It’s two years since we lost Teddy and I’m reflecting on how I’ve changed since then.
Materially there is an obvious difference. We are without Teddy and we are with Xander. In 2 years we have had two babies, one is with us, one is not.
Last year was a year of grief and expectation. Two twisted branches rising up to the air as we grieved Teddy and hoped for Xander. This year has been a whirlwind of parenthood, of becoming, becoming a dad, becoming Xander’s dad.
Two years on and my reality is sinking in more deeply. I’m Teddy and Xander’s dad. Teddy is not with us. Xander is. This is my family. This is my life. In the pictures we look perfect and that includes something invisible.
October will forever be reflective. What we experienced with Teddy was something I can never ever forget. It was traumatic and horrifying. It was also a time of beauty, sensitivity and gratitude.
When I was wrapped in grief I felt a profound awareness, I have never ever been so present, nor seen life in such detail. I could see the lines on trees and the way raindrops raced down a windowpane. I slowed down completely to the point of stopping. I was totally still. I could see the world move in the way it does.
It’s strange to admit I miss that feeling a bit. The closeness, the meals being dropped off. Having nothing to do on a Wednesday, other than just be sad. Eat loads of Guylian sea shells, put the log burner on and watch Harry Potter with our feet touching under our blankets on the sofa.
I felt at that time that I was changing. Deepening and becoming a new person. It was like I’d been given a new pair of contact lenses that only a few of us own. I could see the same world I was in before, but it all looked totally different.
I wonder now how much I have changed? Or whether the lessons of grief have since been lost on me?
I vowed that this life event would change me in some way. I wanted it to. I wanted to use it as a platform, a blessing, to become anew. Maybe I was forcing it.
In some ways I’ve not changed at all. The work I have done since has been what I think I’d have ended up doing. My response to losing Teddy was typical to me; write about it, create brands and communities related to my pain to help others.
I’m proud of this. I sound like I’m not. I am. I’m just pondering how I have changed, or how I haven’t. It’s a reflective time of the year.
My course has changed as much as I may have changed. By losing our first baby I’ve been given an incredible gratitude and awareness for Xander. I’ve parented and shown up for Xander in a way that would not have been possible if it were not for losing Teddy. My life has been altered because the order of events has meant I’ve responded to my circumstances in a way I wouldn’t have done before. A fork in the road, a sliding doors moment. A slit in time where I’ll always wonder, what if? We all have them. You will too.
Would I have taken 3 months off with Teddy and travelled to France for a month, Ireland for 3 weeks - or would I have gone into provider mode and been stressed and anxious about becoming a dad. Probably. The course of my life has changed. I can’t say if it’s for the better or not. Just different.
Has grief fundamentally changed me though? That’s what I’m wondering. I felt like it was shifting me on the inside on an underlying level. I felt like my frequency was changing from a high pitched “dinngggg” to a low “gonngggggg” - I could feel tectonic plates moving. It was an earthquake after all.
I wanted it too. I wanted my grief to be a catalyst. Like how you see those people who run around the world, or swim the Atlantic because they find out they have incurable cancer. I thought it might be that for me. A purpose, a passion, a new beginning. A second chance?
I hoped I might retain the stillness that grief bestowed. That quality of presence that actually felt so good and nice. Now, I’m not so sure.
Grief is a teacher. Well, it’s actually death or the possibility of death doing the teaching. I know what the lesson was but I haven’t done all the homework. It’ll take time I think, to put it all into practice.
Losing Teddy taught me a lot. I really confronted death. Not just death. Life and the very essence of”why?” Losing a baby for unknown reasons took me to the ends of the universe and back, to the great why. To the deep black. Why does “stuff” like this happen? The way the cells come together in an embryo can be explained to me by a consultant registrar, but it still doesn’t answer “why?” Why me, why us, why now. There is no answer. It just is.
I found the answers I’d been looking for. Mostly that there aren’t any. Let go. Surrender. Life cannot be controlled. Every minute and every moment is an unfolding that can only be explained, but never truly understood. I finally get the cosmic joke of all this. It actually is quite funny. These knots we tie ourselves in.
Grief taught me to be still. To be present and it’s a lesson I’d like to revisit, because it’s surprising how easy it is to revert to type. To go back to old norms; to to-do lists, plans, recurring thoughts, whatever the next thing is. Sitting in that deep stillness isn’t easy, isn’t ‘normal’ but it’s always there for us. Waiting.
Losing Teddy taught me that life is now, not later. It’s here in this moment, not on the notes app on my phone. It’s in the tap tap tap of this keyboard with my feet on the floor and the hum of the road in the distance. It’s in my breath. In slowly and out. There. It’s live and real and thirsty. Life is out there waiting for us to engage with it, play with it, dance with it. Don’t just think about it. Do it.
Grief does stay with you. I like that. You get to grow with it and around it. I’m two years on and I’m still getting used to it all. This new course. This new me. I know these lessons will stay with me and I’d like to keep learning from them. It’s a well I can continue to drink from and when I do I find it so incredibly nourishing. I’m sipping from the secret water David Whyte talks about below.
And in the words of Mary Oliver. I’ve had my box full of darkness, I’m still unwrapping the gift.
Cheers,
James x
Some updates from me:
I’m creating a brand around grief, called Aster. Creating fine jewellery to honour the life of those we love. A gemstone set in a star on a pendant that is handmade for you. You can personalise the piece; choose the metal (Silver or Gold), the pendant (rectangle, oval, circle), the gemstone and other customisations personal to your experience. I’m very proud of the beautiful pieces of jewellery we are creating that match the incredible life experiences people have. If you’d like one, reach out and we can discuss what you’d like to create.
I’ve relaunched Founder Coaching, articulated my founder coaching philosophy and I’m taking on 3 more Founders to work with.
Life is full. Xander turns 1 in two weeks. Generally though, life is really good and I am starting to feel renewed.