Alexander Dickinson, Patron of Child Bereavement UK, was supported after his seven-year-old son George died in 2000.

When it's George’s birthday or the anniversary of his death we all do something to remember him. That’s just the way we are, we've never hidden it. 

On 1 April 2000 my family's world changed forever when my elder son George died at the age of seven from a brain aneurysm. There was no warning. He went to bed happily on Saturday night and less than twelve hours later he was dead.

Sadly in 1997 my marriage broke down and after some difficult discussions we agreed that it would be best for my wife Simonetta to return to her family in Paris with our sons George and Andrew. Divorce is always difficult, for the boys however they also had to move to another country, learn another language and go to new schools.

That the boys were able to make this adjustment made life easier, but not easy, for me. Gradually, as a family, we were moving to a point of equilibrium. Support from family, friends, colleagues and the firm I worked for was invaluable.

One weekend I headed to Brussels for my cousin's stag weekend. The evening passed as a stag night so often does - too much beer, too much food. I returned to my hotel at around 2am. The telephone in my room was ringing. It was a call from my parents to tell me that George was seriously ill in hospital and that I needed to get to Paris as soon as possible.

With the help of the hotel concierge I found a taxi and a few hours later arrived in Paris. The hospital was on the south-east edge of Paris at Kremlin Bicêtre. It was huge; its signposting was confusing; I was in a haze. The night out, the lack of sleep and the emotional storm raging inside saw me tearing round the hospital complex increasingly desperate to find George. Simonetta did not have a mobile phone and it took what seemed like hours to find the intensive care unit. George was lying peacefully on the bed connected to a life support machine. Although I had prayed for every minute of the four hour journey to Paris it was clear that those prayers had not been answered and that I was in time to say goodbye to George, but no more.

The next two months are a blur punctuated by moments of extreme clarity. Those moments of clarity principally revolve around those people who helped me. My family who were with me throughout those terrible first few days and who provided unconditional love and support. Friends and colleagues that I can still see sitting in the congregation at the funeral in Paris. The male colleague who also had lost a child a few months earlier and who sought me out on the day that I returned to the office even though it undoubtedly caused him considerable pain. We shared our pain and supported each other for some time. The clients (many of them male) who gave me the space to get back on my feet. The friends who invited me to stay, not to jolly me up but simply to allow me to deal with my grief whilst having someone with whom I could talk. Having someone to talk to was essential to me.

My best man Bill turned out to be my best friend. He invited me to stay at his flat in London for as long as I wanted. His brother introduced me to Child Bereavement UK and for two years I had weekly bereavement support. At the beginning, those sessions so exhausted me that I needed two days to prepare for them and two days to recover from them.

Gradually I was guided through all the issues that I needed to address. I was able to return to work more or less full time in the autumn, to reconnect with my clients and to resume my part in the team. Bill was there for me every evening when he returned from work. We talked a lot in those first few months. We still do.

About the same time I met Annabel. She has been the most amazing support to me. To start with she just was there: listening, speaking, being a wonderful friend. Gradually our relationship deepened. Three years later we were married and we now have two daughters. Their brother Andrew has an incredibly close relationship with his sisters. Andrew was five when his brother George died. I find it difficult to comprehend his loss. We talk about our grief and I think now that he supports me more than the other way round.

One of the things I did to get me going was raising funds for Child Bereavement UK and that meant running a half marathon - since I was about eight I don’t think I’d run more than 100m so this was a major task. I thought, how am I going to achieve it, what do I need to do, what support do I need to help me take that forward? Every little bit was about what I needed to do to move forward to the next stage in my life.  

There were things I wanted to do and I knew I needed time: I would rebuild both my work career and my personal life. Both would develop their own momentum and become pillars of support for my existence because they were something to be tethered to. Without that, you’re just floating on an ocean and you will be taken wherever the wind blows or the tide takes you, whereas if you’re tethered, you’re able to make your way forward and control your own life. 

Our daughters never knew George but they know a lot about him, his photos are everywhere. He’s very much part of our lives and everybody knows that. When it's George’s birthday or the anniversary of his death we all do something to remember him. That’s just the way we are, we've never hidden it. Annabel never knew George either but he's important to us all and when it's those important dates we will go to church and lay some flowers. They celebrate the fact that there was this wonderful child they never knew but they have a very good memory of him, and I celebrate the fact that I knew him.

Alexander has also shared a blogpost about men's grief and how bereavement support can help.

Alexander is a Patron of Child Bereavement UK, visit his Patron's page to find out more. 

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