Finding the Courage to Share

Saying Cooper's Name Out Loud

Sharing my books with The Compassionate Friends

There are moments on this journey that feel both terrifying and quietly right at the same time.

Recently, I took a step that held both feelings.

I shared my two books — From Pain to Purpose and Do You Look at the Sky? — with a group of bereaved parents through an Open Day at The Compassionate Friends of Victoria.

Walking into that space, I felt nervous.

Not because the people there wouldn’t understand. But because they would.

They know this loss. They know what it means to live in a world that keeps moving when your world has stopped.

And there is something deeply vulnerable about placing your heart — your words, your story — in front of people who carry the same kind of pain.

The Fear

There is always a quiet voice that asks:

Is this too much? Am I ready to share this? Will they understand?

These books were never written to be products. They were written from grief. From love. From the need to keep Cooper close.

Sharing them felt like opening a very personal part of my life.

But grief has already taken away any illusion of control.

And so I went.

The Comfort of Being Among Those Who Know

What I found in that space was something gentle.

No explanations needed. No awkward silence. No trying to make things better.

Just parents who understand.

Parents who live each day carrying a child in their hearts.

When I spoke about the books, I wasn’t speaking as an author.

I was speaking as a mum.

A mum who lost her son. A mum who wrote to survive. A mum who needed his story to continue to exist in the world.

Saying His Name

One of the most meaningful parts of the experience was simply saying his name.

Cooper.

In everyday life, there are moments when people don’t know what to say. Sometimes his name isn’t mentioned. Sometimes there is a quiet moving on.

But in that room, saying his name felt natural. Welcome.

Because in spaces like that, we understand something important:

Our children are still part of us. Their names matter. Their lives matter.

And every time we speak their name, we honour that they were here.

Why the Books Matter

From Pain to Purpose shares the reality of life after losing a child — the rawness, the confusion, the slow learning to carry love and grief together.

Do You Look at the Sky? offers a gentle way for families and children to stay connected to someone they love and miss.

They were written for this community.

For parents who feel alone. For families trying to find words. For anyone learning how to live with a love that has nowhere to go — and yet is everywhere.

A Quiet Kind of Courage

Sharing the books was scary.

But it also felt right.

Because if my words help even one parent feel understood…If one family finds a way to talk about their child…If one person feels less alone…

Then Cooper’s light is reaching further than I ever imagined.

And that is why I write.

To keep his name spoken. To keep his life remembered. To let love continue.

Because love doesn’t end

Do You Look at the Sky? - the journey so far

I have learnt so much while writing and publishing Do You Look at the Sky?

This story was born from one simple desire — that future generations should know the love, the laughter, and the light Cooper brought into our lives.

I still can’t quite get my head around the fact that they will never meet their uncle… or their second cousin. It blows my mind and breaks my heart all at once.

When the idea first came to me, I sat at the cemetery on Cooper’s bench and began writing. I never imagined that after hundreds of hours of work it would actually come together. I truly had no idea how much time would be needed in this space.

But time here isn’t just “work”.

Time here is time with Cooper.

Then came the process of learning how to self-publish… and finding the right illustrator.

When I first saw the work of Caroline Keys, I just knew — this was the illustrator for me. Over eight months we built a relationship, learnt about each other’s grief, and collaborated to create something I am truly proud of.

And now… the illustrations are complete.

I have received the final layout, and I have cried an abundance of tears.

Tears because the images in my mind are now so clearly alive on the page.

Tears because I have always loved children’s books, and it warms my heart to be working in this space.

Tears because I never imagined I could live with such loss and pain.

And tears because Cooper is in every word… and on every page.

Today is an emotional day.

Now the work goes to the designer, who will work his magic. Without every level of expertise along the way, you simply couldn’t create a book at this standard.

And then — off to the printers.

It’s not long now.

Thank you to everyone who has preordered and patiently supported this journey. I am so excited to share Do You Look at the Sky? with you soon.

FROM PAIN TO PURPOSE - finishing the book

I was asked this week how I feel about finishing FROM PAIN TO PURPOSE.

I hadn’t really stopped to think about it. But the question came from a bereaved parent — and a fellow author — and it made me pause in a way I didn’t expect.

How do I feel?

Numb.

Not satisfied.

Not accomplished.

Not proud in the way people assume you should feel when you finish something big.

Because I never planned to write this book. It happened… almost by accident.

And it isn’t sadness exactly — because grief has already taken me to the deepest place imaginable, the day Cooper died. Nothing compares to that.

This feeling is different.

It’s numbness.

Confusion.

And a kind of disbelief.

Even now, I don’t really understand how it happened.

I began writing before my knee replacement — just trying to survive, just trying to cope. My surgeon asked if I was writing a diary.

I said, “No… I’m just writing.”

And then the pages kept coming.

It grew.

It developed.

Before I knew it, it became something more than words — it became a story.

My dear friend Michelle read it early on and encouraged me to keep going. She told me it mattered. That it was important. That there were people who would need it.

Then everything moved quickly — faster than I could process.

In just over 90 days, it was written, edited, and sent to the printers (with deep gratitude to All In The Edit).

Sometimes I think… if I had stopped to think too much, I might never have published it at all.

Because the only other feeling I can name is this:

Terrified.

Sharing your most intimate thoughts — your heartbreak, your vulnerability, your truth — is frightening.

All of a sudden, people will know everything.

But maybe not stopping was the point.

Maybe this is how it was meant to happen.

Not planned.

Not polished into perfection.

Just honest.

By accident… but still important.

And if it helps even one person feel less alone, then maybe that’s enough.

Copies arrive in the next 10 days. 🤍