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A quiet space for grief


I am Louise

I am a writer and a mother of two boys. Fred, my eldest son, died from Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia in May 2020, aged 14.

This site is designed to be a place to provide comfort, support and a window into childhood illness, bereavement and grief in all its forms.

The world can make us feel that grief is something to be hidden away, and endured behind closed doors. It’s only by sharing our stories that all of us can find a better way to look after ourselves and each other.


He was born in fury and he lived in lightning. He came headlong into life. He was a giant in joy and enthusiasms. He didn’t discover the world and its people, he created them. He lived in a world shining and fresh and as uninspected as Eden on the sixth day. His mind plunged like a colt in a happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences, he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out.

John Steinbeck

Recent Posts

Band of Mothers: the true meaning of Mother’s Day

When I was a child, I loved Mother’s Day.  More specifically, I loved Blue Peter and never more so than when the presenters uttered the magical words “Mums leave the room” before they unveiled this year’s craft creation.  I’m actually rubbish at crafts, so my Mum would feign delight at the latest wrapping paper, matchbox…

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The Little Tin Soldier With Only One Leg

One of Fred’s favourite songs that I sang to him when he was small was The Little Tin Soldier.  Originally by Donavan, it was a song my brother had sung to me when I was similarly small, so I know all the words. The story, based on the Hans Christian Andersen story,, is about a…

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World Book Day and the stories we leave behind

I always loved World Book Day, although I pretended I hated it.  I bristled at the expectation and I think at one point argued that it was a construct of the patriarchy.  However, I was dedicated.  My rules were strict, no film characters allowed.  If it was a film then the book had to have come first. 

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Getting away with it

There is a character in LA Confidential called Rolo Tomasi.  One of my favourite books, a nice counterbalance to Daphne Du Maurier, it’s a brutal crime story of police and political corruption, and a triumph of the broken and flawed over the venal.  It’s very much a tale for our age. Rolo Tomasi doesn’t exist.…

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Feathers

I couldn’t find a feather, there’s never one when you need one. You can’t plan these things, or know where to look. They are not like conkers or pine cones. Feathers find you, carried on the breeze in search of a new home. People tell me that they are messages from the other side, sent…

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Ode to earth

You are the one I have trusted my boy to, the only one now who can take care of him, the one who has always taken care of him. From the moment he tried to eat out of the plant pot, in our tiny earthless city garden, he was always in search of you. We…

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My Poor Feet

MY POOR FEET This was written as part of the Winter Writing Sanctuary . The course consists of a ‘Daily Spark’ in which Beth reads some poetry aloud, and then a writing prompt. This day’s prompt was to stand in the garden in bare feet. The Daily Spark – new plan. I’m listening to the…

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