can throw bereaved parents into the grips of grief, no matter how long after a child has died.
In the later months and first few years after your child dies, other feelings may emerge, such as prolonged feelings of bleakness, depression and the realization that your child really is never coming back. Often at this point, family and friends may be wondering if you will ever be able to resume a life with any happiness in, and they may despair themselves. If you are supporting a bereaved parent, be patient, and be there for the long haul.

It is important to remember in these later months and years that this is not a permanent state, and often the support of other bereaved parents can be invaluable at this time, when it feels as if the rest of the world has peeled off. Though it feels that you will never feel colour in your life again, it is still an important part of the grieving process. Slowly we find different things that have meaning. We find we are slowly moving, inching into a phase of our life where we may feel the presence of our lost child even more profoundly guiding us. We sometimes find a way to work or live that honours our child and their gift to us, and can rebuild a life that feels meaningful. We know that life will never feel the same again, but it can begin to offer us different values, and different strengths, and different relationships, and most importantly, a deep and continuing relationship with our beloved child who has died. Our hearts were broken and the love inside is deeper than ever. We have not “moved on” from our child, we have “moved with” our child. They may not have grown alongside us in life as we dreamed of and expected, but we have grown alongside them in love and grief, and they will be with us and inside us for ever.

Monday 25 January 2010

You'll never walk alone



I 've been aware, over the last eighteen months, that a different light is emerging. At first it came in glimpses and glimmers. I began to grasp the edges of you that had defeated my imagination. As the light bled into a stony dawn, it was if I understand colour for the first time, as each brick became rosy and the garden grew alive and opened like a flower. Colour grew stronger and i sensed that you were really there, just the other side of the veil between us. As if my bony skull clamped shut my view of the stars and the limitless universe, with you in it everywhere. So. It was me that was stopping you being with me. Grief and total despair restraining me. And like a dream fast running away as you chase it at dawn, those moments were gone again, impossible to recapture, leaving me deflated and disbelieving.


Now, those shafts of emerging light are longer and they stay awhile, illuminating everything in a different way - and that is to say , - you, my beautiful girl, are walking alongside me. It's the most incredible feeling. And I don't have to hold my breath. We are relaxed. You are present even when I'm not trying to soak every drop of you up. It's somehow as if we have both grown, dimensionally. We are expanded and we can do anything.

Friday 15 January 2010

A matter of life and death




Restored and returned, precious children.


On the eve of your birth, my beautiful son, celebrating the moment as if it still awaits me. Lavender oil bath, an opulent bubble in the starkness of the UCH nhs delivery 'suite' - sounding more like a hotel every moment..


You arrived next day, with a determined look that you still wear. You mean business. A precious timeless few hours in the delivery room, you, in my arms. The room floats and gently nudges the edges of the frame like a screensaver, soft and soundless. That incredible jesus woman, lowest rank probably in the scheme of things, who washed me as if in an act of devotion. I always wanted to thank her for that. We name you and tell you of your awaiting sister. You keep my gaze. And have done so ever since, steadily underlining the rational, the reason, the matter and fact of it all. Keeping me on the straight and narrow.

And you, my sweet girl, I feel I am at last with you. Aligned, and in line, with you. And in that, yes I am happy - a word I vowed I would never use again. I can never be happier than at those moments, when I had the two of you in my life, in my arms. The moment when you came to the hospital to see your baby brother, no sibling rivalry there. You were proud, excited, benignly generous in your immediate acceptance of him, you understood the place of things without any need for explanation. You were like a wise old thing. Without a doubt, I will never be happier. That's ok with me. Until I feel anything else , that is how it sits, and everything else is a bonus.


so - solitary and connected at the same time. Learning how to walk with you even though you are out of my physical sight. That, to get here, has burst my heart and brain to breaking point. And here I am now, in a sort of calm lake, cradling you both. So - here I am, verging on my half-century, with two children who both, in this life , are 7 years old....




Your mother in love,


xx