In the days after my baby died, I was surprised I was alive – my limbs were heavy and I felt like my organs were failing

When Clare Mackintosh lost her son in 2006, she felt like she was dying, too.

Here, the bestselling author reveals what she wishes she’d known about coping with grief 

In the days following the death of my five-week-old baby, I was surprised that I was still alive.

I felt as though I was experiencing multiple organ failure.

Alex and his twin brother Josh were born at 28 weeks, after my waters broke unexpectedly.

Both boys exceeded expectations, avoiding the health problems associated with prematurity.

But suddenly, Alex deteriorated.

Tests revealed the presence of the hospital bug Pseudomonas which developed into meningitis, and then he had a brain haemorrhage.

My husband and I made the heartbreaking decision to end his suffering and turn off the ventilator that was keeping him alive.

When Alex died, I wanted to die too.

There were times when I thought I would. It was such an effort just to breathe or walk.

Soon after his funeral, a woman knocked on my door with daffodils from her garden.

She had lost a child many years before, and she told me it wouldn’t always hurt the way it did at that moment.

I didn’t believe her, but as the years passed, I came to realise that she was right. 

Despite being a full-time writer, mostly of crime novels, for more than a decade, I’ve never written about my grief – until now.

My new book, I Promise It Won’t Always Hurt Like This, is my way of paying forward the kindness that woman showed me, offering hope to those struggling with loss.

It’s also the book I wish I could have read in the early stages of my grief.

Even though I was surrounded by friends and family, they didn’t always know what to say. 

Over the years, my grief has changed.

Four years ago, on the anniversary of Alex’s death – December 10 – it wasn’t until halfway through the day that I realised what date it was.

It dawned on me that it has got easier – and it will get easier for you, too.

Expect all the emotions 

When you’re grieving, you’ll be hit by so many emotions, sometimes all at the same time, and all of them are valid.

It’s normal to feel angry, jealous, bitter and anguished.

In the early days when I was devastated, I was territorial with my grief, I felt as though nobody else’s grief could ever have been as bad as mine and it wouldn’t get easier.

But gradually it did.

Grief isn’t something we can put down, but we learn to carry it more easily.

Treat yourself gently

When you’re in the depths of sadness, the most important thing is to be kind to yourself.

You can’t rush grief and nothing will quicken the process.

When it is presented as a project with specific stages, the danger is it might put pressure on you to feel a certain way by a certain time.

But grief isn’t a linear journey and it takes as long as it takes.

Put pen to paper

In the early days, writing may be helpful.

You don’t have to write in a diary or a book, it can be on odd bits of paper that you throw away.

There is something about articulating how you’re feeling that helps – it gives shape to your emotions.

The other thing I did was to see my grief as a closed box – I could have that lid open or shut, which meant I had to suppress certain emotions but it allowed me to take control of my grief.

I opened my box slowly and when I was ready, and could close it again when I needed to. 

Learn what your triggers are

My triggers have included babies, twins, hospitals, knitted cardigans and a reversing lorry (it sounded exactly like a hospital monitor).

Your reminders might be less tangible – for example, they could be a season or specific time of year, a colour, a scent or a piece 

of music may all remind you of your grief.

Sometimes we are ready for them and other times they take us by surprise.

But by knowing our triggers, we can try to avoid them or, if that isn’t possible, prepare for them.

What I’ve realised since Alex died is that we can’t make our triggers disappear, but we can learn to control our reactions to them.

We can’t stop the waves coming, but we can become better swimmers, surfacing faster and recovering quicker.

We can come up stronger. 

Remember, every loss is different

Four years after Alex died, my father died, too.

I thought I would be OK, because I’d experienced grief before, but everything was different this time.

Rather than endless sobbing, it was numbness.

Grief isn’t like buying a car or changing jobs, we don’t handle it better the more we experience it. 

Talk about grief

It’s so important to talk about death and dying, and we are so bad at it in the UK.

Schools would be a great place to start those conversations.

If a relative dies, talk to your children about them and if they’ve got any questions, answer them as honestly as possible in an age-appropriate way and encourage them to share their own thoughts.

When my three teenage children were younger, they would talk about death, and I remember one parent being horrified.

It’s a shame – we talk about birth and so we should talk about death, too.

Keep memories alive

There are so many ways to keep a person’s memory alive and it doesn’t have to involve visiting a graveyard – unless you want to.

As well as regularly mentioning their name, you could walk through the woods they loved, visit their favourite place or cook a meal they enjoyed.

Initially, I struggled to do something positive, but then we began to choose our Christmas tree on December 10 – the anniversary of Alex’s death – and that lovely, positive thing became a special time to hold him in our thoughts.

Ask questions 

If you’re speaking to somebody who is recently bereaved, ask questions.

Don’t ask when the person they lost died, or why – remember that the person you’re talking to can share this information if they want to.

Try instead to ask what their name was, who they were and what they loved to do.

This gives the person the opportunity to think of happy memories instead. 

Offer practical support  

After Alex died, people would often ask me how they could help.

While it was well-intended, I simply didn’t know what I needed.

What was most useful were the people who just told me they were bringing food or taking the dog for a walk.

It meant the decision was taken out of my hands and it took the pressure off asking for help.

Food and practical support go a long way.

And make it easy for the person, too – put food in a dish you don’t need back, for example. 

Avoid being a ‘fixer’

We all try to be empathetic, but drawing comparisons isn’t always helpful.

My personal pet hate is people saying: “I know just how you feel, because my relative died.”

Grief is so personal that it’s impossible to know how somebody else is feeling.

Sometimes, people need to wallow in their emotions for a while, and they don’t need to be told about self-help groups, books or that they should be “over it” by now.

There is a time for solutions – namely if and when the person asks for it. 

• I Promise It Won’t Always Hurt Like This by Clare Mackintosh (£18.99, Sphere) is out now.

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Matt Rayson

March 16, 2024 11:01 pm