Changes

Loss does more than turn our world upside down. It brings the world as we knew it before, to a sudden and complete stop.
We need to find a way of keeping going in this new, unasked for, unwanted, different world.
As we do, haltingly to begin with, we discover that we too are different. Loss has changed us.
And sometimes those changes, change themselves day to day and over time, as we wade through our grief, so that we can only see the pattern clearly, looking back.

All the losses Lockdown has caused have changed many of us too. Smaller losses (for most of us) and temporary (for most of us), and so perhaps the shifts in our thinking that Lockdown has caused are also temporary. Which is tragic, if they've been good and worth holding on to. A waste of Lockdown, almost - a waste of all we've been through.

The Black Lives Matter movement too - the grief we feel as our eyes are opened to the daily injustices and discrimination, suddenly seeing the world in a different way - through other eyes. 
The huge danger, that, when we ourselves are not the ones being impacted on a daily basis, any improvement in our awareness, any increased enthusiasm for justice, is also only temporary.

Nicholas Wolterstorff's  book, "Lament for a son" is a thoughtful, raw and honest recording of his grief for his son, who died in a mountaineering accident. He writes, "if sympathy for the world's wounds is not enlarged by our anguish, if love for those around us is not expanded, if gratitude for what is good does not flame up, if insight is not deepened, if commitment to what is important is not strengthened, if aching for a new day is not intensified, if hope is weakened and faith diminished, if from the experience of death comes nothing good, then death has won."

How do I ensure that the changes in me are good and lasting?

I am not self-made. I've learned to look to God for my strength and my hope, knowing the He never fails to provide them.  My prayer is that He will be the one shaping and transforming me in this new and different world, so that Jennifer's death, and the other losses in my life will not have won.

Cover Story

The initial image for the book cover was gorgeous. Thrilled to have it so early in the process, I was working through the resources section, checking the information I had was up to date. And there was the image, again so beautiful and moving, on the home page of a newly updated website supporting parents suffering child loss.

So, suddenly, an opportunity, to find something more personal. "As it happened" ( how often in my life has that been true), we were due to be at a day's training event in Ruchazie, where we had lived when Jennifer was born. I skipped out at lunch-time and did a reccie of Hogganfield Loch, which sits on the north side of the scheme. If Jennifer had lived, we no doubt would have regularly pushed her pram round the path, pointing out the swans, relishing the beauty and the fresh air. Needing a bench for the photograph, I found one that was ideal, patches of green paint still covering some of its metal structure, providing some colour.

Two weeks later, our middle daughter's father in law, an amateur photographer, drove me back to Hogganfield Loch with his camera and tripod. Safe in a little cardboard box, I had a pair of exquisite little pink booties, knitted especially for me by the lovely Kimberley of Heidihouse Crafts. I also had brought pink roses which had been sitting in a vase in our house.

We attracted a bit of attention, Robin focusing his camera on the booties and flowers on the bench, me standing around trying hard to look inconspicuous. Dog walkers, of which there were many, stopped and chatted. Warm, friendly, kind, curious, taking an interest in the story of strangers, reminding me again of the warmth and friendliness of the Ruchazie people. Nurturing the confidence I would need in the following weeks to renew decades-old contacts as I sought permissions for the book. As it happened. God is good.

A Distance Breached

Amid  Covid-19 when physical distance between us all has gradually increased, preserving our safety and the functioning of our NHS by turning our households into islands,  something amazing and wonderful...

Initially it felt bleak. No longer to see our daughters or our new granddaughter, I was immersed in the book, working through the second and then the third copy edit. The very patient editor was persistent about permissions for the people I had mentioned - get permission, lose them or change their names were my only options.

Three little brothers and their three cousins, who had visited us before and after Jennifer was born, coming up for hot chocolate or hot juice when it was cold, playing with toys, making crafts. Knowing that Jennifer was sick, watching me with kind eyes, and then, when she was gone, still visiting, and proving such a comfort. What a disservice not to name them. We moved away from their housing scheme twenty-six years ago. How would they feel about hearing from me after all that time? I was nervous. My husband pushed me, 'What's the worst that can happen?' Still nervous. He pushed me again.

As it happened, their surname made them easy to find on social media. Six messages out of the blue from me, all quickly replied to. Six little children had remembered, had grown up remembering and still remember. Wonderful chats on Messenger. The promise of meeting up. The promise of hot chocolate and a hug when this is all over. Ripples. God is good all the time

Where do I look for happiness?

I have a problem. I look for happiness in the wrong places. Not drink or drugs or anything too physically harmful. Chocolate and Netflix at times, certainly.
But worse, for them and for me, I look for my happiness in others.
As parents, the temptation to live vicariously through our children is always there - for our own lives to become shallow and hollow as we desperately try to hang on to their coat tails. Our preoccupation with them can become obsessive, stifling, suffocating.
Is it more so with me because I lost Jennifer? I don't know. But I do know that I continually make that mistake. I often look for my happiness in my children.
And here I am, doing it all over again with my grandchild. Wondering when I can next see her, hold her, never ever satisfied.
And that's the thing I keep having to relearn over and over. That's the clue, in fact, which warns me I'm looking for happiness in the wrong place all over again. When we do that, it never satisfies, we can never ever get enough.
Eleven years ago, a wise friend reminded me that we've not to depend on anyone except God for our happiness.
'Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty."'
The right place to look is Jesus.

Early Days

It is early days. Snow on the ground, in fact. Only a few hours of daylight, and very tiny green shoots pushing through the ground, to give hope of spring.
And it's early days for number two daughter and her husband, with a little bundle of life now seven days old. Rubbing their tired eyes, falling in love with her all over again every time they look at her, wondering how many layers of clothes she needs for their first venture outdoors.
And early days for me too, still breathing out that sigh of relief and prayers of thankfulness. Muscles still relaxing, spindles gradually loosening, shoulders slowly dropping.
Not for them, the agony of loss. Thank you, Father.