Changing Rooms

No. This isn’t a Daytime TV programme, but is a discussion that inevitably comes up at some point after a child has passed away and it’s a very delicate subject and one that, as a bereaved mum myself, I approach with gentle footsteps and sensitivity.

When a child dies, the energy in their room changes without a doubt. Once, where there was lots of activity, noise, laughter and shouting at times; maybe music, dancing, singing, clattering around, leaping and giggling, there is simply silence.

The sound of silence is deafening. Has anyone ever felt that? It is a sound that is uncomfortable to hear, it’s now more frightening than it is peaceful. To a bereaved parent, it’s something that triggers flashbacks, memories, heartache and sometimes it’s enough to bring on a panic attack and post traumatic stress.

Silence is craved in meditation, for calm, solace, mindful thought, balance and relaxation and is ultimately a place of equilibrium that might be a good focus for a bereaved parent, but that is something to aim for, in time and might not be a first step after losing a child.

Silence in this instance, is something that raises my heart rate and sends me reaching swiftly for the Ashwaghandha liquid to calm my already burnt out adrenal glands. Silence makes my chest tight and my throat non-existent. It makes my mind and body fidgety, to the point where I am better off heading out for a walk, or perhaps to the running machine, or to find a safe space to write.

In one of the first Bereavement Groups I attended, which, in itself was a massive step, as it meant having to say out loud that my son had actually died; something I still quite can’t get my head around to this day and don’t think I ever will. In this group, the parents discussed the fact that everything of the child’s for any period of time, will sometimes remain right where it was when they were last alive. It’s like a security feeling; a statement to the world that these children, our beloved little human beings we adored, were here with us for a time. They existed and what a blessing to have them here with us and what a gaping void we face every day, knowing we will never have that opportunity again.

We talked about what some would see as non-sensical items. We still have packets of pizza mix, unopened, which we kept in a cupboard on Piam Brown Ward, which have Ben’s name on and his favourite flavour of crisps which he never got to eat. I’m sure some of you reading this might think, ‘oh, for goodness’ sake, just get rid of them; they’re out of date…’ but that to me, is a really difficult thing to do, because it begins to remove a little part of Ben’s memory in our house, in our home and I can’t do that just yet, nor do I want to.

Some of the parents giggled with me when we talked about it, but then I heard stories of keeping old receipts, parking tickets, cinema stubs, half drunk bottles of their favourite drink and I felt like I wasn’t quite so alone or strange in my thinking or heartbreak.

In July 2019, two days before we heard the words, ‘there’s nothing more we can do and perhaps it’s best we just make him comfortable,’ (which is another story altogether) … it was our youngest’s birthday; the last birthday we would all celebrate at home together and the children decorated decopatch cats and dogs. Ben’s was only half-finished, but it sits on the kitchen windowsill with the girls’ creations, left as a reminder of our lives before relapse and after cancer, living with the shadow of cancer in our lives; knowing things might not have been quite right, but still having hope. Always hope.

Over a year later, Ben’s bed still has his duvet set on it, left just as it was, with his favourite toys tucked in. We’ve dusted and cleaned; we’ve put most of the Lego builds into crates and left his favourite books on his shelves and we leave his bedside light on. He never liked the dark and it stays that way, just in case he’s around and I feel he does pop in now and again, whatever anyone thinks.

Every so often, I wonder if his younger sister would like the room she gave up for her brother when he came home from hospital, back and I wonder if he’d be happy to go back into his old room, too and then I realise just how difficult even moving crates around and cleaning a once lively, noisy room is, let alone altering anything else and the thought fades again. It’s not something that we are ready to do yet and the fact is, we may never be ready.

Changing rooms with our eldest seems manageable, so we are doing that this weekend, allowing her a chance for a change, more light in her room and space for friends to come over. It also allows me to live my dream of becoming much more minimalist (who am I kidding?)

The trick is to listen to and lead with your heart here. There is no right or wrong way to move within grief or alongside it and these are decisions that you have to make at the right time for you and if there’s never a right time, or you try to move things and it is too much, then allow yourself to feel the impact that a change like that will make and wait.

Other families have moved house within a year, or have moved their living children into their sibling’s rooms and have found it a very comforting step and as grief is such a unique animal, what works for one person may not work for another, which is why it is so important to only make changes when it is right for you. If that day never comes, then that is absolutely ok. There is no rush and no time limit on these things.

Grief is not something that can be mended or solved; it’s an ever-changing part of your life that will remain with you for the rest of yours. It is all of your love wrapped up in memories and moments; from the moment of birth and of life to the moment of dying and the last breath, knowing that you are still living after your child’s heart has stopped beating and there will be new memories and moments without one of your children physically present.

So, for me, all I can say is that it is a time for slow steps; no sudden moves, unless your eldest is badgering you for your room and you are happy to give up your wardrobe space!

Bluebells in the garden