It's been a rollercoaster but a well-managed one. Let me start by scene-setting for you. Sedgebrook Hall, just north of Northampton, was built 150 years ago and is a beautiful character building (with modern extensions in keeping with the style of the main house) set in manicured grounds, with old walls and interesting features in them. The grounds, combined with a weekend of perfect sunny weather, have proved perfect if you needed time-out for a calming walk.
The rooms are wonderfully conceived, both decoratively and functionally. It's a long time since I've taken such pleasure in staying in a hotel room.
The staff have been discreet, kind, polite and helpful. Can we import some of these good manners to the ladies who work on the tills in our French supermarkets?
So that's a big thumbs up for the venue. Which brings me onto the team that chose it! The society The Compassionate Friends have put many years' experience into organising this annual national gathering. And they should be congratulated for a superb job, excellently executed. The schedule has been seamlessly rolled out, with everything being optional so no pressure to do anything you don't want to. I'll tell you more about what we did later.
I want to mention here that upon my arrival mid-afternoon on Friday, I was a nervous wreck, despite telling myself to buck up on numerous occasions in the car on the way here. Start to cry, 'buck up', start to cry 'pull yourself together', start to cry 'stay strong'. I was so worried about dissolving in a flood of tears when I arrived. Well, there was no point in doing all that worrying, because that's exactly what I did! How could I not have done?!
I lovely lady called Margaret took me immediately under her wing and escorted me to my room, made me a cup of tea and gave me a huge hug. Such kindness and compassion. And that just about sums up ALL of the volunteers and staff who organise and help out at these gatherings. The 'less newly bereaved', it seems to me, help out the 'more newly bereaved'.
So back to the schedule. Early evening Friday there was a meeting for the first timers. There were about 20-25 of us I guess. Incidentally, I asked how many people were here this weekend in all, and there were just over a hundred. And, thoughtfully, we had the venue exclusively for our use (apparently after some negative experiences of shared venues).
In the book Beyond Tears - How to Live After Losing a Child, that I recently read, the nine couples documented met through The Compassionate Friends. I remember one mother saying that at their first meeting it felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders; it was a turning point for her and her husband.
I'm not sure I feel like that. But I can say, I have felt myself among people who understand, when so many people in my everyday life don't or can't. How can they? And I wouldn't want them to - you don't wish this upon anyone. You're a member of the saddest club in the world and you just don't want to be.
Anyway, after the welcome meeting, we had drinks and dinner, followed by an inspirational speech by a young lady who lost her sister in a road traffic accident. This young lady and her parents have campaigned and fundraised endlessly in order to raise enough money to buy an old pub in Deptford, London, which is now almost renovated and ready to become TCF's new offices. Well done the Mathers!
The next morning there was another keynote speech, this time by a young lad, Adam Fouracre, whose brother had been kicked to death in the street by drunken, mindless thugs. This chap has gone on to become a nurse by profession, and a tireless campaigner against violence in his spare time, touring schools to talk to kids about his brother's death and try and somehow educate kids against violence. Another inspirational young person.
Over the course of Saturday I had enrolled on two discussion groups and one workshop. The first discussion group was about what we can do with our child's possessions - my psychiatrist had told me fairly early on not to keep William's room as it is for too long as I would never stop grieving and move on. Well both other families in this group have their child's room just as it always was - one for seven years now and one for eight. The general consensus in this point, as well as most things, is do it your way. Whatever suits you best. There really is no right or wrong way or any set template. So that has relieved me of any pressure to change William's room or pack his things away - I'm so far from ready to do that.
The second discussion group I did was one on how to do good in my child's name. I feel like at some point in the future I'd like to do something to put something good back into the world in William's name. I heard about a lot of different and totally amazing things people had done - sports trophies, running marathons, all sorts of fundraising for charities, and then personal memorials such as benches, gardens etc were also discussed.
The good thing is - you can talk completely frankly about your child here, and you have carte blanche to ask the person you happen to be talking to what their story is. There is no embarrassment as we are all in the same situation.
However, over the course of a weekend, it does become emotionally draining. So many sad stories. So many children lost. Some parents have lost their only child, some have lost both or two of their children.
One thing it has made me feel so grateful for is that I was there holding William in my arms as he left us. So many parents did not have this final goodbye. It's something I hold onto and consider so precious.
After lunch I did a creative writing workshop. I ended up writing a five page poem! You know me - once I start, I can't stop! I have yet to decide whether I'll reproduce it here or not as it is quite graphic, recounting William's lifetime fight with Destiny. We'll see.
After dinner, we had a lighter moment as they drew for the raffle. I won a butterfly bookmark (the butterfly is TCF's symbol). Very poignant as books have been both my escape and my crutch. After the raffle they lit our candles in the paper lanterns outside on the lawns and we all had sparklers to light our way to find 'our' lantern in the rows. Beautiful. Very moving too.
Onto Sunday and the candle-lighting ceremony. This was, if you like, a non-denominational service with music and poems, followed by us all going to the front and one-by-one lighting a candle in the name of our lost child.
The whole service was enormously emotional. Almost everyone was in tears. We took a candle as our children's names were shown three by three on an overhead projector on the wall, with a dandelion clock background. William's name appeared at exactly the same time it was my turn to choose a candle. Perfect.
I remember one lady sitting behind me gasping out her son's name as it appeared on the wall. Such raw, raw emotions. But fine. This was the time and the place to cry and it was expected of us. There were boxes of tissues (as well as butterflies) everywhere around the venue all weekend. The ceremony closed with a moving and beautifully sung song from the TCF choir.
After a group walk around the gardens, we were back for the closing ceremony. There were the usual thank you's etc, but the nicest thing of all was that we were shown a special way to blow our candle out - a hard thing to do when you have lit a candle in memory of someone you have lost.
Do you want to know how to do it? You cup your hand behind the candle and 'catch' the flame as you blow it out. Then you bring your closed hand to your lips for a kiss, then to your heart, before turning your hand to face upwards and gently opening it. Something to remember.
I met so many kind, compassionate (yes, that word again!) and otherwise 'normal' people this weekend. There are definitely some I will stay in touch with (especially Tracy and Richard - see you in France I hope!).
I need to finish up now as my phone is nearly out of battery! So I'll post this, but may add to it later.
I am emotionally exhausted but very, very glad I came.
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