The smiles are a day late this month, as they have been before in August, but that doesn't make them any less beautiful. Sorry if I confused anyone with the delay.

5 years ago we lost one of our children, and that is why #TBCSmiles began. I started collecting my family's smiles to remind me we can do this, and being happy is what it's all about in the end, so making smiles is exactly why we keep going.


A HUGE thank you to everyone of you who shares your smiles with us, they are contagious and wonderful, and really do brighten up my day. Anyone can join in - just use the hashtag #TBCSmiles on a smile on any photo on Instagram!

For the next month if you happen to have a sunflower in your photo, I'm working with Sudocrem and you can enter my giveaway for a sunflower t-shirt if you take a photo of someone with a sunflower, and one person will win a mural for their school. I'm not suggesting cheating, but we won't be asking for proof that it's actually your sunflower - a big grin and a golden flower will be enough...

5 years ago today we woke up to find one of our children had died. I've never gone to bed without checking on everyone in my house since. Each night I tell them I love them, and I'll see them in the morning. They have to answer. They have to repeat it back to me. I have to know that they intend to still be there.

Everyone who loses someone they love to suicide is a survivor. When you lose them you need to know why? But to understand why is the worst that could ever happen, so you can't ever understand exactly why. That door has to stay shut. Forever. Your job is to let those questions go, and carry on.

In the beginning everything seems so hopeless, pointless.  To keep going is the bravest and hardest thing you'll ever do, and 5 years on, I am so proud of my family for fighting through everything.


We have three big grown up kids at uni, something I'm incredibly proud to tell anyone, but whenever I say it, I know there should be four. I know that if she had done a 3 year course, Elspeth would be graduating now, alongside her school friends (well done to all of you who graduated this year - I hope you have something awesome to do next).

Two of our big kids have "moved out". Gone to live in the world of bills and private landlords. One of them has moved in with his boyfriend, and genuinely it makes my heart glow to see them together. Always though, you wish Elspeth could have met him and given her seal of approval - probably by taking the p1ss.

She's never truly gone, she's always there in your head. We all feel it, everything we do is tinged by a heavy atmosphere that we have to claw through to stay in the moment. The unsaid.

In some ways it still feels like this isn't a reality, that I could still wake up and find out I dreamt it. Life happens 'to us' much more now, we have less control over where we are going. I really don't have a good chronology of the last 5 years, just a jumbled mess of memories. It's like my brain tried to hold on to the important stuff, but it wasn't quite sure what that was.

In the late Summer a lot of people already share sunflower photos with us, and they are all absolutely beautiful to see, especially as our garden is pretty much a peat bog and we can't grow our own (we've tried many, many times). This year, for anyone who wishes, you can share a photo of your child(ren) with a sunflower and have a chance to win a professional mural for their school or nursery - and I have a couple of gorgeous specially printed sunflower t-shirts to give away too.

We don't have many sunflowers growing nearby unfortunately, but we do at least have plenty of trees - and my 10 year old, who is just about as tall as me now and definitely growing...


Hopefully you have grown your own sunflowers this Summer. They're easy to grow from their exciting black and white seed, and almost all UK gardens can easily grow a 5ft beauty. There really is no better flower for children because the end result is so useful and impressive, and maybe even taller than they are.

Thank you to Sim for this sunflower

The first Christmas after you lose one of your family is incredibly scary.

Christmas was always one of Elspeth's big things, she adored it and drank it all in with a glow of excitement. She'd sing carols from November onward and watch marathon sessions of Christmas movies. We had no idea how it could possibly be good without her there. As Christmas drew closer we began to panic more and do less.

One of the most crippling things about the depression following grief is that everything takes so much effort and seems so hard that you can't face it, but the longer you leave it, the scarier it becomes. Eventually you simply don't understand how it can ever be possible. We realised on 7th December that we were going to be letting our small children down if we didn't create Christmas.

Today it's 2 months since Elspeth died. Two ridiculously long months that have vanished and I don't know where they went. Minutes take forever, but weeks fly past.

We're beginning to get routine into our lives. Washing gets done, people go to bed on time, meals get cooked and served. Life carries on.

We had a massive blow this week with the sudden and unexpected death of a little girl from my children's school. After 5 nights sleeping well my little boys are now unsettled again, and my 6 year old is troubled, short-tempered and crying a lot. Knowing just how those parents felt when they discovered their child had not survived the night has been very hard on us, and as yet we have shielded our little boys from that fact because nights are hard enough for them already. I have cried so much for her family  and their loss, and felt far too hard the pain and confusion they will have experienced as they wonder 'what on Earth do you do now?' Whether the cause of her death is ever found or not, it will be little comfort.

When I wrote my Dear Elspeth post I wanted to tell her story. I didn't want people to gossip and guess, I wanted them to know it was as much a shock to us as to anyone else.  I wanted to explain that she hadn't spent the previous 6 months in her room sobbing and being an angst-ridden teen. I felt that, scary as it is, other people needed to see that this could happen out of the blue, and I needed to let them know she did it because she loved us and felt it would make life easier for us. She wasn't 'just another teenage suicide', no-one who takes their own life is 'just another' anything. They're human beings, and they have other human beings who love and care for them. I felt that if it helped just one other person then it was was worth making it public.

Since that day I have had many hundreds of messages. I have heard from many, many people who lost their siblings, parents and friends when they were young, and when they weren't. I have heard the story of the mother who battled to prevent her son taking his life for 15 years and eventually failed. I have spoken to friends who have never told people of their own loss, and I have spoken to the parents of 3 young women who are now in the care of their Doctor since reading my post.

I have had support from the unlikeliest of places and I have been able to support others who need it. One of the most important to me is a woman who contacted me at the end of her own limits, who read my post and realised what it would do to her family, and has instead found strength and has started to turn her life around and remove herself from a harmful situation.

So many people with so many heartbreaking stories. 

None of this brings Elspeth back, none of it can ever tell her everything I wish I could tell her, but it shrouds the futility and leaves me in no doubt. You are never on your own.

Thank you to everyone who has contacted me, and anyone who found strength to speak after reading. Thank you to everyone who shared the post and let it reach so many. You made it worth writing x

When Elspeth died we decided that we wanted to make her service as accessible as possible for her friends. We wanted them to be involved and be able to say goodbye properly. Sunflowers were mentioned and they seemed perfect, not only for her friends, but even her youngest siblings know what sunflowers are.

We mentioned that if anyone wanted to send flowers, then they could send a sunflower. Teenagers and everyone else didn't need to feel obliged to find money to spend on expensive bunches of flowers, they could just bring a sunflower.

What we didn't expect when we mentioned Sunflowers was that it would take on a life of it's own. We didn't forsee that to show support friends and family would change their Facebook photo's. We didn't realise that we would end up with so powerful and beautiful a symbol.

It's now 7 weeks since Elspeth died. 7 weeks. It feels like just a few days,and then I wonder how I managed to fit in her service, and going back to school, and all the other stuff we've done, and I realise it's true, it is 7 weeks.

In those 7 weeks we've been sent and shown some of the  most amazing, and beautiful, and personal sunflowers that ever could exist, and we cherish them all...







Thank you to Red Rose Mummy's Mum for the artwork
Thank you to the Foundation Unit at school for the wall of sunflowers
Thank you to Michelle and Karen for the candle
Thank you to the Bury bloggers for the Willow sunflower lady
Thank you to Mothergeek and Syd for the LEGO sunflower
Thank you to Jo, whose Father works at the loveliest Co-op you could ever have to use
Thank you to Blackpool Pleasure Beach for the very timely unexpected sunflowers on the Dora ride
Thank you to Ave at Beadabode for the wooden etched sunflower
Thank you to MintyB Works Of Heart for the sunflower artwork
Thank you to Alice for the line drawing
Thank you to Anthea and Gandalf's Beard for the felted figure
Thank you to Dave and Kate at Camper Tronic for the garden sunflowers
Thank you to all of Elspeth's friends for bringing sunflowers
Thank you to everyone for being there, whether online, on the phone, or in person x

Without any warning, in the early morning of 15th August 2014, my partner's daughter, one of our children, took her own life. We couldn't have known, and even if we had found her immediately, we couldn't have saved her.

I have written many thousands of blog posts in my head since that morning, here is just one of them...

Dear Elspeth,

You planned it so well. Your Dad was meant to find you, I know that. You couldn't have known I'd have a bad night's sleep and pull your 5 year old brother into bed for an extra half hour with me. You thought we'd be downstairs. You certainly won't have expected that I'd ask your brother to go and tell you to turn off your alarm. He wasn't sure if you were dead, he said he thought maybe you were pretending. I knew from what he said. I knew as I ran to your room. I knew when I saw you, and as I touched your cheek. I had to tell your Dad, and I didn't want to be that person to do that to him. I didn't realise I was screaming and he was already on his way. We both saw we were far too late, we knew that. And that was really the moment when time. just. stopped.

The Police were here for the next 5 hours. Everyone treated us with the utmost care, they really did. You'd have been pleasantly surprised, and possibly disappointed you couldn't find anything to chastise them for. There were so many people in the house, we sat in the kitchen. Your brothers and sisters were in the living room, away from what was happening, in a bubble of Cartoon Network and silence, together under blankets on the sofa. No-one had any socks and it was cold, a Policeman guarded the stairs and it seemed wrong to ask him to let me get some.

They brought down your note. I hadn't seen it, I hadn't even considered it. So typical of you to write so much. I couldn't read it all until they brought us back a copy 4 days later. I couldn't focus my eyes for long enough. I think of you writing and my heart stings so much. You must have felt beyond despair.  You knew how much this would hurt us, you must have been hurting so much more to do it.

You said we aren't to be too sad. I don't know how sad is too sad, but I don't think it's possible to be any more sad than we are now. You have left a gaping hole in our family that can never be filled.

You said it will be easier for us now.  It gives me no comfort to know that I'll never have to deal with your frustrations and anger again. It was a part of you, and you take everything that your child offers, be it good or bad. We didn't care that you were Autistic, you were the same person you'd always been. You were our child, our sibling, and it didn't make us love you any less. No-one is ever perfect all of the time, and you were less trouble than most, for most of every day. I know life was hard work for you, but we didn't realise just how hard.

The meltdowns were awful, but the rewards you offered were so great, couldn't you see that? You were so clever and witty and beautiful. Your obsessions with TV shows and movies, your enthusiasm for the small things, how could you ever think that life would be easier now without you? How can Christmas ever be great again without you there? How can we ever play a board game again without taking note of the space at the table where you always sat? Dr Who was an event when you were there, it just wasn't the same last weekend, and it'll never be as good again.

Never again will we sit downstairs and listen to you play your guitar, no more handpainted birthday cards or fantastic artwork. Who will be the one to be the first there when one of the small boys cry now? Who can I moan at for running on the stairs? Who will I talk to when I make a coffee late at night before bed?

You were hard work, you took up more time than any of our other children, but someone had to be that person. As you got older the mood swings were at least more predictable. I suppose if we knew they were coming, so did you, and you hated the lack of control. You hated the inability to stop yourself, and you would beat yourself up afterwards. You were so worried that you'd break up the family, but that wouldn't have happened. We've been there all this time, we weren't going to give up on you as you became an adult.

You said in your note that your funeral isn't to be lame. We've done our best. Cardboard Tom Jones will be there. You have a purple coffin and a French Legion Of Honour medal just like Gavroche in Les Miserables. Your 5 year old brother will press the button to close your curtains, and you'll leave with the TARDIS. We mentioned Sunflowers and everyone has run away with it, you'd be so delighted. There are the most amazing and beautiful Sunflowers everywhere and they are all for you.

We will always wish that we could have known, we could have seen. Why did you ask me for a Winter coat, why did you arrange a sleepover with your friends, why buy tickets to Manchester Pride? Was there a glimmer of hope that you'd stay longer? As long as I live I will look for the clues, I will search for what I should have known, and I will wish you had told us that you were so desperate inside.

We aren't angry with you, we know you loved us, and you knew we loved you, and I will always be glad that I told you so the day before you died. We miss you. We will all always miss you.

Life might have been a little simpler if you'd been less angry, but you missed the point. Life will never be easier without you xxx
 
 
In a study published by the Autism Research Centre in June 2014 it was found that around 66% of adults with Asperger's Syndrome (high-functioning Autism) have had suicidal thoughts, and 35% had planned or attempted suicide. Because of the nature of Autism, they may be more likely to actually carry it through to a conclusion. 

Childline Freephone 0800 1111 - for children and young people who are struggling and need to talk or need help
The Samaritans - for anyone who needs to talk or is struggling
Child Bereavement UK - for those who have lost a child, and for children who have lost someone. Advice for anyone spending time with bereaved children.
Winston's Wish - the charity for bereaved children
Autism Help.Org - advice and help for families of children with Autism
Papyrus UK - Prevention Of Young Suicide