Sunday Thought July 26, 2015: Two Perspectives, One Half of the Same Whole

At first for today’s Sunday Thought I was going to choose one or the other of the pictures below. Both appeared on my Facebook timeline this week, and summed up perfectly my feelings.

After a while, I realised I couldn’t choose between them because they are two halves of the same whole – so I chose both:

For anyone who thinks that grief has a time limit, or that you ‘move on’ from the death of your child. There is a Hugo-shaped hole in my heart that will always remain. I feel the ache from that hole every day, I feel the pain of the void his absence has left in our lives. I feel the frustration when people don’t know what to say for the best, or do not mention Hugo.

But – oh, I feel such a proud rush of love when people do mention Hugo. When they admire him for the gorgeous, feisty baby he was. When they observe the work that has been done in his memory.

That is because Hugo’s Legacy comes from that pain, that void. As Angela Miller says, the love that oozes from it gives me the power to use my experiences to help others, to make others sit up and listen, to challenge.

To change the world.

This is something I have difficulty with.

Since Hugo died I have discovered the very best of people: people I knew before, some I have met since. Such kindness, empathy, warmth.

Through my blog I have made the most beautiful friendships. Some are fellow loss mamas, others are not. We share in common a passion for sharing with others our feelings and experiences through words, a determination to give comfort to others, reassure them they are not alone.

Through social media I have made the most wonderful friendships. Professionals from all fields. Kind, compassionate, determined people willing to listen and take account. People willing to help me get involved, use my skills, collaborate to make a difference.

Through my blog and social media I have been given fantastic opportunities. Opportunities to get dressed up, have fun, be me; opportunities I never thought I would have.

Opportunities I never thought I would pursue, or do: speaking in front of large audiences, and with a clear voice too. The power of that love for Hugo gives me the strength.

Many beautiful moments.

All opportunities that came because Hugo died. Yes, these opportunities have come as a result of a lot of hard work, but the motivation for the effort comes back to the same reason.

Friendships, relationships, opportunities. But no son. No offence, but there are no prizes for guessing which I would prefer.

While I have a better sense of comfort with the opportunities I have been offered in the past year, I doubt it will ever sit well with me.

I would give it all back to be another mummy with the everyday trials and tribulations of caring for an energetic, willful 13 month old little boy. Who knows what our lives would have looked like in reality, but it would have been full of beautiful moments. Beautiful moments of a different sort. The wonderful moments of motherhood, the frustrating moments.

But what is done cannot be undone.

The way forward is to move forward. Reflect on the beautiful moments I had during those 35 precious days with my beautiful boy. Wish for more, so many more; no amount of time can ever be enough.

Hold on to those beautiful moments, and look to the future. Forging more wonderful friendships, generating more opportunities, creating more beautiful moments.

Hugo will always be a part of them.

Sunday Thought May 3, 2015: International Bereaved Mothers’ Day

Today is apparently Mothers’ Day in most parts of the world. Here in the UK, Mothers’ Day is in March. Who sets the dates for these things?

But that doesn’t matter. Today is also International Bereaved Mothers’ Day.

Today’s Sunday Thought is with the latter in mind. The thought comes from Angela Miller, the author of the wonderful I Am The Mother of All Mothers book that my heart and soul really needed so very much.

 

It is human nature, I think, to offer advice when someone is hurting. It is a kindness, we may think, to make the pain go away, to make the person better. Sometimes it’s appropriate, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

The bereaved get a lot of well-intentioned, unsolicited advice. I hate being told what I ‘should’, or ‘should not’ do. Too many times I have had someone talk at me. Perhaps they were trying to comfort me. But what I wanted to do was to tell my story, my way, in my own time.

They have assumed they know how I feel – assumptions based on their own experiences, perhaps, or things they have read.

We all grieve differently, in our own time, in our own way.

There is no right or wrong.

No ‘shoulds’ or ‘shouldn’t’.

As a result, I can be reticent to tell my story face-to-face, especially to people I don’t know, or trust.

Mothers who have lost a child suffer enough. Try not to offer advice if it is not asked for, however well-intentioned it may be.

Just be there.

Listen.

Hold their hand.

Give them a hug.

Send them a note, a message, a text to let them know you are thinking of them.

Because my world ended when Hugo died. My world has been clouded in the world of grief, a miasma of swirling greys.

Thank you to everyone who has been walking with me, helping me to see in colour again.

I imagine other bereaved mothers hold similar sentiments. If you know such a mother, please hold their hand, too.

I Am The Mother of All Mothers

The Mother of All Mothers.

A message of hope for the grieving heart.

This beautiful book, by fellow bereaved mama Angela Miller delivers on its promise.

You Are The Mother of All Mothers, by Angela Miller

While a year on from Hugo’s death the grief is not as acute or raw as it once was, the pain remains. While, a year on, the feelings of guilt: that I did not do enough to protect Hugo, or to stop him dying, or that my illness and his death were in some way a punishment for misdeeds have diminished, those feelings remain.

I had bought spot for Hugo on the memorial page (with a copy of the book) at the end of last year, and eagerly awaited its arrival.

Almost as if it knew when it was most needed, the book arrived on a day shortly after the first anniversary of Hugo’s death, on a day when the presence of this ever-lasting grief and the knowledge that the life of a bereaved mother is forever was a heavy, exhausting weight. As Angela says in the book, “It is the heaviest, most torturous burden there is.”

Me and Hugo, on the day he died.

The book is simple, yet profound. Simple is good for a brain steeped in grief-fog. Too many books about child loss waffle on and on, and are overly sentimental (‘unicorns farting rainbows’, as I like to call it) meaning I gained little benefit from them.

Angela’s short but so sweet nuggets of wisdom act, as promised, as a balm against the feelings of guilt, and the seemingly bottomless pit of pain.

The profundity of her words cut through my heartbreak, fought through myexhaustion to soothe the very facets of what hurts the most. Words that can come only from a mother who has also lost a child, who understands the depth of the hurt, the pain, the eternal torment.

Every page is meaningful, but I would like to share with you pages that I found particularly resonant:

To choose the pain all over again.

Keep breathing, keep fighting, keep believing.

Superhero Mama.

Angela’s words of reassurance: that Hugo’s death is not my fault, it is no punishment for misdeeds, that I could not possibly have done more were words I very badly needed to read. While I have been told similar words countless times since Hugo’s death, they reached those parts of my heart, my soul, my mind like the biggest, most comforting hug.

Short, simple, succinct, pulling no punches – from someone who truly gets it.

Every page is beautifully illustrated with calming colours.

It is a book to sit and read in the future for comfort and hope, when such words are most needed. For this journey of grief is forever.

I am proud that Hugo’s name features on the ‘In Loving Memory of…’ among other much-loved, much-missed children from all around the world.

Hugo’s name on the ‘In Loving Memory’ page.

I first became aware of Angela and her work at last year’s Butterfly Awards (I was honoured to be shortlisted in the author/blogger category). Angela won the online support category for A Bed For My Heart, and her acceptance speech (read by a toastmaster; Angela lives in the US) was utterly beautiful. Paraphrased from memory, it read “There are no winners in baby loss. Each of us has to watch other children exceed the age of our lost babies, and other children doing things our babies will never do.”

Following the event, I checked out Angela’s Facebook page – anyone suffering the heartbreak of child loss may find the words of comfort and range of other plentiful resources helpful.

While nothing can ever take away the pain of not having Hugo in my arms, this book is something that eases that pain, just a tiny bit. Anything that eases pain of this magnitude is a great gift, a comfort, a balm for my broken heart.

It gives stokes my reserves of inner strength, will help rekindle my fighting spirit, encourage me to be more kind to myself.

For I fought for my child, I fight still.

I love Hugo in death as I did during his life.

I am a superhero Mama.

I am the mother of all mothers.