Compassion, Autumn 2021

Autumn 2021 - Compassion | www.tcf.org.uk 12 I heard someone say, ‘Grief isn’t a life sentence, it’s a life passage’. It’s the one common human experience we all have at one time or another. But we didn’t expect it to be the death of a child, did we? If you’re reading this, it’s likely you’ve lost a child or been affected by the loss of a child. You’re now discovering that grieving this loss is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. I know, because suddenly, without warning, my life changed. My beautiful 16-year old son came home from school complaining of a headache and a fever. The doctor diagnosed him with flu. But it wasn’t. Sometime during the night, my boy was taken from me forever. I found him the next morning in his bed, lifeless. The misdiagnosis was actually a swift and deadly form of bacterial meningitis. Have you ever felt such incredible emotion as losing your child? It’s felt by all parents and an unimaginable loss. unimaginable, until it happens to you. People refer to it as, ‘the worst that can happen’, and that’s exactly what it feels like. In the years following my son’s death, I discovered, no matter how great my loss, or how deep my grief, the world does not stop. In fact, it intensifies. I remember thinking… how can I ever be happy again? I felt as though my pain was visible to others and I would be forever wearing grief as a mask and a tagline… ‘I’m Sandy Peckinpah and I’ve lost a child.’ Then a friend gave me a journal and said, ‘Write. Just write’. The first blank page was so difficult. I could only put down one sentence, ‘My son died and my life will never be the same’. The next day, I wrote a paragraph, and each day after that I found words came more easily. My journal became my safe haven to empty the well of my sorrow, pouring tears of ink onto paper. And for a little while, I could let my emotions rest. I had to survive this. I had three living children who needed a whole mother. I was not willing to sacrifice my role in their lives by succumbing to paralysing grief. I kept writing. Words pulled me and pushed me. As weeks went on, I’d read back over the journal entries. I began to see something remarkable… I’d survived another day, another week, another month, and I was growing stronger. I’d see words of hope illuminating my way. There’s no magic secret to the journal. Just pick up a pen and begin with one word or Healing is not on a Timetable