Childhood Grief. A big topic. One that was neglected in the past, but has been explored by researchers, therapists and parents in recent decades.  A topic that, by definition, can only really be experienced by children.

Legacy projects are something that keeps a bereaved parent focused. The energy that should be spent caring for our lost child is in need of a place to go. As for any cause, advocacy is all about passion for a cause and can result in funding, awareness, politic change, etc.  Any cause related to my son, is something I am passionate about.

This is a children’s oncology ward, yet still a battleground. It is a battleground that is also about life and death and suffering.  The enemy is still hidden from sight and still …there is no voice of reason willing to bargain with me even, though I offer myself in exchange.

There is a saying – the nature of things. It means - the usual and expected characteristics of life. As a parent, you are there to nurture, to protect, to teach, to love, to watch your son grow – this is the nature of things. Watching your son die, living without him - that is not the nature of things. But when it happens, you have to find ways to cope. Sometimes that means channelling Mother Nature and adopting 50 plants. 

There are some that would prefer that we never see it, share it, never allow ourselves to feel it. Even those that say they are fine with negative emotions will still want to fix it for you. They want to help, but there is no fix for it. And eventually they wish you would put your mask back on.

It’s a club that no one wants to join. It’s a club that you are forced into and can never leave. It’s a club with a very clear and specific criteria. I hate it but there’s nothing I can do about it. When I lost my son – I joined a wider community of grievers – some silent, some known. When I lost my son, I joined an even more specific club. It’s the ‘Club’ of bereaved parents and we all agree, it’s like no other.  

I am sitting in my car at the lights and I see a sign that says ‘Chermside’. And it hits me. A flashback to the moment my little boy died. I remember every detail and every devastating feeling of helplessness, rage, fear and horror that I felt in that moment. Even though that moment first happened in the early hours of a Wednesday more than a year ago – it was happening again in my mind at a set of traffic lights. All because of a road sign to ‘Chermside’.

It is perhaps well known that people struggle to let go of a loved-one’s possessions once they die and it is true for me.

Once upon a time…. I took time for granted. Then my world started to fall apart and the concept of time started to mess with me. So, time is relative. Time can ‘fly’ or it can be ‘as slow as a wet week’. One thing I am sure of and know with great clarity when I think of time and my Tom – It wasn’t enough. I needed more time. He was only seven. Truthfully though – I was always going to need more time.

Now, as a bereaved mum perhaps I acknowledge that I am fairly protective of the word ‘grief’.  To me, grief is about losing someone and knowing that you will never get them back.