Travels With My Son

On my very worst day, perhaps a couple of weeks after my son’s funeral, I stumbled into the woods and sat sobbing in the shade of a fallen tree that I had run past many times in the days when my son was just an abstract idea in the outer reaches of my imagination, and walked past not enough times during my pregnancy. 

My husband and I had had the most enormous fight (luckily one of only a couple in our early days of grief when we were both blindly navigating each other’s pain), and not only did I feel like I wasn’t needed – by my son who wasn’t here for me to care for, or by a job which to be fair I had happily stepped back from, I felt like I wasn’t wanted either. In that moment, I believed I had absolutely no purpose or reason to be on this earth.

I don’t think I had ever fallen so deep into darkness in my entire life. My pain and hopelessness were so great that in that moment I felt quite certain that if I lay down in the leaves I might just die and be swallowed up by the ground, returning what little of my life essence remained back into nature’s ever constant cycle of borrowed energy. 

But this didn’t happen. Because no matter how low and desperate and lost we feel, our bodies somehow know how to keep on ticking, even if just at the bare minimum frequency to keep us alive long enough to rebuild our energy stores and try to live life again.

Somehow I eventually got up and walked home. I would love to say that everything was magically better the moment I stepped through the front door, but that isn’t how life, or grief, work. But by letting myself just collapse for a few moments and feel all my feelings, and by working through it all together in couple’s bereavement counselling, it was possible to repair the cracks that the day had unveiled, and in fact gain a somewhat tired, but resilient strength from it all. 

Photography by Dominika Miechowska
This photo of Adam and I was taken by our wedding photographer Dom in our local woods before we finally got married in 2021, just over a year before Stewie was born

I’ve had many more dark days and seemingly hopeless moments since this time, but none as overwhelming or terrifying as that day. I can only hope I won’t sink to those depths again, but with the passing of time I’ve grown my support network and have developed even more coping mechanisms for when the dark times do return. Most importantly though, I know not to keep those feelings and fears to myself.  There is always somebody who will listen, and that in itself can be such a help.

If you or anybody you know feels like this, I truly hope there is a support network in place to reach out to, as I have been lucky enough to have.

If outside assistance is needed, there are a number of organisations whose purpose is to help and support us when we are in the depths of grief. Here are just a few that specialise in helping people through their darkest times, focusing on pregnancy, baby and child bereavement:

Aching Arms support helpline, video calls and e-mail

Child Bereavement UK support groups and helpline

Sands support helpline, support groups and online community

Tommy’s Baby Loss support group and guidance

The support and resources page also includes a number of recommended podcasts and books to help you through general grief as well as baby loss, and if you have the headspace to read or listen, I highly recommend starting with the book or audiobook It’s OK That You’re Not OK by Megan Devine. Because really, it is.