Norah’s Wild Rumpus; Scafell Pike

Norah’s book has always been ‘Where the Wild Things Are’, by Maurice Sendak, we read it to her throughout my pregnancy, nicknamed her our Wild Thing, and painted scenes from the book to hang in her room. When Norah died, Where the Wild Things Are took on a new meaning; we felt as though a…

Breaking out of the waiting place; Norah’s Inquest

Last week, back in the town where Norah died and held amongst the consultants, pathologists and other professionals involved in Norah’s care, Norah’s inquest was finally concluded. We have suspected all along that we wouldn’t find a cause for Norah’s death, so to an extent we were prepared for the outcome. In anticipation of the…

The tempering of grief.

In the very early days of our grief we could do little more than exist. Crushed beneath the weight of our daughter’s death, even breathing felt impossible. In the two weeks that Norah was alive we existed on very little anything; sleeping, eating and living along with the chaos of new life and the brutality…

Navigating the wilderness, and finding our voice.

If I was brave enough to look through my browsing history from the weeks and months that followed on after Norah’s death, amongst my darkest thoughts, I would be sure to find the reasons that I find myself here, scribbling away and finding our voice. “Why did my baby stop breathing?” “Sudden death of one…