How hope can come out of grief

HAVING just had a birthday, I was pondering the passage of time (as you do) and reflecting on my 50 years in journalism (quite a milestone) and all I’ve experienced and learned … when, as if on cue, a book arrived from a publisher.

It was more than just another review copy, to add to the thousands of volumes in our house. This title pierced straight through to my heart and took me back 45 years.

The title is Loving You From Here: Stories of Grief, Hope and Growth When A Baby Dies — compiled by Susan Clark for Sands (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death charity).

We are just at the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week ( baby loss-awareness.org) and I heartily recommend this deeply moving book if you know anybody who has suffered this particular grief, before or after birth.

Believe me, it’s vital for those who are bereaved to know they’re not alone. That’s why the sharing of stories is vital.

My own jolt of emotion comes at the beginning of the book, because it reprints in full the article I wrote for The Guardian newspaper about the stillbirth (at nearly full term) of my second son.

I couldn’t possibly have known that one article (dated January 8, 1976) would become crucial in changing attitudes towards stillbirth in this country, giving for the first time a voice to parents weeping for their baby.

It actually resulted in setting up Sands — and I am very proud to be Founder-Patron today.

As a journalist and author, I have written millions of words in my long career, but that one article remains the single most powerful thing I’ve achieved.

I mention it with humility — since I’d rather not have had the loss, and seeing my name and long-ago words reprinted in Susan Clark’s book could only open the wound.

Still, this book I hold in my hand is a testimony to the aweinspiring truth that goodness can indeed come out of grief. It takes me through the tunnel into the light.

Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, london W8 5TT, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.