Reflections on the 2026 SLVR Children's Book Awards
On Saturday night, I received the Most Heartwarming Award at the 2026 SLVR Children's Book Awards for my children's picture book, Do You Look at the Sky?
Even writing those words feels surreal. To have something I created during the most heartbreaking time of my life recognised in this way is difficult to put into words. There was excitement, pride, disbelief and gratitude. But there was also sadness. An overwhelming mixture of emotions that I am still trying to make sense of.
Nothing can bring back my Cooper. But when I write, when I work on these books, and when I spend time in this space, somehow I feel him with me. Sometimes that brings a smile. A lot of the time, it brings tears.
I wrote Do You Look at the Sky? while sitting at the cemetery, beside my son, at a time when simply getting through a day felt like an achievement. I wasn't thinking about awards. I wasn't thinking about becoming an author. I certainly wasn't imagining myself standing on a stage accepting one.
I was simply a mum trying to find a way to stay connected to her son. And somehow, those words left that park bench. They became a book. They found their way into the hands of other families. And on Saturday night, they brought me to an awards ceremony, where I had the privilege of standing in front of a room filled with people and saying Cooper's name.
I don't think I'll ever quite get my head around that.
Of everything that happened that evening, being able to speak his name was what mattered most.
One of the most unexpected parts of becoming an author has been the people I have met along the way.
Laura Feldman, I genuinely don't know how to thank you. Your course gave me a pathway when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. But more than that, you champion each of us to keep going, to focus on our goals and somehow make us believe that what we imagine might actually be possible. And you answer an extraordinary number of questions! Always with an open heart and a willingness to help.
To Mary Anastasiou, thank you for sharing your knowledge and expertise, and for helping me find the confidence to put my words into the world. Your guidance and encouragement throughout the editing process have meant so much.
To Caroline Keys, whose beautiful illustrations brought my words to life, thank you for helping create something that means so much to me.
To the judges, thank you for recognising something in my book. I know the responsibility of choosing between so many beautiful stories, and I am incredibly grateful.
And to this community of authors and illustrators, you have become the most extraordinary cheer squad. The generosity, encouragement and genuine happiness people show for one another's success is something very special. Especially when you're sitting on the other side of a screen, wondering how on earth you're going to keep going, and someone is there telling you that you can.
The words thank you don't really seem big enough.
This journey has taken me somewhere I never expected.
I released my memoir, From Pain to Purpose, on Cooper's birthday last year, learning the principles of self-publishing along the way. Now my next children's picture book is written, Caroline has begun the illustrations, and another story is slowly finding its way into the world.
Apparently, writing has become a little addictive!
Of course, nobody warned me about the marketing. I genuinely thought writing the book would be the hard part. And then there is the enormous investment involved in self-publishing. Not only financially, but the investment of ourselves that goes into creating something and finding the courage to put it into the world.
For me, every book carries a piece of my heart. Writing hasn't taken away my grief. It hasn't made losing Cooper any easier. But it has given me something to focus on, something to work towards and, perhaps most importantly, another way to feel connected to him.
There is something incredibly complicated about experiencing joy after the death of your child.
I was proud to receive this award. Overwhelmed, excited and grateful. But sitting alongside all of those emotions was the heartbreak of knowing why I had written the book in the first place.
I wanted Cooper there. I wanted to tell him what had happened. I wanted to see his reaction.
Instead, I stood on stage and spoke his name. And somehow, that became the most meaningful part of the entire evening.
This award is for Cooper. It is for Ashton. And perhaps, for the first time, I think I can say that a little bit of it is for me too. Because writing has become part of how I survive.
As I looked around the room on Saturday night, I saw people carrying dreams, hopes and aspirations of their own. People who had invested so much of themselves into creating something they believed in. And I felt incredibly fortunate to be among them.
My dreams for the future look very different now from the ones I once held. There are dreams I will never get to experience. A future with Cooper that was taken from us. And there are days when imagining any kind of future still feels impossible.
But Saturday night reminded me of something I hadn't expected.
I am still allowed to have dreams.
They don't replace the ones I've lost. They don't lessen my love for Cooper or the heartbreak of living without him. But perhaps they can exist alongside my grief.
And perhaps that, in itself, is something worth celebrating.
Thank you to Little Ivory Haus, Laura Feldman, the judges, and everyone involved in Once Upon Con and the SLVR Children's Book Awards.
And to everyone who has supported my books, shared my story or simply said Cooper's name, thank you.
You may never have had the privilege of meeting my beautiful boy. But through these books, a little more of him continues to find its way into the world.