After losing a child, you are faced with arranging a funeral. Grief is at its rawest, gnawing away at every part of you. I sat in the waiting room, waiting for the funeral director to greet us. They talked about your loss and gave us a tour of the caskets. Things no parent should choose.
I sat there, clutching Charlotteās last Chanel powder compact - unopened, of course. I also held onto Milesās childhood teddy, Marmalade. Miles had given it to Charlotte in hospital. Miles said later that when he saw us come down the garden path without Charlotte, but with Marmalade, it broke him. I also sat in the funeral directors with a small plush hedgehog, a present from our school matron, Ruth, to Charlotte. She had given it to Charlotte on her first day of Year 7 because she knew how anxious she was. Lastly, I held her Minnie Mouse stocking - a Christmas present from her grandparents for her first Christmas. The photo was taken on 3.5.2013, Charlotte's last day in Year 11. 76 days later she was diagnosed with a brain tumour.
I had to choose an outfit, not a wedding dress. Rather, clothes for my daughter to be cremated in, along with shoes. I looked through the brochures containing all the caskets with tears pouring down my face, hardly able to turn the pages. I could have chosen pink or any colour I wanted, but Charlotte had always lived by the words āless is more.ā I chose a simple wicker casket, and I knew she would have approved.
I drove a short distance down the road to the flower shop the funeral parlour had recommended. I wished I had been choosing a wedding bouquet with Charlotte instead. Again, I kept everything simple: three lilies laid on top, with small white posies placed around the handles of the casket.
Every minute of the day of the funeral, I wanted to run far away and pretend none of it was happening. But there is nowhere to run from grief, especially when it has wrapped itself around your entire life.
Charlotte died on 24.2.2016. Then, only weeks later, my aunt passed away onĀ 24.3.2016. On Tuesday 29.3.2016, I lost my mother too. The world did not stop to let me breathe between losses; it simply kept taking.
Recently, I came across Charlotteās birth and death certificates. To see those two documents placed side by side felt almost impossible to comprehend. One piece of paper marking the beginning of a life filled with hope, love, laughter, and memories; the other reducing an entire lifetime to a date, a time, and a signature. It is one of the most surreal feelings in the world holding proof that someone existed, and proof that they are gone, all within the space of two pieces of paper.
Grief changes the way you look at ordinary things. Paperwork becomes sacred. Handwriting becomes precious. A name printed in black ink suddenly carries the weight of an entire lifetime. And sometimes the smallest things, a certificate, a compact powder, a teddy, a little hedgehog, hold more love than words could ever explain.
Charlotteās BAG has raised Ā£385,000 directly funding research at Charlotteās Lab, Kingās College Hospital, London
The big difference with Charlotte's BAG is simple: we self-fund everything.
No merchandise
No salaries
No overheads
No advertising
We even cover the PayPal and PO Box fees personally so nothing is taken from the charity account.
If you want to donate to a brain tumour charity please think of us and pop a pound in Charlotte's Bag.
charlottesbag.org/
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