Alice’s Party

 In 1998, my first child died, while I was 23+5 weeks pregnant. I will undoubtedly address the circumstances around that in another blog, but this one is about how I was able to finally honour her in 2023.

We named her Alice Lorelei Bodkin, and she was buried at Ellenbrook Woodland Cemetery, during a very small, immediate family only funeral. This wasn’t really my choice, and small, intimate gatherings are not really me,  but family members told me this was the way it was for babies, and I was in no fit state to argue at the time, and, given the awfulness of it all, it didn’t seem like that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.

In the years that followed, I visited her grave regularly, and this became part of my family’s rituals and routines. My dad joined her there in 2016 (a whole other story for another day too!), and so he became part of it all too. For the next two decades, my living children were my priority, and while Alice was always part of my life, she wasn’t front and centre anymore, and I never seemed to get round to getting her a proper headstone, despite regular visits to the cemetery.

In 2023, things changed. My living children were adults now, and gradually, I realised that there was more space in my life for Alice again. By this time, I was secure in the fact that I was never going to forget her, something I’d worried about initially, but I did feel that she’d never been honoured in the way she should have been. I’d also met the inspirational Luanne Rimmer, founder of Angel Parents UK, who has worked and campaigned around Baby Loss for decades. She helped me to realise that it’s never too late to make things right, so I ordered a headstone, and planned a party for her 25^th Birthday.

I wrote a new ceremony, using lines from her original funeral, and asked Jill Bolton to deliver it on my behalf, which she did brilliantly. As well as the original script, the ceremony incorporated poetry, an unveiling of the new headstone, giant bubble blowing, and a chance for people to send messages using flying wish paper, as well as laying flowers on Alice’s grave for her and other children who left too soon.

The initial plan was a small event with immediate family, but it grew. I ended up inviting friends and family from across the country, slightly terrified that people would respond negatively, have concerns about me and the whole thing, and that nobody would come on the day, but they did. They really did!

Standing by her grave, the stone no longer visible because of the flowers, looking round at so many people there to honour my baby, something inside me healed. This was what she had always deserved, people gathered in her memory, because she existed and she mattered, and she still does.

Afterwards, we held a party for her, with cake, food, and drinks, and laughed and chatted, and caught up, and it was wonderful and exactly what I needed. So many other people told me afterwards that the event had been healing for them too, and had sparked conversations with family and friends that had been avoided for years.

I can’t claim that this was the end of my grief, and nor would I want it to be. Her loss is one I will carry for a lifetime, and that’s okay, but this event marked a shift in how I carry it, and I am so grateful to everyone who came and paid their respects, whether or not they understood, not judging me but holding the space I needed, and to everyone who encouraged me to do this. It was powerful, necessary, and so deeply healing. This was the funeral she should have had, and now she has, and that means more to me than I can ever explain.

If this is something that speaks to you, maybe not this exact format, but the idea of honouring someone however many decades on, I say go for it! Ignore the doubters,  the ones inside your own head and the external ones, and do what feels right for you and your loved one. And if you want any support or guidance, from a quick chat to throw ideas around to celebrancy on the day, you know where I am!