National Bereaved Parents Day 2023

Denise and Abbey

"What helped me was connecting with other grieving parents, joining groups such as this one and hearing their stories. It gave me strength to keep on going. It may sound selfish, but the knowledge she was not alone in leaving early made me think she was not targeted, nor was I as her Mum." Denise, Abbey's mum

What has helped me since I lost my beautiful daughter Abigail, aged 22 to an aggressive medulloblastoma brain tumour – 4 months from diagnosis in 2019.

In those early days I realise I was in complete and utter shock. I can remember mixed emotions from crying hysterically, to being able to chat about shallow meaningless things, even laughing and entertaining people. All the time knowing it was a big act, or a way of staying connected to my other life – my life before my loss. But then it became more and more exhausting and around that time covid struck. Even though that was a bad thing, it made me realise that I needed space to grieve.

I had been clinging onto people my daughter had been close to - somehow trying to stay in her world, but it dawned on me that those people could not stay in my lane, they had to move out, and were starting to distance themselves more and more. It hurt, but I knew I had to help myself.

So, what helped?

Not sure why, but I began to picture grief as a big bubble with everybody connected to her grouped together, reeling in shock, each finding it too difficult to return to normality. But little by little, they all floated off into the distance back to their own little bubbles, in other words, back to their lives.

That thought brought me to the conclusion that I was the only person that could help me and I found it easier to think this way: -

She grew inside me for 9 months. I knew her before anybody else and vice-versa. I spoke to her when she was safe inside my tummy and watched her tiny movements and felt her heartbeat. I pictured her and how she would look and she probably heard my voice before anybody else’s and felt my heartbeat. She knew my needs and I knew hers. She told me she wanted eggs and oranges and I ate them for her, and I told her she needed peace and harmony and a safe place to grow, which I provided her with. It comforted me to know that the bond we had is always going to be there for the rest of my life that she left her trace inside me forever.

What helped me was going for long walks and runs, spotting red robins in unexpected places, even on request at times. We shared a love for them after she had one visit her regularly on her lunch break at work – it was our thing. Her very best friend also got a visit in work from one as she sat in the canteen. Her friend who was there until the end – still is.

What helped me was playing songs from her playlist and thinking of her driving with them blasting out, loving life, loving freedom, and knowing that she had that, albeit for a short space of time.

What helped me was making a games room in our new house and putting all her things out in a way she would approve of and therefore respecting her ‘stuff’ because she just loved her ‘stuff’. When she went to America, I decorated her room and all she was worried about was where I had put her things - not the newly painted room.

What helped me and still does, was talking out loud and including her in conversations with other people. I will not stop doing that because she told me that she never wanted to be a memory. She hated it when the youth co-ordinator at the hospital suggested she make a memory box!!

What helps me is to keep her alive in everything I do because that is how it all began. Although I gave her life, I could not prevent her death, but hearing that life and death are all part of our journey and we will all complete that journey one day gave me peace. She did what she did in death as she did in life, she crammed things in and did everything at 100 miles an hour, so what did I expect?

It helps to know that she is part of me and I am part of her and remembering what she said to me not long before she passed - “we share the same heart.”

It helps when I read our Facebook messages and realise the number of times, we said we loved each other. That is so important because towards the end she detached from me as though she was angry with me. But I remembered how she did that as a teenager and had told me later in life she had to because she needed to break the ties with all the strength she could muster – the tighter the bond, the harder the break.

It helped me to keep a journal during her days of treatment when we were living at the Freemans Hospital permanently. I wrote down our intimate conversations around that time, some included very personal things about her love life and how at times I had to say “enough already!” The time we went to look at wedding dresses on one of our many trips to the Metro Centre and what we discussed that day. How she wanted her wedding to be and how she thought her boyfriend was going to propose very soon. As heart-breaking as that is, she felt excited and happy knowing that and that helps.

My journal also detailed my early dreams just after she passed and the many experiences I encountered. For example, just after her funeral, I was lying in her bed and a small white light appeared on her ceiling just over where she used to lie. I thought it was my watch reflecting, but it was not because I lay perfectly still and it disappeared only to it reappear, travel into the corner of her room and disappear for good. I believe she was saying goodbye. I wrote it down immediately so I would remember every single detail. Thank goodness I did that.

What helped me was connecting with other grieving parents, joining groups such as this one and hearing their stories. It gave me strength to keep on going. It may sound selfish, but the knowledge she was not alone in leaving early made me think she was not targeted, nor was I as her Mum.

I hope these words are a comfort to somebody. Just know, you are not alone. I think one of the biggest things in those early days that helped was reminding myself take one minute, then one hour, then one day at a time! I cannot believe it will be 4 years in October.