So what actually happened? Please read this post — and tell me the wisdom of how we live through things like this.

I am not sure if you have read this post.

So what actually happened? This is how the best day turned into the worst day of my life 

This post, like everything else in my life, is me arriving late.  When everyone else is aware of something except me,  who holds the title of the designated idiot in the room.

I read this post about two nights back — I have had a run of insomnia and I am not sure how this post appeared on my feed.

How do you read this sort of post without your life changing?

Without your soul shifting — in one way or another?

How do you read this post and not sit there and consider, that you just DO NOT have any words.

No words to express the pain or to add comfort to a situation that is so painful that there just are not words in the English language that you could use?  That work.  That …. that are.

I read this post in contemplative silence.  I then got to the end and sat there and stared at it and realised that there wasn’t some magic ending.

There was no “Come to Jesus” moment or a “not a surprise this always happens” American movie ending where the hero sweeps in to save the day, to the soundtrack of some powerful music — there was just a family destroyed. No movie.  No nightmare to wake up from.

A life cruelly taken.  And nothing made sense.  Not to me.


I am agnostic, at best.  I cannot take comfort in religion — how do you find comfort here??  If the higher power took this child, how do you sit and say this higher power has a purpose for this child being taken??

Why could the higher power maybe not have just not taken this little boy, and maybe all the other little boys and girls — why do we have a higher power who does this?

Why this little boy — why so cruelly snatched away?  I do not understand.  My brain cannot comprehend or hold this thought.


{I hope Jane Fraser does not mind me using this image of her son —- her Natey}

How is this part of a plan of some mystical imaginary higher power?

How do I sit here, as a parent, and not wonder what if this was one of mine?

What if this was one of yours?

I have no words.

I have no words of comfort.

I have no words that can sooth the pain this family must be feeling.  I do not have words that can even comprehend this level of pain.

Why is there not a word in the English language for a parent who has lost a child?

I have no words that can explain why something like this would happen?

I have no words that I can use to explain in my head how and why this happens — and how we as parents can live through this loss.  Tell me how?

I have no words that can even touch on the pain – that can make it less tender, that can make it somehow less.

I have no words for Jane.

I have no words for her family.

I have no words for Natey.

I have no words for me.  Or you.

Read the story — hold your children a bit closer.  Put your face against their heads and smell their hair.  Avoid the urge to tell them to go and wash it — just smell them.

When they are fighting over the stupid things that children do — just smile, and count yourself as lucky.

Last night I had Isabelle with me — I had some medication to force me to sleep.  I was doing a 3 – 4 day run of not sleeping properly.  And I was at that point where reality starts to blur from insomnia and I was ready to sell my soul for sleep.  Or a donut.

Isabelle lay on my shoulder – she was sleeping in my bed.  I had put the lights off, it was 20h15.  I was searching through my podcasts for a story she may enjoy, which she could fall asleep to — it was still light outside, but she understood mom was tired and needed an early night.

I felt the weight of her.  I felt that warm hot musty breath that only young children have — I realised she had fallen asleep nestled against me.  On my shoulder.  Her body a little sweaty.  Her long eyelashes on her cheeks.

I thought of Jane and Natey —- I didn’t cry.  I closed my eyes and just breathed my child in.  Counted my luck/blessings/the twists of fate that made this moment possible.

I fell asleep with the weight of her against my shoulder and her presence against my skin.

Today I am crying.

My guess is tomorrow I will cry a bit more.

{I really hope Jane Fraser does not take offense that Natey has become the collective Natey to a lot of people.  I did not know this little boy — I was not that fortunate.  But there is a part of him somewhere in my spirit — somewhere in my consciousness he holds a space — he is there — I can’t explain it.}




Leave a comment


  1. Yasmin

     /  February 1, 2017

    I could not read Jane’s story to the end. I couldn’t. I’m still crying. Too unbearable. I will come back to read it though. It is something worth reading to open our eyes and make us all more appreciative of what we have. RIP Natey. And all the world’s blessings and strength to Jane and her family.

    • janefraser101

       /  February 2, 2017

      Thank-you Yasmin. Part of me feels bad that my story has brought such sadness to other ‘innocent’ people. But I hope it can do some good, to perhaps prevent another tragedy, or at least make people more aware, present and grateful in their lives… ❤

      • Yasmin

         /  February 2, 2017

        Never ever feel bad Jane. Your story is one of sadness and tragedy yes, but as you say it can possibly prevent tragedy too. You are truly brave to have posted. All the love to you and family. 💞

  2. Penny Miskin

     /  February 1, 2017

    I know Jane’s pain… I share very intimately every aching shred of pain and loss. Why? Because I lost my 3 yr old daughter the same way. Her name was Chelsy-Robyn. When I read Jane’s blog (a friend sent it to me), I relived every second of the night it happened. (Not that it’s ever far from my thoughts). Life has become dull grey, happiness is elusive and the guilt at failing to protect my baby is always weighing me down. Jane, you are in my thoughts and prayers and know that I know. … I just know.

    • Penny —- I am so very sorry.

      I am sorry you have had to live through this. I wish I had words to heal you, to travel back in time, to make it all not happen.

      I cannot comprehend what you and Jane must share — that thing, that club, that no parent wants to be a part of.

      I do think that in these instances we as parents become a village – Chelsy-Robyn lives on in our hearts and minds. Even if we did not know her before — knowing she existed, knowing you hold her so close, knowing she left too early, knowing that for you Chelsy-Robyn is there with you all the time, makes her start to live in all our minds, and hearts — our collective consciousness — and I do not mean that in a slurpy valentine’s day card manner.

      It means her life, and her leaving this life impacts on us all and changes something for us — I know that your and Jane’s stories have changed me ….

    • janefraser101

       /  February 2, 2017

      Penny I am so sorry….

  3. janefraser101

     /  February 1, 2017

    Thank-you Celeste. It’s indescribable, and there are no words… I just put one foot in front of the other each day, and take one breath at the time. But nothing, nothing, NOTHING is the same. Nothing matters now. He was our SUN and we all revolved around him. He shone so bright and so pure. My brain still can’t actually accept it, it just does not feel real. It can’t be. It just makes no sense…

    • Yasmin

       /  February 1, 2017

      All of the blessings and strength to you Jane. It is indescribable. My heart is with you.


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