April, 2018
The petite glass box I perched in was cold, I shivered, one that was out of my control and I immediately felt rude in my inability to stifle it, “Oh dear, I’m sorry, let me put the heating on. Would you like a hot drink? Cup of tea? Coffee?” It struck me that she was instinctively motherly and it became no surprise that she had gone down the career path she did, it appeared caring was naturally in her nature – even with me, a total stranger, Dictaphone at the ready, eager to dig my way into her stories. It was hard to believe that in such an average, understated conservatory, this individual made it her responsibility to support those who are grieving, a part of society that many others shy away from.
Sally Proctor has worked in child bereavement since 1993, when she began work as part of the original team in her local hospice.
“I worked with many families and siblings who had been bereaved and it made me realise how much I wanted to work, and to help, people in these situations.”
It was clear that in her 24 years of experience she had spread to every area of bereavement possible, her passion for her cause was indelible. After receiving her counselling qualification and working in a cancer care centre, she set up ‘Stride’, a service that dealt with all forms of child bereavement, “I saw children who had been bereaved through suicide, through traumatic deaths, illnesses as well as accidents.”
"By the nature of my work, the people I see are extremely vulnerable."
Mrs Proctor now has a private practise in her home, “I see them in this specific room, I tend to see older children here”, she explained, “when I see children and young people in my home, it is very important they are comfortable.” She explained that there are a lot of details to consider from a safeguarding point of view, “like having a door that has got clear glass so that they can see through”, she stressed that every child needed to feel relaxed. She gestured around the room, it radiated light from the walls of glass, I could see why this was her place of choice to work in.
“There has been many a time a child has come into this room and become distressed, I like to them to have someone in a nearby room if this is the case.” Never would I have thought a conservatory could’ve been so homely, but it was clear that Sally’s warming persona was only reflected in this small space, it was enough to make even me tell her all my secrets.
Without my request, Sally refills my coffee, as she pours she drops her gaze. “Unfortunately, there just aren’t enough services around in the UK,” it is clear disappointment that comes across her face, “there certainly aren’t many or even any statutory services around in most areas.” This seems to be Sally’s greatest struggle in providing support wherever she can. “We work very hard to try and ensure there is support available to everyone who needs it.” She explains that it just seems that her sector is pushed to the back burner in society and that as a country we fail to see the ‘urgency and importance’ of providing services, such as the one Sally and her colleagues do.
“There’s a lot of fear around grief and a lot of stigma attached,” she says, readjusting her position, she leans in, as if telling me a secret of her own. “I don’t know what it is about our culture but, people who are bereaved will describe it as a really lonely place. If people never reach out to acknowledge their grief, it feels even lonelier, especially for younger people.” This dismal fact seemed to frustrate her as she clenched her hands together on her knees.
"It is vital to have fun during the job"
“Why do we medicalise it?” Well, I was stumped. “It’s so often seen as a mental illness,” she paused, “we do a lot of this ‘oh I’m not coping’ or ‘I’m being strong’ and actually it shouldn’t have to be like that." She describes grief as as simply ‘natural’ and I couldn’t help but thinking she was absolutely right, “death and dying is a much a part of life as living is.”
"Our culture?" I question her, "why are we so different from others." “You see a lot more in other cultures that it’s important to grieve, people will be weeping and wailing and it isn’t looked away from.” This compared to our culture, made up of ‘apologies and a stiff upper lip’, left an immediate thought in my mind, if this is our cultures attitude, no wonder people keep their grief and pain to themselves.
“The best way is spewing,”
Yes, I too had to ask, “it literally is all the emotion just coming out, there’s so much in there and all the pressure builds up, it’s about letting it all pour out.” She explains that most of the time it’s giving the children ‘permission’, allowing them to grieve, “letting them do what they need to do, if that’s having a good, old cry, that’s fine.”
“To be honest with you, a lot of people need to realise that children don’t always need specialist input or therapy.” According to Sally, they can get all the support they need from schools, nurseries, high schools and pastoral care teams. In terms of Sally’s career now, she has made it a priority to help build means to support in schools, “I focus on training them, empowering them to be able to help the children because they naturally already have established relationships with them.”
“It’s not rocket science.”
I think back to her previous statement that an apology is all many have as a response to bereavement. In my mind I count the times an apology has been my only response. Nearly every time. “People tend to feel helpless around grieving individuals,” I can only agree, she explains that ‘the worst part’ is that professionals, such as teachers or even built-in school support systems tend to avoid helping or acknowledging grief because “it’s something that doesn’t sit comfortably with them.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, “Grief is often seen as something that is scary, and with children just having that person to talk to can really make a difference to how they deal with it,” this seems to be the bitterest taste for her to swallow, “I am ashamed that there isn’t more support available.”