‘Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.’
Dr Seuss
Welcome to my blog
If your precious child has died, I’m just so so sorry. There really are no words! It’s unbelievable. Unbearable. Brutal. Horrific! Nothing I can say will ease your pain but maybe just being in the company of someone who knows what it’s like to lose a child will help (a little).
On 7th October 2018 – our amazing youngest son Ben aged 25, crossed the finish line of the Cardiff Half Marathon. Without any warning and with no apparent underlying health conditions, he suddenly collapsed, went into cardiac arrest and died. He was super fit, very healthy and very adventurous!
Our lives are now defined by ‘before and after’ that one cataclysmic moment! Our world shattered and nothing will ever be the same.
The tsunami of grief and loss that hit our family is indescribable. If your child has died you will know exactly what I mean! My crazed brain still can’t quite process something so unbelievable and utterly soul destroying.
When Ben died I honestly thought I would go mad. I didn’t want to live. I felt trapped inside a living nightmare – as though my heart had literally been ripped out of my body. It wasn’t just a bad dream that I could wake up from – it was real life. I didn’t know where to turn. I needed to connect with someone, anyone, who knew what this hideous unspeakable grief felt like. I didn’t think I could survive another minute let alone another day and I was desperate to know how other parents were coping. I needed to know if these extreme ‘out of control’ feelings were normal – or as normal as is possible in the most abnormal of circumstances.
I spent night after night, when sleep completely eluded me, surfing the Internet for blogs and articles about child loss and grief. I struggled to find posts I could resonate with. I needed brutal honest truthful accounts of other parent’s grief stories. I wanted acknowledgement that my pain was real and I wasn’t some sort of freak. I needed to know that it was possible to survive. That I would somehow come out the other side – whatever the other side was! That I wasn’t as alone as I felt!
I couldn’t bear it when people, who were trying to be kind said they knew how I felt (even though they’d never lost a child) or that everything happens for a reason or that Ben was in a better place and we would all be together again one day. I wanted to scream because I needed him now!! I still need him now.
I didn’t want to hear about how I would get used to living with the pain or how it would eventually hurt less. The mere suggestion of any kind of healing made me recoil in horror. The thought of moving on without him felt completely wrong – like betrayal!
I wanted to hear that other people felt like they were going mad too. I wanted to hear about their fears and insecurities. I needed suggestions for survival – tips about how they had found the strength to get through each day. I wanted to hear how they survived the relentless grief, anger, numbness, agitation, crying, not crying, screaming, howling… the worst and most horrific sadness I’ve ever known. I didn’t need theories about grief – I needed the harsh facts. I needed to feel that I belonged to a group of people who were actually living my pain!
I bought book after book, started lots but finished few. I’ve saved a list (with a short review) of the the ones I found most helpful under my ‘Helpful Books’ tab.
Soon after Ben died I started frantically writing. I wanted to capture every crazed complicated thought, emotion and rant. I questioned everything (including my faith) as I struggled to come to terms with the worst nightmare I have ever known. It helped a little – even if just to relieve the tangled web of dark thoughts that made my head feel like a cannon ball!
So these are my blogs – a bit rambled and repetitive but as brutally honest as I dare put in writing!
We’re all different and what worked for me might not work for you. One thing I’ve learnt is that we must never judge each other – there is no right or wrong way to grieve. I sadly really do understand how complicated and debilitating grief actually is.
But I also know that we must be stronger than we think or feel. Our unconditional love for our child must be what drives us on. We do everything in our power to keep their beautiful light shining so that they maintain their rightful place in our families and are never forgotten.
I have survived almost eighteen months without my darling boy. It’s not easy and every day is still a huge challenge. In fact the ongoing effort of living with a broken heart becomes even more complex and unpredictable as the months go by especially as the numbing fog starts to clear.
But with God’s help (yes, I have even made my peace with God!) I am just about surviving – limping along, one day at a time. I still don’t understand why – losing Ben will never make sense. But my prayer for all of us is that when the waves of grief pummel us relentlessly into the ground – unexpected pockets of strength and hope will somehow get us back on our feet. We will rise up from the ashes of our broken world over and over again!
Just sending my love because I know a little bit of your pain.
Ruth xx
A little bit about Ben –
‘There are some who bring a light so great to the world… that when they have gone, the light remains.’
(Unknown)
Ben joined our family on 24th April 1993 – after a nine year gap he became the youngest of our four children. He made our already amazing family even more amazing!
He was handsome clever funny adventurous and kind. He brought an extra special light into our world. He was our best friend!
He smiled and laughed a lot. He brought joy with him wherever he went. He somehow managed to turn the mundane into an adventure. He made every moment count and was happiest when he was with his family and friends.
Ben loved the outdoors. He was a talented kayaker, raft guide, body boarder and snowboarder. He loved travelling and had lived and worked in Portugal, Chamonix (French Alps) and Norway. He had graduated with a degree in Product Design and recently qualified as a secondary school teacher.
He sang and played the guitar. He loved to cook. He had loads of friends and a beautiful girlfriend. He was planning his future.
But… on 7th October 2018 all that changed. His beautiful awesome happy life ended! Ben suddenly left this world and went to Heaven.
He was 25. No warning. No illness. No goodbyes. Just a beautiful normal happy family morning. He went out through the front door for the very last time and never came home. By about 12.30pm he was gone. Forever!!
Ben was running his first half marathon in Cardiff with his brothers, sisters-in-law and girlfriend. True to form he completed it in record time but as he crossed the finish line he collapsed, went into cardiac arrest and died. His final race was over!
We don’t know why his seemingly healthy heart stopped – the autopsy report was inconclusive. His cause of death was SADS – Sudden Arhythmic Death Syndrome. Apparently about twelve fit and healthy young people die from SADS every week in the UK. A simple heart screening test may have saved his life – but we didn’t know that until it was too late.
Thankfully Ben lived life as though every moment could be his last…
…right up until it actually was!!
All I can say is that he achieved more in his 25 years than many do in 80. His motto for living was ‘Happiness is only real when shared’ – quote from the film ‘Into the Wild’.
During the winter before he died he made a snowboarding video with Drew (his brother), Alix (his sister in law) and Craig (his friend). They jokingly said it could be shown at their funerals. It was! The song Ben aptly chose is called
‘The One Moment’ by OK GO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvW61K2s0tA
The poignant words of this incredible song sums up perfectly the way he lived his life:
you’re right
There is nothing more lovely
There’s nothing more profound
Than the certainty
Than the certainty
That all of this will end
That all of this will end
So open your arms to me
Open your arms to me
And this will be
The one moment that matters
And this will be
The one thing we remember
And this will be
The reason to have been here
And this will be
The one moment that matters at all
So while the mud
Reclaims our footprints
And while our bones keep looking back
The overgrowth is swallowing the path
There for the grace of god go we
There for the grace of god go we
There for the grace of time and chance
and entropy’s cruel hands
So open your arms to me
Open your arms to me
And this will be
The one moment that matters
And this will be
The one thing we remember
And…
A little bit about me –
I’m just a very ordinary person. I celebrated my 60th birthday in 2018 – the same year Ben died. This is the last birthday card he will ever send me. In it he told me I was awesome – how precious is that?
I love spending time with my gorgeous family and friends. I like nice clothes and dabble a bit in interior design. I work for a children’s charity, play the piano (very averagely) and love travelling with my husband in our camper van. I believe in God and up until Ben died I was confident, happy and content with life!!
I’ve never done anything particularly outstanding apart from being wife to Paul and proud mum to four amazing children – Steve Vic Andrew and Ben. On reflection that is pretty awesome! I have watched them grow into beautiful confident kind adults. We now also have two wonderful daughters in law, one lovely son in law and six absolutely gorgeous grandchildren.
I’ve really struggled since Ben died. I still look like me but so much has changed that I hardly recognise myself. I had no idea the trauma of grief could do that. I’m simply not that same person any more but am desperately trying to hold on to hope and live like Ben did. He left a beautiful legacy and found joy in the simplest of things!
It would be an honour if you would walk with me through this journey into unchartered territory. There really are no rules and each of us must be allowed to grieve in our own individual way. Writing has become my therapy.
I write to try and make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. The loss of a child is simply brutal – it belies any rational understanding. I write for all the broken parents who, like me, are desperately trying to rebuild their lives; trying to find strength in their pain, trying to live with the emptiness of grief, trying to find little moments of joy and trying to hold on to hope!
Thank you for reading!
