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.


We write
Because you might listen.

We write because
We are lost
& lonely,
& you, like us,
Are looking
& learning.

– Amanda Gorman

Popular posts

Fred in the bluebells

Bluebells

This is the place that you have always known, this village, these woods. They remain the same and yet they are forever changed, now you’re not here to sculpt them. The shop on the corner is still there, but now Liz looks a bit scared when I walk in. The paperboys come to return their … Read more
Covent Garden

Life and loss in lockdown – Fred’s story

You never think it will happen to your family until it does. Suddenly we were locked down. Our holiday was cancelled, Fred’s central line meant he could no longer go swimming.  We were not allowed to travel anywhere more than 30 minutes from our hospital. I carried a thermometer in my handbag to check for temperatures.
lavender

The scent of grief

There’s a poem, that I’ve forgotten the name of, about changing the sheets. It contains a line about the poet’s mother “the smell of clean washing is hers” I think of this every time I change the bed. I use the same washing powder that my mother used to, just for the smell. When I … Read more
chernobyl

I know where I live

I know where I live. I know where I live because the signposts and landmarks tell me so, but this is not my home.I remember watching the drama Chernobyl on the TV, before all this happened. This is where I live now. My home was full of laughter, and hope. Children played in the park … Read more
coffee and book

Kindness

Kindness does not give out gold stars, which is really annoying – or badges, or certificates or any kind of recognition that you are doing well at this. It should, because that would really help, but that’s not what kindness is for.Kindness is there to remind you that there is no good way to do … Read more
waves

The Tsunami of Grief

The thing about tsunamis is the bit before the wave. A monumental rupture happens, hidden underground, miles away and unseen – but the wave doesn’t come straight away. First there is the drawback. It’s the moment where all the water gets sucked out to sea, where the power builds. It’s the part where the fish are left flapping on the beach and no one can quite work out what’s going on. And it’s the part that people see.
open road

What you don’t know about grief

I wrote this very soon after Fred died – but didn’t particularly want to share it. A recent conversation made me think of it, and the anger and the rawness that needs a place to go. What you don’t know about grief is that it happens from the inside out. I know you want to … Read more
war on cancer

Why children don’t fight cancer

How we talk about children’s cancer matters. It’s easy to worry about saying the right thing, the wrong thing, and often people end up saying nothing at all, which is the worst of all. The language used usually involves wars, battles, fighting, bravery. In many ways it’s odd. We never say a child lost their battle against an articulated lorry, but cancer it seems is up for the fight.
gingerbread house

Carry me home

There are many kinds of mother you can be.  Tiger mother, Alpha, Helicopter.  I’ve never really seen myself as any of them, and certainly tried to avoid a few.  If I had to classify my parenting style, I’d say that I carried stuff.  To give it a festive flavour, if this were a nativity, I’d be the donkey.