Moving Forwards

Brixton Road, London, June

Why and how we grieve is a topic which still fascinates me; perhaps the memory of being consumed by the madness of very early grief has given me an appetite for trying to make some sort of sense of it all now. And I think this is partly what Grief Models attempt to do. In today’s first re-post, I talk about a relatively modern one which is still my personal favourite, Co-Destiny.

I find Co-Destiny as a concept very helpful. Because it speaks to the continuation of not just my relationship with Dom, but the opportunities I am finding to keep him present, not just in my world, but, via the things I get to do in his name, in the world at large. This not only keeps him close by, it gives me a strong sense of purpose and has restored meaning to my life, in spite of the tragedy of physically losing him.

But, by way of contrast, some concepts which are commonly referenced within the grief community have the absolute opposite effect on me. In fact I feel passionately that they have no place in my world, after losing my child, and top of my hit list is Acceptance. This is the title of the second re-post today, and the final one I’ll be revisiting from my ‘Obstacles To Healing’ series.

In this post, and attempting to tackle what for me is the thorny idea that ‘Acceptance’ is the pathway to healing, I referenced most of the usual buzz-words associated with surviving difficult times (treating many with what, in the context of losing our child, I’d call a a healthy disdain.) The book they came from was also called Acceptance and was subtitled with the rallying cry to Create Change and Move Forward. Even in the final section ‘Facing a Difficult Loss’ the subheadings had me shaking my head: Rebuilding…Forgiveness of others (hmm)…and Self-Forgiveness (yes, that one again) and, managing, in spite of everything, to find Gifts (oh please do give us all a break.)

Sometimes, by way of self-protection (and especially in the early days) I’d say we have to put up a healthy resistance to exposing our intensely painful loss to the supposed healing that comes with embracing such ‘words of wisdom.’ It’s easier of course when we’re just reading about them from a book, and really very satisfying to just throw the thing to the floor (which I’m sure I did back then) when we’re feeling particularly pissed off about the simplistic advice we’re being handed. But so much harder to know how to react when it’s offered to us in person by a parent whose children are all still alive.

And yet…and yet…I really do NOT want to lose myself to this loss…

Because, I actually did find enough resonance in the latter part of Padraig O Morain’s book to stop feeling so cynical. The truth is that no good comes from endlessly channeling precious energy towards maintaining that other sorts of pain can’t possibly touch that of child loss. It is enough that other parents and I have spaces where we can share how, in losing a child, we have experienced the very worst pain of our lives.

I believe there is a real risk that, in viewing our tragedy as beyond the scope of any kind of healing, we may never be willing to lift up our heads again and see what’s over the parapet. Continuing the battle analogy, making the greatest tragedy of our life the only thing that now energises us can have really negative consequences, resulting in our being forever at war with others, (and even worse, with ourselves.) At some point we have to find some form of personal Acceptance.

My version, as I say in today’s repost, and a big part of my integrating this loss into my life, is being willing to ‘Come To Terms’ with Dom’s death. This is a very different thing from wasting energy engaging in the futile task of trying to accept it, because it can and will never feel right. Instead, for me, these three words acknowledge that remaining in battle-mode is exhaustingly unproductive and, in terms of any kind of healing, gets me nowhere since it fails to give me the one thing which I still really want: to have my son back.

I’d like to end with an explanation for the photo at the top of this post. Last month, as a delayed birthday present, my daughter took me to a Gay Music Festival in London, headlined by the outrageous Scissor Sisters (although in fairness the many exposed male bottoms I saw whilst walking around Brockwell Park rather put the band in the shade.) It was great fun and seeing the drag queens strutting their stuff whist lip-syncing reminded me of watching a similar show on the first night of my visit to see Dom in the Philippines, which made me smile (as well as cry.)

Caitlin and I had traveled separately to the gig, arranging to meet up at Brixton Underground, where, emerging alone onto the street, I had heard the drink seller shouting out ‘Rum Punch’ (words which brought back fond and drunken memories of my son and and I getting through a whole bottle of white rum cocktail on that same Philippine trip.) Since I was uncharacteristically early, I decided to stop at a cafe where I chose a cake, labelled Lemon Drizzle, which turned out to be orange (the fruit I very much associate with Dom now) and rosemary, his favourite herb. Of course, I couldn’t have been more delighted about the confusion as it gifted me with yet another precious touchstone to my beautiful boy.

THIS is how I get you back now, I said to myself. And then, looking up, I saw it. A bright red London bus with a JD Sports advert on the side, with two words written in bold capitals.

FOREVER FORWARD.

Lots to read, thanks if you made it to the end! Next month my posts will be on the subject of moving forward whilst finding the ‘Joy’ which remains in our lives. Because I believe there’s still an abundance of it out there, if we stay open to this possibility…

My aim in all my writing is to share my journey in ways which help other parents navigating child loss feel less alone. Posts are free…but if you wish to show support, I always appreciate new subscribers and any sharing of my work. The buttons are below, thank you.

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Stories from other bereaved parents can be found in Tears, Tools and Treasure. And if you would like to share your own story here, you are warmly welcomed to DM me.

Unless otherwise stated, every word in this post is my own. No form of AI was used to produce it as I believe in the importance of lived experience and authentic expression.